'Saltimbanques' will leave your head spinning

By Aaron Zamost

Nine out of 10 dentists advise their patients to brush with Aquafresh. Three out of four Tibetan Spaniels prefer to eat Purina Dog Chow. Five out of six Denver Nuggets fans are certifiably insane. In the great history of surveys, I've always wondered who that "odd man out" was. If seven out of eight television viewers watch Seinfeld instead of Non-Stop Fox's World's Greatest Ice Cream Truck Disasters IV, who is that eighth person?

After seeing Jim Knable's, PC '98, new original play, Saltimbanques, I think I've figured out who the moron is. It's me. Everyone else I know thoroughly enjoyed this play. To be quite honest, I just didn't get it. The play was just as disconcerting as any attempt to pronounce its title. Despite keen lighting tactics, solid background music, and an overall admirable effort by Knable and the cast, Saltimbanques simply tries too hard to be too much.

It's quite difficult to determine which character deserves the most attention. It could easily be James (Steven Klein, MC '98), a successful art dealer, or his artiste twin sister, Louise (Anne Klein, MC '98). It might be their mother (Amy Herzog, CC '00), an object of simultaneous familial ridicule and fierce affection, or James's blatantly psychotic girlfriend (Kim-Thu Posnett, MC '99), a manipulative sadist who seems to always have her period. Nonetheless, the only real period exhibited in this farce is Pablo Picasso's--and it's Blue. Ben Vershbow, BR '01, plays Paul, a struggling artist who may or may not be the great Cubist reincarnated. Either way, Vershbow is the light at the end of this dark tunnel, providing most of the production's entertainment with his jester-like performance of virtuoso Paul and his second role as a half-witted postman. Unfortunately, Vershbow's stellar performances can only maintain the play's waggish amusement for so long, as the production slowly deteriorates into heavily-wrought abstraction.

Providing an overarching explanation of Saltimbanques is even more daunting than judging these characters. As the audience quickly learns, the events of this production cannot, and should not, be taken literally. The premise unfolds with a series of non-sequential events, ranging from times early in the characters' lives to the present. Strewn within scenes are flashbacks (or are they LSD-induced hallucinations?), demonic fantasies, and eccentric apparitions, meant either to provide the actors with character depth or provide me with nightmares resulting in weeks of therapy. The initial scenes of the play are frustratingly difficult to understand, and moments of clarity only come to pass late in the first act. The mother's maniacal kissing of a painted skull ushers the performance into the intermission, provoking furrowed eyebrows and puzzled looks from most of the audience members.

Saltimbanques certainly seems like it should work. Andrew Grusetskie, TD '98, provides the play with a superb musical environment by playing the drums from above the rafters. The set design makes the stage artistically eye-catching, and the light effects are magnificent. Still, the actors do only an adequate job with a bold script that leaves something to be desired. The dialogue seems plenty realistic, but some scenes seem verbally awkward, with character exchanges that could definitely use more fine-tuning. The scornful bantering isn't quite fast enough, the solemn scenes not quite serious enough, and some inventive conversations just aren't quite clever enough.

I'm not entirely sure if there's something wrong with me or if there's something wrong with Saltimbanques. For me, too many things were going on in the show even when it seemed like nothing was going on at all. There are so many unexplained events in this production (i.e. the mother with wire mesh wrapped around her head and the entire first act) that it seems as if Knable regularly throws the audience simply for the sake of throwing them. Knable strives to create an atmosphere of abstraction through orchestrated events in the script, but my sense of abstraction was derived more from my inability to follow the action of the play.

Nevertheless, classes are done for the year, and if you're in the mood to trip out from some fancy set effects, Saltimbanques may just be the production for you. Perhaps then you can tell me if the title really is pronounced Sal-tim-bonk, if James and Louise really are the illegitimate children of Picasso, and if being the only dissenting opinion in a survey of hundreds means I'm really going crazy.

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