THEATER REVIEW : ‘SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY’ NEEDS TO COME UP FOR AIR

It takes a hearty spirit to spend an evening in a Spoon River, Ill., cemetery.

Things can get pretty maudlin when you’re looking back on lives that seem extraordinarily depressing--dimmed by suicide, murder, rape, arson, blindness, infidelity, prostitution, corruption and simple loneliness.

The folk songs and church hymns woven into Edgar Lee Masters’ “Spoon River Anthology” by adapter Charles Aidman do not alleviate the gloom that pervades the production which Lamb’s Players Theatre opened last week.

Clever acting by a handful of Lamb’s regulars does reveal moments of cheer, but director Deborah Gilmour Smyth and cast stay mostly buried under the Midwestern sod with Masters’ 50 characters, who speak from their graves about Spoon River. The production never quite shakes off the misery of failed and finished lives.

“Spoon River Anthology” has long been a prime source of scenes for student actors. Dozens of former citizens appear for short, poetic reminiscences, creating scenarios through sheer word power and, it is hoped, drawing their audience into the lives they’ve left behind for a brief but better-situated look at the whole issue.

Masters’ poetry is lovely, but his view of life and death is depressing. His characters seem to be living a “John Brown” existence, just molderin’ in their graves and waiting. One man does talk about seeing the face of God in a star. Another preferred dancing to plowing. Some just took what they wanted from life, damn the consequences--or anyone who got in the way. A few had life taken from them.

The hymns offer religion as a breath of compensation. That may work philosophically for some people, but theatrically the musical interludes are not enough. This “Spoon River Anthology” just doesn’t flow well as an evening of dramatic recitation.

Phil Card, Kerry Cederberg, David Cochran Heath and Patricia Thayer dig out a few gems from this underground assortment of characters. Some are funny; many more are confused, hurt, lonely, angry or pitiable. They challenge the four to come up with characterizations thorough enough to be believed before they quickly defer the spotlight to another.

The challenge is not always met, but when it is--mostly by the more experienced in the group, who wisely leave “foreign” accents out of their work--the results are best savored individually, not as part of this gloomy whole.

The sorrowful demeanor of this production is intensified by Smyth’s decision to keep herself on stage, gazing sadly at the various characters but never taking on any of the acting duties. She is there to sing when the time comes. That’s not a bad idea, given the ringing beauty of Smyth’s voice, but it would have been much less awkward if she had simply joined in as one of the deceased.

More embarrassing are the dances choreographed for Smyth by Pamela Turner. One of these opens the production--a gawky, melodramatic modern dance more suited to the classroom than an evocative evening of theatrical poetry. Ugly stirrup tights and bandaged feet clearly visible in the intimate setting further destroy any illusion of grace, or any vague hint that she represents an angelic force. Both choreography and execution are way out of sync with Masters’ lyricism.

Designer Mike Buckley has suspended an impressive collection of antiques above the simple geometric platform that serves as a generic setting. These discarded implements reflect the theme of things left behind--or above, in this case. Buckley’s costumes set the period loosely around the beginning of this century.

Lighting designer David Thayer has tried to keep the actors in moody pools of light, creating atmosphere to match the quickly shifting characters. It might have worked if he had been able to keep up with them. Many scenes began and ended in the dark during a recent performance.

Musical director Keith Nater is expressionless behind the piano on stage, while the actors work around him. The cast’s sweet harmonizing is the evening’s reward and often the best source of humor. Card has plenty of fun with Heath in drag in “Three Nights Drunk,” while the women pour on the pathos in a musical montage of “Motherless Child,” “Hushaby” and “Poor Wayfaring Stranger.”

Near the end of “Spoon River Anthology,” the voice of a woman who lived a long and busy life offers some explanation of Masters’ philosophy. “Life is too strong for you,” she chides the others. “It takes life to love life.”

Did Masters really love wallowing through these distorted reflections of life, brought forth by characters drawn from the worst of circumstances? Individually, savored for the power of their poetry, perhaps these characters are acceptable as a kind of warning to those who still have time to change.

Gathered into this melodramatic production, they fill the theater with a sinking, saddening spirit--the kind of despair that clouds more than it illuminates.

“SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY”

By Edgar Lee Masters. Adapted by Charles Aidman. Directed by Deborah Gilmour Smyth. Musical direction, Keith Nater. Choreography, Pamela Turner. Scenic and costume design, Mike Buckley. Lighting and sound, David Thayer. Stage manager, Karl Mertins. With Phil Card, Kerry Cederberg, David Cochran Heath, Keith Nater, Deborah Gilmour Smyth, Patricia Thayer. Tuesday-Saturday at 8 p.m., Saturdays at 2 p.m., through Oct. 4 at Lamb’s Players Theatre, 500 Plaza Blvd., National City.