STAGE REVIEWS : From a Mad Barber to a Man of Steel at Theater Fest

The PCPA Theaterfest is something of a tradition in the Santa Ynez Valley and the central coast region. Now into its fourth artistic director (Jack Shouse) and its 14th summer of repertory between the Marian Theater of Santa Maria and the Festival Theatre in Solvang, it is offering three musicals and three plays. Left, Sylvie Drake reviews “Sweeney Todd” and “The Tempest.” Right, Don Shirley reviews “It’s a Bird

When the late Paul Muni was asked how many actors belonged to Actors’ Equity (the stage actors’ union), he reportedly replied “about one in a hundred.” The story stings because the facts ring true. Something of this is evident in this year’s PCPA Theaterfest company, where some non-union performers outshine their card-carrying peers. Take “Sweeney Todd” and “The Tempest.”

The former has one Equity actor--Richard Gould who plays the ashen Todd in a potent baritone outdone by no one--while the latter has six Equity members who, with one exception (Sandy McCallum as the rambling Gonzalo), offer lackluster portrayals.

Paradox or perversity?

Perhaps because musicals are perceived as requiring more precision and complex collaboration, the “Sweeney Todd” directed by Jack Shouse looks like the product of caring and attentive work. Mounted on an ingenious set by D. Martyn Bookwalter, and dominated by Gould’s powerful Sweeney, it is cautious but ultimately satisfying, if not devoid of problems.

The show grows too dark too soon. Momentum builds slowly. Forget blood (there’s almost none to be found) or reliable British accents. Real singing voices are not often there. Adrienne Andersen’s Mrs. Lovett doesn’t come up with a sense of humor quickly enough, though she blossoms into something of a confident (and enjoyable) Hermione Baddeley in Act II.

Good marks too go to Mark Daniel Cade (Anthony), Kristie Dale Sanders (Beggar Woman), Roy Cepero (Judge Turpin) and Pippa Winslow (Johanna) in the acting ensemble, as well as to Dorothy Marshall’s motley collection of costumes.

There are some nice crowd transitions, a fine Toby in Matt Hindmarch (especially in “Not While I’m Around,” with Andersen) and a prevailing grasp of what’s required by this stunning musical, even when it is not quite matched by the production’s reach.

One fact is clear: One can accept an ambitious attempt partially realized far more easily than one can tolerate creative indifference.

Creative indifference plagues “The Tempest,” Shakespeare’s most lyrical play, given a pedestrian reading here by director Kenneth L. Albers. Where “Sweeney” gets better and stronger, this “Tempest” bogs down in lyricism wasted and tedium.

Too many of the actors can’t get the words out. On Carolyn Ross’s bland set, Damien Leake delivers a terminally pragmatic Prospero, rather jollied by his years on this desert island and given to speaking words without much concern for their meaning. His “Our revels are now ended” might as well be the six o’clock business report.

Frederic Barbour (a fine actor) matches his master in a sort of jaded competence as Ariel.

No bit of casting is more puzzling, though, than Polly Firestone as a tomboyish Miranda whose lack of grace is quite unrelated to the injured leg that forces her to play the role in a cast. (And what is that lopsided dress that designer Mary “Sam” Fleming has put her in?)

The bleak expedience of Albers’ concept does away with laden banquet tables in favor of unprepossessing “monsters.” It brings on three white-wigged, white-clad, spangled Vegas-types as Ceres, Iris and Juno (a mendicant’s masque) and uses minimal imagination and less logic in the Trinculo-Stephano-Caliban scenes (though V Craig Heidenreich is a touching and empathetic Caliban.)

Shakespeare by the numbers is Shakespeare devalued. For PCPA, that’s not good enough.