COMFORT and JOY

SC Shakespeare's A Christmas Carol delivers the holiday spirit

For a joyous dose of holiday cheer, treat yourself to Santa Cruz Shakespeare's A Christmas Carol, now playing at the Veterans Memorial Hall in downtown Santa Cruz. Now in its second year, this seasonal revival of Charles Dickens' beloved Christmas chestnut is recalibrated for the stage by SCS Artistic Director Charles Pasternak, who also co-directs, with Alicia Gibson.

 

The festivities begin as soon as you enter the hall, with sweet treats, warm drinks, and popcorn (merrily popping away in a vintage popper) for sale on the way into the theater, which is festooned with green garlands and red bows on all sides.

 

Even with a streamlined cast of only five adults and two children, and a single, functional set, this production manages to evoke the majority of Dickens' vast array of eccentric characters, its time-traveling adventures, and all of the story's large-hearted humanity.

 

Much of this is achieved by the actors slipping in and out of character to trade narration duties, enhancing scenes with snippets of Dickens' observational prose from the original novella. All the actors take part in this round-robin of narration that keeps the story moving briskly along, except for Mike Ryan, as protagonist Ebenezer Scrooge. Onstage throughout as the "grasping, greedy, covetous old sinner," Ryan's job is to sneer and glower at everyone else in the first half, cower before the supernatural spirits, and ultimately embrace his redemption with wholehearted glee, and he delivers with his usual panache.

 

 Julie James, Artistic Director of the late, lamented Jewel Theatre Company, pops up in several key roles. She's Marley's Ghost — dragging his chains and shrieking his despair over his misspent life, in a scene so shrouded in stage fog and bleached of color, it looks like a black-and-white movie — (kudos to Lighting Designer Stephen Migdal) — and also the ebullient Ghost of Christmas Present, in her holly wreath crown and lavish fur robes. Most fun is her cackling Mrs. Dilber, the housekeeper looking to sell Scrooge's meagre effects to the rag-and-bone man after his lonely demise.

As Old Joe, the rag-and-bone man, Eddie Lopez is just as funny, in a boisterous departure from his main role as poor, but warm-hearted Bob Cratchit, Scrooge's much put-upon clerk. Among other roles, he also plays Scrooge as a young man in flashback, in love with stalwart and loyal Belle (Charlotte Boyce Munson), whose love he squanders in his single-minded pursuit of wealth and power. Munson also does a nifty about-face as Scrooge's nephew, Fred, infused with a lusty holiday spirit he's determined to impose on his sour old uncle, whether he likes it or not. Andrea Sweeney Blanco essays a pair of devoted wives, plucky Mrs. Cratchit, and nephew Fred's cheery bride. She also brings a tender and graceful gravitas to the role of the Ghost of Christmas Past, shepherding the reluctant Scrooge through the youthful dreams and wretched mistakes of his past.

 

On opening night, Joseph Pratt Lukefahr was effective as both the lonely boy Scrooge, and cheerful Tiny Tim, as well as the sassy street urchin Scrooge sends to buy a turkey for the Cratchits. Sigrid Breidenthal did a lovely job as child Scrooge's sister, Fan, and the Cratchit's number two daughter, Belinda.

 

Christmas Past's angelic white satin gown and glittering snowy halo, along with Christmas Present's elaborate robes, are the standouts among B Modern's gorgeous costume design. But every article of clothing is rich in period and thematic detail, from the ladies' Victorian gowns and the suits, waistcoats and toppers of the gentlemen, down to the decaying rags of Marley's Ghost.

Scenic Designer Bennett Seymour's rotating, two-story spiral staircase morphs into everything from Scrooge's counting house to the floating plateau from which Scrooge and the Ghosts view the mortal world, to the cozy Cratchit family hearth.

 

As a self-confessed Christmas Carol nerd (as I've expressed many times in these digital pages), I've devoured dozens and dozens of versions, on stage and screen — big and small —  ­and I'm always interested in new takes on the material. I admire the economy of Pasternak's pared down production, which feels consistently rich in spirit. Although I do miss the joyful sight of the Old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig dancing at their Christmas party (even though Dickens' prose in the narration brings the scene vividly to life). And it seems like the Cratchit family is short a couple of kids.

 

A particularly festive touch in this production is the liberal use of traditional Christmas carols strategically inserted throughout to reflect upon, and enhance the story. (Orchestrated to an incredible offstage mix tape by Music Director Luke Shepherd that sounds as if there's a live combo secreted somewhere within the folds of the curtain.) All of the cast members sing beautifully, and their harmonies are  especially lovely. The show begins with the robustly caroling cast members carrying lit candles through the darkness as they parade down the aisle to the stage, and it ends with the entire company onstage (and the audience on its feet) joining in on a rousing "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" to sing us all out into the night, infused with a renewed holiday spirit.

 

(Santa Cruz Shakespeare's A Christmas Carol plays through Wednesday, December 24, at the Veterans Memorial Hall in downtown Santa Cruz.)

 (Photos by Kevin Lohman (Top, 3, 4) and Shmuel Thaler (2))

GODS AND MONSTERS

 Del Toro's Frankenstein electrifies

 

It's easy to see why filmmaker Guillermo del Toro calls Frankenstein his dream project. Of course, the auteur behind Pan’s Labyrinth and The Shape of Water would have a special affinity for Mary Shelley’s seminal horror story, which Del Toro brings to the screen with all the lavish, soulful grotesquerie for which he is so renowned. No matter how many of the previous 2.8 billion adaptations you’ve seen, Del Toro retells the tale with electrifying urgency, and haunting pathos.

 

Of all the other version out there, Del Toro's sticks closer than most to the tone and narrative of Shelley's novel. It begins and ends in the frozen waste of the North Pole, to which Creator and Creature have hunted each other. There is no Igor in Frankenstein's lab. And the Creature cobbled together from spare body parts is not reduced to monosyllabic grunts; he learns to articulate his rage and despair.

 

 Oscar Isaacs plays Victor Frankenstein with imperious intellect and frenzied zeal. Del Toro likes to shoot his close-ups at weird angles — chin jutting out, eyes wild, mop of black curls streaming behind — to illustrate the idea of scientific questing run amok. Jacob Elordi is absolutely terrific as the Creature, jolted to unnatural life in a lightning storm, through no fault of his own, then abandoned to work out the complexities of existence by himself.

 

In these early scenes, he beautifully expresses the absorbing curiosity, the awed sense of wonder, and capacity for sudden delight, of an infant. (Despite the fact that Elordi must be about eight feet tall, which makes his performance even more affecting.)

 

But like so many thoughtless new parents, Frankenstein has no idea what to do with his newborn. The act of creation itself was the exciting part, not dealing with the consequences. His initial delight soon turns to irritation with the Creature he keeps chained up, unclothed, below stairs. He neglects to teach him language (the only word the Creature knows is "Victor"), then berates him for his inability to communicate. Soon enough, the runaway Creature learns language and decency from a kindly old blind man who befriends him. But it ends badly, of course, when the old man's family returns.

 

Indeed, while a fugitive in the world, a stolen cloak concealing his stitched-together face, the Creature establishes cooperation and fraternity with the wildlife he encounters, like a foraging deer, and the rat colonies with whom he shares his hiding places. It's only through his encounters with humans that he learns cruelty and violence.

 

(Trigger warning: a couple of scenes of animal death are integral to the plot, but not for the tender-hearted.)

 

Shelley's novel is subtitled The Modern Prometheus, and this is how Victor sees himself, stealing the gift of life from the gods, mostly to prove himself their equal. When he brings an early working prototype — head, torso, arms — to display at a medical college, the doctors and students watch in horrified fascination as he temporarily reanimates the thing with an electrical charge. Tellingly, when Victor abruptly switches off the life force, he takes no notice of the creature's pitiful death rattle.

 

These questions of Creator and Creature, father and son, and humanity and its opposite, are explored as their paths continue to cross, leading eventually to their last, fateful encounter in the frozen north. Early on, while still imprisoned under the lab, the Creature meets, Elizabeth (Mia Goth), fiancée to Victor's brother. Far from horrified, she sees them as kindred spirits, their undervalued wit and worth buried beneath their facades — in her case, her porcelain beauty, which guarantees she will never be taken seriously in the world of men. 

 

Later, the Creature confronts Victor with the demand that he build him a mate, like himself, with the eloquent declaration, "I cannot die. And I cannot live alone." The Creature's immortality is not found in Shelley's book, it's completely Del Toro's invention. And while I confess, I must have missed the movie's scientific explanation for why this is so, it enhances the tragedy of the Creature's solitary and eternal otherness.

 

 Meanwhile, these tantalizing themes play out within the extraordinary, immersive production design by Tamara Deverell. A circle of life motif recurs in a giant stone bas-relief rondel that looks like a Greek tragedy mask with Medusa curls, overlooking the lab, an enormous round, mullioned window, and a huge, circular bronze drain in the middle of the floor. Amid the steampunk assortment of pots, beakers, winches, pulleys, and cogs in the lab, the patchwork figure is hoisted up on a cross like the Vitruvian Man, awaiting the spark of life.

 

Frankenstein runs for a whopping two hours and forty minutes, and there's never a dull moment, in terms of things to look at, thoughts to ponder, and sheer, cinematic bravura. And it never runs out of steam, right up to the last, enormously moving confrontation between Victor and his creation, and the gorgeous and devastating final frame.

 

(This movie deserves to be seen on the big screen, of course, but if you do watch it on Netflix, you have the option of hitting pause to drink in all the details!)

PRINCE OF TIDES

Picaresque Pericles a seaworthy adventure

Santa Cruz Shakespeare takes a big chance with its third offering of the season, Pericles. A lesser known Shakespeare play without the marquee value of, say, A Midsummer Night's Dream, its hyperactive storyline also makes it a challenge to stage. Fortunately, director Charles Pasternak has a savvy enough grasp of stagecraft to keep the unruly plot on track, while showcasing its best moments of comedy and poignant revelation.

Casting the always interesting Paige Lindsey White as protagonist Pericles, Prince of Tyre, is another intriguing choice. The character is not re-imagined as female (like Helen Mirren as "Prospera," in the 2010 movie of The Tempest). Rather, White's Pericles is a universal Everyperson, responding to the extremes of the plot with the kind of humanity and spirit we can all relate to.

 

And extreme they are. Prince Pericles sails to the neighboring kingdom of Antiochus (Corey Jones) to woo his daughter (Allie Pratt). But when he discovers they are having an incestuous relationship, Pericles flees, pursued by an assassin. His odyssey next takes him to the famine-ravage kingdom of Cleon (also Jones) a Dionyza (Desiree Rogers), where he delivers life-saving food, before he is shipwrecked in a storm at sea.

 

Pericles washes ashore in the kingdom of genial King Simonides (Jones yet again), who is holding a jousting tournament to win the hand of his daughter, Thaisa (charmingly eager innocent Lily Kops). Pericles is victorious over five other knights and weds Thaisa. Later, the pregnant Thaisa gives birth to a daughter during another storm at sea, but seemingly dies in childbirth. 

 

White and Kops: romantic intrigue

 Pericles takes the infant daughter he names Marina back to Cleon and Dionyza to raise, then returns to the sea to grieve. The second half of the story concerns Marina, now a young woman (also Pratt), captured by pirates and sold into a brothel, where she confounds the madame (a now brash, belligerent Kops) by talking all of her potential clients out of ravishing her.

 

Because so much of this storyline happens offstage, presented as hearsay, including juicy stuff like jousting and piracy, it's sometimes difficult for the audience to become fully engaged in the complicated story. But when scenes are pared down to a few characters whose motives we clearly understand, it all works beautifully, thanks to its extremely versatile and energetic cast.

 

Jones' regal bearing as all three very different kings is impressive throughout, but he has the most fun as the expansive Simonides, covertly matchmaking for Pericles and Thaisa. Jones, White and Kops shine in a skillfully directed, very funny pas de trois as the wily king tries reverse psychology, pretending to forbid a match between Pericles and Thaisa that he's secretly determined to arrange.

 

M L Roberts excels as a furtive assassin, a philosophical fisherman, and a  good-hearted servant at the bawdy house who helps spirit Marina away. Rogers' noble, compassionate queen, Dionyza, convincingly descends into murderous jealousy. Jono Eiland is engaging as both a studious alchemist who revives Thaisa, and a would-be assassin with a moral compass. Mike Ryan lends humor and gravity as both Hellicanus, Pericles' trusted advisor, and the rowdy Pander, who runs the brothel. 

 

 Highlight of the show is a terrific centerpiece number when the knights vying for Thasia's hand perform a percussive dance of male machismo in the style of a Maori tribal ritual. (Big kudos to Choreographer Izzy Pedego.) And after all their exhausting adventures, Pericles' final reunion with his lost wife and daughter concludes the tale on a grace note of reconciliation and redemption, in which White, in particular, is profoundly touching.

 

The George Wilkins listed as a collaborator on the play was a London pamphleteer who wrote a prose version of the medieval poem by John Gower that inspired Shakespeare. It's thought that Wilkins contributed to the first two acts of the play, which may explain why the first couple of exposition scenes are a little hard to get into. At the court of Antiochus, from the actors' body language, and the word "incest" repeatedly flung about, we get what's going on, but the untrained ear (okay, mine), can't discern whatever verbal clue it is that alerts Pericles to the situation and sends him fleeing for his life.

 

 Shakespeare wrote Gower into the play as an onstage narrator, explaining the action. But Pasternak dispenses with Gower, handing the narration duties over to the ensemble, filling in the busy plot so the audience can keep up. 

 

They make excellent use of the smart set by Michael Schweikardt and Bennet Seymour, prowling around the catwalks and revolving staircases, which variously become palaces, seashores, tournament fields, and storm-wracked ships at sea. Erin Reed Carter's vivid costumes are most impressive in the gemstone-colored royal finery, and the quilted, samurai-like robes of the jousters.

 

Pericles may not be Shakespeare's best-remembered play, but Pasternak and company make it a memorable theatrical event.

 

Pericles plays in repertory at the Audrey Stanley Grove in DeLaveaga Park through August 30.

Photos by Kevin Lohman and Shmuel Thaler

SMILES of a SUMMER NIGHT

White, Ryan and assorted fairies: bright spirits

 Magical Santa Cruz Shakespeare double header all an audience could wish for

 

Looking for something to brighten your spirits? (And who isn't, these days?)

 

Fortunately, you need look no further than DeLaveaga Park, where Santa Cruz Shakespeare launched its 2025 Summer Season over the weekend with a pair of boisterous new productions: A Midsummer Night's Dream, perhaps the most popular, accessible, and funniest of Shakespeare comedies, and the vibrant musical fairytale mashup, Into The Woods, featuring the elegantly witty songs of Stephen Sondheim.

 

Beautifully staged under the towering trees of the Audrey Stanley Grove, this year's plays are presented under the theme No One Is Alone (the title of one of Sondheim's pivotal songs). Which, in the case of these first two productions, emphasizes the power of community, and the elliptical, mostly (but not always) comic consequences within that community and ourselves when we make foolish choices, mostly (but not always) in pursuit of love.

 

Bright spirits abound — literally — in director Paul Mullins' exuberant Midsummer, where the impending nuptials of lord, Theseus (Corey Jones), and Hippolyta (Charlotte Boyce Munson), whose Amazon tribe he has just conquered, play off against a rift in the spirit world between Oberon (ML Rogers) and Titania (Paige Lindsey White), King and Queen of the Fairies. The tentative rapprochement between the mortal bride and groom-to-be contrasts with the scheming erotic gamesmanship of the lustily feuding fairy spouses.

 

Rossi, Pratt, Sagay and Kops: issues

Meanwhile, two sets of young mortal lovers are having their own issues. Hermia (Allie Pratt), pledged to marry Demetrius (Elliot Sagay), her father's choice, has instead fallen in love with Lysander (Nick Rossi). But Demetrius still pursues her, even though Helena (Lily Kops), a young woman he has dallied with, is now in love with him. Threatened with death or a nunnery if she doesn't wed Demetrius, Hermia flees into the woods with Lysander the night before the royal wedding, pursued by Demetrius, who is pursued by Helena.

 

There, they unwittingly become the playthings of Oberon and Titania, and their  fairy conspirators. The fairy king directs his antic henchman, Puck (Justin Joung), to apply a love potion to sort out the young lovers into correct pairs while they sleep, but Puck messes up, so that both youths are now fierce rivals for Helena, while Hermia is abandoned.

 

Further complicating things is a troupe of local craftsmen in the woods to rehearse a play to perform at the wedding the next day. Driven by more enthusiasm than skill, they provide more fodder for Oberon's spat with his queen; the sleeping Titania is charmed into falling passionately in love with the first creature she sees, upon waking — which turns out to be genial, bombastic amateur player Nick Bottom (played with relish by Mike Ryan), now sporting the head of a donkey, via Puck's mischievous magic.

 

Roberts, Joung and White: panache

Pratt's feisty, determined Hermia plays in counterpoint to Kops' forlorn Helena, whose bewilderment at suddenly finding herself pursued by both swains ramps up to a cleansing dose of outrage that she's being being mocked. Joung is wonderful as the acrobatic trickster, Puck, in his headdress of red flames, manipulating a glowing, moon-like orb to illuminate the fairy revels. Jono Eiland steals every scene he's in as amateur player Francis Flute, disappointed at first to be cast in the female role of Thisbe, who nevertheless throws himself into it with hilarious comic abandon. B. Modern's savvy costumes range from the mortal's sensible neutrals to the vibrant gemstone colors of the forest fairies, and special kudos to Lighting Designer Marcella Barbeau for bathing the scene in lush royal purple every time Puck administers his love potion.

 

You couldn't ask for more brio and panache from a fairy king and queen than the Oberon of ML Roberts (so boisterous a couple of years back as Petruchio in The Taming Of the Shrew), and the Titania of Paige Lindsey White, (astonishing as Polonius in last year's Hamlet, combining a sitcom busybody with tragically fatal hubris in a role generally written off as an inconsequential bumbler). 

 

But it's unusual for the actors playing the fairy monarchs to not be double-cast as the mortal monarchs, as well. Jones and Munson are perfectly fine as Theseus and Hippolyta, but it's almost as if their characters are operating outside of the action, almost superfluous, whereas, when the parts are double-cast, the King and Queen of Faery, and their mortal counterparts are like alter-egos of each other, completing the circle of love, passion, power and foolishness that drives the action.

 

Still, it's a minor point in a lively, entertaining show.

 

Into the Woods ensemble: wish lists

The company transitions from the Fairy Court to fairy tales with Into The Woods, the celebrated Broadway musical set in a magical realm where all the tales we remember from childhood play out simultaneously. With a book by James Lapine, and a score of smart, intricate Sondheim songs, the show explores what happens before, during, and after the traditional "Happily Ever After."

 

Directed by Jerry Lee, the show revolves around a humble Baker and his wife who long to have a child. Played by Tyler Nye and Melissa WolfKlain, they provide a foundation of warm humanity for all the fantastical elements to come. In the opening ensemble number, "I Wish," their neighbors also chime in on what they wish for. Gullible innocent Jack (Justin Joung), and his widowed mother (Jordan Best), wish they weren't so poor, and that their elderly cow (Jack calls her his best friend) would give milk.

Tending to the ashes in her rags, Cinderella (Ciarra Stroud) wishes she could go to the prince's festival at the royal castle, while her scheming Stepmother (Lori Schulman), wishes to marry off one of her own harridan daughters to the prince. Little Red (comically plucky Mai Abe) wishes to go visit her granny in the woods, and arrives with an empty basket to fill with the baker's sweets. But their wishes pale next to the desires of "the witch next door" (Charlotte Boyce Munson); turns out she has cursed the baker and his wife to childlessness, but will reverse the curse if they will undertake a perilous journey into the woods.

 

Munson, WolfKlain and Nye: the witch next door

 The stage is set for cross-pollinated tales (Rapunzel, imprisoned in the Witch's tower, the Three Little Pigs, and a giant on the other end of Jack's beanstalk also make guest appearances). Surprise plot twists and much sprightly wordplay ensue on the way to everyone's happy ending — at least, in the first act. As the stories continue in the second half, beyond the traditional "The End," the characters and the audience face the consequences of reckless wishing.

 

Of course, you can't have a scary wood without a big bad wolf, and this production gives us two — one to menace Little Red on her way to Granny's, and a second to harass those pigs. It's traditional that Cinderella's Prince and Red's Wolf are played by the same actor, but one of its biggest delights in this production is the triple-casting of Elliot Sagay and Alex Cook as both wolves, both princes (Cinderella's and Rapunzel's), and Cinderella's ghastly stepsisters! The cleverest of Austin Blake Conlee's excellent costumes are the tight doublets and leather pants the princes wear, that become the stepsisters' finery with the addition of high pompadour wigs, red velvet bustles, and high heels, pared down to lean, black predator silhouettes under cage-like wolf heads, complete with snapping jaws and lolling red tongues.

 

As the princes, the actors also get to deliver one of the funniest songs, "Agony," a dual lament that the women they covet are so unattainable — shortly followed by the "Agony" reprise, in which they lament that, having attained the unattainable, their affections are already straying elsewhere. In another musical highlight, "Any Moment," Sagay, as the sly, insinuating alpha wolf, tries to persuade WolfKlain, the Baker's Wife, to give herself up to the alluring, if transitory, pleasures of the woods.

 

Ensemble: After "Ever After"

 

Milky White, the cow (not exactly a speaking, er, mooing part, but onstage in many scenes) is an emaciated, but stoic creature of cobwebby white ropes, and Cinderella's twittering birds are hand-held by various whistling actors who swoop and flutter them about. But the most impressive special effect comes from Sound Designer Barry G. Funderburg. The giant is never seen, but every bone-rattling step of the giant coming closer through the woods has us looking over our shoulders; we could swear the ground was quaking underfoot.

 

Munson makes a marvelous Witch, in both her crone and glamorous personae. Schulman is both a gleefully imperious Stepmother, and a sharp, no-nonsense Granny. Stroud shines as both gutsy Cinderella and the gentler Rapunzel, and Best's exasperated fretting as Jack's mother contrasts with her serenity, and gorgeous ethereal singing as the ghostly spirit of Cinderella's mother. All of them have lovely singing voices, and the entire company delivers Sondheim's intricate lyrics with clarity and verve.

 

Music, magic, and midsummer madness. Who could wish for more?