'Patience' speaks softly and carries a big cast

The intimate setting of the Timothy Dwight dining hall is home to the Yale Gilbert & Sullivan Society's production of Patience, and the small theater space provides the play with a large acoustic challenge. Made up of a largely inexperienced cast, the production, directed by Aleagia Mercer-Falkoff, SM '01, bravely confronts the challenges and does its best to take adequate advantage of the special opportunities that this theater space offers.

REBECCA ROSENTHAL/YH 'Hand me my beating club, please.'

Immediately apparent is the size of the cast, particularly the female choristers, relative to the size of the performance area. This results in some occasionally awkward blocking, mostly within the first act, and throughout the show the actors appear to have trouble with movement. There are scenes in which the leads move as if shackled, their arms moving only from the elbows, their postures unchanging and uninspired. This is due, in part, to as yet incomplete assimilation of role, in part to a stage cramped with too many bodies. While on the whole, cast members do well and lend credibility to their roles, it is apparent that they have not yet fully allowed the characters to seize control of their entire beings.

There are exceptions. Kelsey Linnett, DC '03, has tremendous stage presence and remains fully in character throughout, Mercer-Falkoff shines in the second act, and the three protagonists—Kimberly Stanford, CC '01, Nate Mickelson, SY '02, and Jonathan Meir—are very consistent with their movement and characterizations. However, many moments find the actors struggling to amplify enough to fill the theater. It is all very well if the first 10 rows may see what is going on, but what about those near the rear of the hall who can only see the posture and angling of the body?

The acoustic challenges presented by TD are tackled with uneven results throughout the show. The demands of the music, particularly in the roles of Patience and the Duke of Dun-stable, are substantial, so it is easy to forgive these two their minor lapses in characterization as they perform the difficult pieces. However, a general inability on the part of the cast to amplify their voices is lamentable. Amplification would alleviate a lot of the problems with the show's music and actually fill the room with sound, which, in this production, occurs only during the big numbers which feature all the cast members.

A particular stumbling block that a dining hall such as this presents to a musical is the lack of space for an orchestra. As small as this orchestra is, it still juts out into the audience, and its placement forces the cast members to glance stage left at the conductor for cues and tempo changes. Transitions are ragged, despite best efforts, simply because all involved are naturally inexperienced at this kind of a situation. Still, this could easily be solved with more extensive rehearsal.

Ultimately, the most glaring misstep is Mercer-Falkoff's decision to transplant the action from Victorian London to 1940s London. Part of the problem is the superficiality of the transplantation, which Mercer-Falkoff attempts to achieve only by showing slides during the overture (which is already jarring, as the music is of a distinctly different period and too sweet for the images of World War II), some set design decisions, and an excerpt of Ella Fitzgerald singing during a scene change. Such a superficial change tells us nothing more about '40s London or even Victorian London—all it really says is that Mercer-Falkoff is perceptive in identifying a connection between these two periods, which is ultimately uninteresting theatrically. In fact, the juxtaposition is disruptive because the music is so out of place in the '40s, and the interpolation of jazz only exacerbates what is at best an incomplete idea and at worst a bad decision. Mercer-Falkoff should have listened more closely to the words that Ella sings during that excerpt: "Wrong time, wrong place...wrong town, wrong style."

There is not much room in the material to create real characters. It is only the figure of Bunthorne that emerges as a fully rounded human being. Meir does give a consistent interpretation, but I am not convinced that it is the most striking or the most interesting treatment of the character. Mercer-Falkoff cites in her introduction that Bunthorne was based on Oscar Wilde, but Meir is neither so dashing or so cutting as Wildean wit would like.

Despite its flaws, Patience does contain enough positive moments to warrant a trip to the Timothy Dwight dining hall. Go to see Linnett, Mercer-Falkoff, and the three leads. Just make sure you get there early enough to sit in the front.

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