The sun, our sun, will expand to engulf the planet Earth in 5 billion years. Don’t bother setting an alarm or getting some extra SPF sunscreen, it won’t matter. Everything we have ever built, or will build, will vaporize and collapse to cinders. Everything. If it all ends in darkness, what is the point of anything? What is the full value of virtue, of kindness, or restraint? What’s the price of an eternal soul under an impermanent firmament? Where do we insert hope into this system? Is hope just a concept invented to make our muted shouts meaningful from our corner of the void? Isn’t this a theatre review or were those edibles stronger than I thought?
Jen Silverman’s “WITCH”, staged by Richmond Shakespeare, starts at the scrimmage line showing pass, but fakes for an end run by referencing the characters and setting of the Jacobean classic “The Witch of Edmonton” and resolving as a particularly heady treatise on futility and loneliness, disappointment and resignation. I’ll spare my readers (both of you) the play-by-play that gets the ball into the end zone because it is delightfully unexpected and best served surprisingly. The entire play felt like a perfect creme brulée that you didn’t know had hints of lavender under the vanilla. I made that face you make when you feel that several times during the hour and forty-five minute running time.
“Witch” manages to be funny, quiet, rambunctious, and sad – exactly when it needs to be. Its path to resonance is heuristic, bouncing emotions off unexpected reactions to classical tropes. There is a supernatural element, but no actual witch. There are Faustian deals with no warranties or customer service. There are enemies without true hate. Love, without peace. Fucking beautiful shit.
As for Andrew Gall‘s production of this tangled yarn of conundrums, thumbs up, and then some. The staging is pure clockwork. Everything happens as it is supposed to. Lights, sound, blocking, set movements, mashed potatoes, projections – A+.
The cast is predictably incredible. Katrinah Carol Lewis (the titular “witch”) is a staple of RVA stages and gives us every reminder as to why. She delivers vulnerability within pridefulness, cheek wrapped in fear, and openness reflected in defense with a casual flair.
I hope I’m not being inappropriate in saying this. I wish Adam Turck could have seen John Minck‘s portrayal of Scratch in this performance. It seems like a role Adam would have devoured were he still here with us. I know Adam and John were friends and I’ve seen them work opposite each other beautifully. They have distinct energies individually tuned on an FM dial with a slight band of static between them. Similar schools but different styles. That said, I think Mincks just arrived in all his leading man glory. Richmond has continuity for Adam’s level of firebrand talent on our local stages. John blossoms with confidence and presence as constant as a quantum field bending prose to the gravity of his delivery. I like the guy, and I can’t tell you how proud I was for him as I enjoyed this show.
Tyler Stevens and Matt Mitchell, playing rivals for a father/patron’s love/respect, bring a very Arrested Development vibe to the slightly-concussed comedic conflict written into the play. Both are playing broad with authenticity, which is no small feat. To give heart to a clown, and depth to a cur, is a challenge. They pull it off and ring several tiny bells of insight “Witch” so unexpectedly shakes at you from over your shoulder.
For pure naturalism and range befitting a slide instrument’s infinite positions, Doug Blackburn turns in an apex performance. So much of building a compelling experience as an actor goes into the dynamism of speech. You don’t always notice when conversational range is limited on stage (unless it’s really bad) but you definitely do when it’s great. You don’t lose a thought or miss a point when an actor can modulate tempo, cadence, pitch, and tone at will. You notice when it is deliberate. Blackburn has mastery of his weapon. His characters’ aria to his deceased wife had me in my feels.
Last, but definitely not least, is Haylee Cartee’s Winnifred. Like so many women made to serve at the pleasure of preoccupied men, she endures. And endures. And endures. Promises of love, safety, consideration and more come as afterthought and maybes and she’s had enough of it. Haylee gives Winnifred sincerity not complicated by guile (until it is, and even then more- just go see the play) and serves as an avatar for all who just want to be left alone in good company, in simple times. To not ask for much and be given grief at every turn is enough to drive a person mad. The meek shall inherit the fist, as the saying goes.
All in all, this is a must see. Thanks for the great time Richmond Shakespeare. Jase and James, hats off, once again.
Photos by Aaron Sutten
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