Somebody's Knocking At The Door...

Solas Nua's American premiere offers an insightful musing on a life only half lived Marina Carr's Woman and Scarecrow is a dark tale, set on the eve of a woman's death as she discusses with herself all that was and all that could have been.  While this premise might sound dreary, Ms. Carr fills her work with an abundance of wit and sarcasm that carries the play with laughter right up until the fateful moment. In the opening scene Woman lies in a large white bed, seemingly in a half sleep while her companion-self (known as Scarecrow) is nearby tending to her needs.  "Woman" is the ego consciousness/physical being of this existence, while "Scarecrow" is the subconscious/eternal consciousness/higher self/creative life force (take your pick).  The two were woven together at birth and have had a contentious, sparring existence that is a love-hate relationship since their combined first breath.   As Woman makes clear, she will not miss the constant presence of "a critical spectator," while Scarecrow is looking forward to finding another human essence to meld with in order to express its higher aspirations.  Yet, while Woman is weary of Scarecrow's "interference" in her life, she is dependant upon this energy for strength and confidence.  And while Scarecrow points out that Woman has continually stifled the possibilities of their existence and chosen instead to live her life hiding behind a loveless marriage and eight children, it too is not quite ready to part company.   So as the fateful hour draws near, Scarecrow has bought Woman a bit of time from Death (which is lurking in Woman's wardrobe) so that Woman can come to some understanding of her time here on Earth.  They engage in a verbal tug-of-war as Woman tries to romanticize her life and death, while Scarecrow attempts to make Woman finally admit the unvarnished truth to herself.  It's a series of rancorous conversations that veer from scathing tirades, to  sarcastic criticisms, to laugh filled memories.  As Woman grieves over her children, Scarecrow confides to her that she simply was looking for numbers -- eight faces, sixteen eyes, eighty fingers -- they were simply an attempt at owning something.  As Woman waxes poetic about her lovers, Scarecrow informs her that each was simply an expression of anger towards her unfaithful husband -- although the Italian cowboy was a treat for birth.  And when Woman remembers a defining moment in her life that included a red coat with black buttons, Scarecrow angrily informs her that the episode never took place and the coat never existed.  Scarecrow understands the actual memory was too insightful and painful for Woman to handle at the time, so she simply pushed it into her subconscious and ignored it.  But now that subconscious -- in the form of Scarecrow -- is demanding to be heard.   In between these moments of yin and yang struggle, the Woman's family members visit her.  Like Woman, they are an angry, self-absorbed lot.  Her unfaithful husband is a louse of a fellow who has repeatedly cheated on her, left her several times for other women, yet always returned to her for no other reason than she would take him back.  Known simply as "Him," he is even on the phone with his mistress while his wife is in the next room dying.  He's more angry than remorseful, accusing Woman of succumbing to her mysterious illness and leaving him alone to care for their brood of children whose names he sometimes forgets.   Meanwhile, Woman's Auntie Ah views the death as a selfish indulgence on her niece's part.  Still angry that the girl she raised never viewed her as a surrogate mother, the priggish aunt hurtfully withholds information about Woman's family, even on her niece's deathbed.  With relatives like these you can understand why Woman might not be too distressed at dying.   And through all this, Death awaits in the wardrobe occasionally making rumbling sounds as Scarecrow attempts to get Woman to acknowledge that her three greatest sins were never choosing to be happy, not being good to herself and martyring herself for mediocrity.   Ms. Carr's piece is lyrical and disturbing -- much like her other works -- But in this outing her writing ripples across the surface with a humor that is deft and pointed.  Melding bits of Celtic and Greek mythology into her story, her underlining point is a statement on how we create the texture of our lives via the choices we make.  Thus if Woman had chosen a different husband -- the man who loved her instead of Him who she knew was unsuitable --  the entire fabric of her life could have been greater.  And she would not be in this situation because the twenty-five years that have led to this point would never have existed.   Carr also comments on our human foibles as well.  When Auntie Ah admits to enjoying seeing the "finish of a life;" you realize she's a twisted old lady, but at the same time the character points to our own voyeuristic tendencies.  When Woman admits that she likes the idea of dying, because dying is a human being's one chance to be epic; you have to laugh because she speaks for the fascination we all have of death.  And when Him gets angry at his wife for revealing that she has had many affairs of her own; you see the duality of gender roles and the double standards that we all frequently keep in our lives. Des Kennedy, who directed Solas' Scenes from the Big Picture, has his actors running emotions in zigzag patterns that twirl and jump out at us from words, looks and gestures.  The two plus hours seem to fly by -- as it would for Woman who is noting the minutes until her impending demise.   Lynly Saunders' set is a simple bedroom with just a door, wardrobe and bed.  The room is surrounded by a thicket of branches to give a claustrophobic feeling of being ensnared.  Her costume for the spectre of death is an interesting mix of feathers and claws.  Marianne Meadows' lighting is basic white except for the black light emanating from the wardrobe.  For his sound design David Crandall incorporates opera, Irish pop and a raspy voice for Death which is a bit too predictable (we've heard that same evil spirit voice in countless movies).   In the role of Woman, Jennifer Mendenhall gives a stellar performance of a person who is angry, sad, and remains even in her moment of death, thinking about how good she will look at her own funeral.  Though her death is occurring, she is still not quite fathoming the reality of the situation, engaging in planning her funeral specifics like she is planning a dinner party.  And when she is finally pushed and prodded to admit the pain which is causing her own extinction, she's incapable of letting the reality stay with her for more than a moment.  As soon as her unfaithful husband comes to her with a sad look on his face, she's back to her old behavior not fathoming how her instinctual reactions are creating her present situation minute by minute, even at this late stage in the game.  Ms. Mendenhall flits through all these emotions in a natural way that creates audience empathy so that when the inevitable moment arrives you're still hoping something will come to her rescue.   Nanna Ingvarsson's turn as Scarecrow is both an image of the higher self/eternal soul and a version of a Greek "Ker" (goddess of death).  Irate at Ms. Mendenhall's Woman for a lifetime of slights, she is ready to point out to the conscious that she's dying of spite.  (To which Ms. Mendenhall humorously responds that she prefers the word bitterness since it has a more aristocratic sound.)  But Woman does concede that she is filled with venom because "The world has not yielded all that I had hoped for."  Something Scarecrow points out Woman has also done to it by only ever throwing Scarecrow scraps of happiness and hardly ever listening to the advice the subconscious offered.  Ms. Ingvarsson plays the role with a mix of frustration, rage and compassion -- like a good friend who is just as happy to argue as to embrace.  It's only in the final moments of the play that we begin to understand the twisted cosmic comeuppance to a life that is filled with bitterness and self-absorption.   Brian Hemmingsen's Him is a mix of concern and selfishness.  Even as his wife is dying he is still wondering who will feed him his dinner.  Railing about her relatives who are gorging themselves at his expense, he is as incapable of moving outside himself as Woman is of moving outside herself.  The two are caught in a long, drawn out masquerade that neither is able to leave behind.  Mr. Hemmingsen moves from bullying husband to lost little boy on the turn of a word.  He's hard to dislike, but we're happy not to be married to him.   As Auntie Ah, Rena Cherry Brown comes across as a sadistically stern woman who stoically advises "Happiness!...Sure, it’s only a recent invention of the Sunday newspapers."  And later when she confides that the rages which haunted her during Woman's childhood have been mellowed with age, we suspect she is lying, anxiously hoping to incur the scars she imparted to Woman onto the dying soul's children.  This auntie is far too happy to see suffering and to prove herself right even at the expense of a woman that she raised as her own daughter.  And it's through this character that we see that all these people are really, in the end, victims of their own upbringing, society and culture.  Woman's inhibitions, inability to be brave, deftness at choosing disempowerment -- all of it -- is simply what she has been raised to believe and how she has been taught to treat herself.   And that seems to be Carr's greatest point in Woman and Scarecrow -- "WAKE UP! Before it's too late..."   Further Resources: Celtic mythology Jung information Daily Ohm Hospice care DC Hotlines   Show Details: Woman and Scarecrow Written by: Marina Carr Produced by: Solas Nua at Flashpoint's Mead Theatre Lab, 916 G Street NW, Washington DC   Ticket Info: Run Dates: May 7-31, 2009 Showtimes: Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays at 8 pm, Sundays at 3 pm Ticket Prices: $20.00 Box Office: 1-800-494-TIXS or online Show Length: 2 hours 10 minutes including one 15 minute intermission   Cast & Crew: Director: Des Kennedy Designers: Lynly Saunders (Set & Costumes), Marianne Meadows (Lighting), David Crandall (Sound), Jenn Sheetz (Blood Props) Cast: Rena Cherry Brown, Brian Hemmingsen, Nanna Ingvarsson, Jennifer Mendenhall   Saturday, May 9th performance reviewed by Rich See