Toddlin' Town for Theatre

Last month I saw a wonderful MACBETH; this week a rocky, excellent DESIRE UNDER THE ELMS. The phrase "Second City" is not heard as often about Chicago anymore, and of course Manhattan with its Broadway district is the most outstanding theatre area in the United States. But Chicago is certainly the runner-up as it hosts road companies, establishes touring success, and hosts outstanding resident companies. On the north side, the famed Steppenwolf Theatre still attracts large audiences, but the downtown jewels are the Goodman and the Chicago Shakespeare.

About a mile and three-quarters separates the two locations, one in the well-known loop and the other extending out into Lake Michigan. Each building is housed in historical buildings, Navy Pier being historic in its own right. The Goodman remodeled the former Harris and Selwyn Theatres and managed to reuse these wonderful stages after a period of time of disuse. In moving here less than twenty years ago, the Goodman left a location on the east side of the famed Art Institute of Chicago, opening up space for the new Modern Wing, opening in May.

While it was interesting enough moving from MACBETH to the ELMS over a period of four weeks, I recall a juxtaposition during the fall of 2006. Ben Carlson, currently the title character in Macbeth, was starring as HAMLET on the pier. Stacy Keach was heading the cast of KING LEAR at the Goodman. And I saw the pair in the same week. The result? A poem:

FIFTY-EIGHT HOURS BETWEEN SHAKESPEARES

Fifty-eight hours from Elsinore to Lear’s corrupt court:
Thursday matinee spent with the antic disposition of Hamlet,
Saturday night spent watching the madness and downfall of Lear.

Lear cut a cake to award the geography of Britain to flatterers,
Stabbing the knife into the heart of the cake and the heart of Cordelia.
The rashness of Lear at eighty recalls of course the rashness of Romeo
At fifteen, nearly justifying the introspection of Hamlet at 30.

Gertrude Thursday was a sexual woman, a match to Goneril and Regan Saturday;
Lusting without question and each loving only herself,
While the suicidal Ophelia showed doomed beauty
And the naked body of Cordelia was an artist’s study in death.

Nearly ten minutes Saturday devoted to dragging dozens of body bags onto the stage,
Five minutes then set aside to dump the bags into the pit of hell in modern warfare.
The power of Shakespeare in tragedy is to show us how the gods kill us
For their sport … while the rest, of course, is silence.

DESIRE UNDER THE ELMS

Eugene O'Neill, perhaps the first great American dramatist, has been the focus of a series of presentations at the outstanding Goodman Theatre this winter. Several of his powerful scripts have been staged by various theatre groups, with the Goodman itself mounting DESIRE, the O'Neill attempt to Americanize Greek tragedy. Starring Brian Dennehy and now featuring Amy J. Carle, who had understudied Carla Gugino in the role of Abbie, the work is a fitting and appropriate work for a changeable Chicago winter.

Director Robert Falls apparently went back to the drawing board for this successful work, tossing out O'Neill's extensive stage directions and reinterpreting the setting and staging. Perhaps the most striking result was the decision to eliminate any elms, or any trees or anything else soft or gentle from the set. Instead, the work morphs into DESIRE AMONG THE ROCKS, with a mountain of giant boulders at least fifteen feet high dwarfing the characters and allowing them no place of refuge. Along with the rock mountain, other boulders hang from ropes, looming over the characters at every moment. For that matter, the Putnam house hangs from the rafters above the heads of these characters for many scenes, with the visual effect that everything in their world is ready to crush them all at a moment's notice.

Most of O'Neill's powerful works investigate the depths of pain and suffering that people inflict upon one another, and this script is no different. It allows fine actors the opportunity to live in the skins of these people, bellowing and crying, threatening and lying, living their meagre lives to get whatever tragic result that might be in store. Brian Dennehy, as expected, is a true stage star in the role of Efrem, doomed to self-inflicted loneliness among the rocks. Carle, a pleasant surprise in the role of Abbie, emits desperation in her every move to avoid that same loneliness. It is difficult to see how the acclaimed Gugino, away on a film promotion tour, could have done any better.

The work is one hundred minutes of pain, with much of the catharsis of the Greek tragedy for those of us who return to homes that are indeed and in fact places of refuge.

The Other Side of the Family Tree

Just one more restoration at this time, taking a moment to look at the other side of the family tree. My dear grandparents Angela & Louis, each depicted previously, were my mother's parents. My mother was an only child from Chicago, while my father was the eldest of six children from Philadelphia. It seems so logical that he would settle near her home, and I grew up a Chicago boy. I had time being fed and carted around Chicago by Angela and I was given Cubs baseball by Louis. Dad's parents were my vacation grandparents. The feeling was a loving one, but love from 800 miles away when a long-distance call was an unnecessary expense is difficult.

Vacations were wonderful, though. The hint was given above: five sets of aunts and uncles, and one of the aunts was only twelve years older than I was. Dad's eldest sister, on the other hand, was only a year younger than he, and my cousin Barbara was two weeks older than I was. Lots of fun on vacation, lots of picnics and side trips. My Uncle Tom, dad's brother-in-law, took me to a Phillies game. We saw Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, Betsy Ross' house, Benjamin Franklin's grave. For as few days as I spent in Philadelphia, it always seemed my second home.

The portrait of Ralph Sr. and Emma, which I was able to repair and soften as well as adding the sepia tone, is my favorite. It catches them at the time they were active and filled with laughter and enjoyment whenever we saw them. I recall that Grandmom made a wonderful spaghetti sauce and her smile always seemed to be intended just for me. I recall that Grandpop loved that spaghetti and constantly used a napkin to blot sweat from his brow while eating it. And I also recall that he did Woody Woodpecker's laugh as well as Walter Lantz, the originator of the voice. I pride myself on doing a good imitation of Grandpop doing a great imitation of Lantz.

Blessed with all four grandparents alive until I was twenty-eight years old; I would call that the greatest legacy of my family that was given to me and I treasure these memories. And I will always.

Another Restoration

I wrote so lovingly of my maternal grandmother Angela, and I feel fairness bids me to speak of her husband, Louis, my grandfather and one of the men most close to my heart.

A working man who spent years carrying boxes to load onto a delivery truck, Louis was the man who came home every night to eat the dinner Grandma had cooked because I liked it -- and he never complained. Quiet at times, highly introverted, this man shared his one interest with me. He was a baseball fan, a Cub fan actually, and we talked about them. Talked and talked about them. Listened on the radio and watched a bit on WGN. And in 1956, 1957 and 1958 he took me to Wrigley Field for eight games, memories I will always treasure. I assumed of course that he had seen the Cub pennant winners of the 30s and 40s. I found out in 1974 after he passed away that his love of baseball had been on the radio, never in the park. Never, until I wanted to go. That fact, more than anything else, remains with me nearly 35 years after his passing.

Louis loved Chicago, seen in the photo near Navy Pier, visible in the background. His willingness to be interested in what I loved, his willingness to take me to games I wanted to see, and his willingness to learn new things in a strange new world will keep him alive in my heart forever. And as I look back at the way Louis & Angela remain fresh and alive in my heart because of their unconditional love for me, I know they both taught me how to act in my most important role: they taught me how to be Poppa for my dear grandchildren. As such, they now touch the fourth generation in their posterity, and if I do this correctly, someday Louis & Angela will be touching the sixth generation. Who could ask for a better life than that?

Simpler Restoration

Excited with the success of restoring my grandmother's wonderful portrait, I turned to some other family photos that needed work, though far less-drastic work. This portrait, a nice triangle with my smiling face at the pivot, shows my Mother and Father back in the 1940s.

This image was in pretty good shape. Two corners were folded and damaged, but repairing corners is about as easy as anything in photo restoration. General dust, noise, and so forth is also pretty simple, and this one did not have too much. I worked around the edges, closing in on my face and Dad's coat and tie. One ugly crease went from Dad's collar, across the tie and the lapel of the jacket, and through my right cheek. A small portion was missing. Only about 25 minutes later, my cheek was healed and my young parents look vibrant. This is an uplifting work concept: work that yields immediate satisfaction is certainly work worth doing well.

Restoration as a Labor of Love

A true baby boomer born in late 1946, I have wonderful memories of my grandmother, the mother of my mother. Mom went back to work as a personal shopper at the fabled Marshall Field's and I spent all day with my Grandma. It has always seemed to me that she cared about me more than she cared about anyone (which may not be true but is a wonderful impression to have!) She passed away over 29 years ago and I still think of her lovingly and kindly just about every day.

When I came across the heirloom portrait, completely torn in half and carefully saved as it was, I knew that if I ever got confident in Photoshop, I would make a project out of restoring that photograph. It showed a woman I had never met, of course, young and slim and looking forward to the bulk of her life. Beautiful? Of course, I could never see anything other than beauty. And I wanted to have a complete portrait of her to cherish and to pass on to my children and grandchildren.

I put no time clock on the project. I spent as much time as I needed. And I was pleased to send complete matte-finish portraits to my son and my daughter and to my brother and my sister. I know that somehow, in heaven, my dear Grandma Angela has always known my love and respect for her. And now you know it too.

The Birds and the Bison

My vantage point for bison photography, north of the old barn on the Fermilab property, had me perhaps 25 yards from where the giant animals were feeding. Apparently at their noon meal, they paid little attention to me. After several minutes, one and then another of the bison began to move away from me and toward the south, where pens and another pasture area are located.

As they lumbered on their way, the pasture to the west, behind the bison as I watched them, was filled with thousands of geese, pecking the ground or standing still. At a moment, either triggered by the bison or coincidentally, they left. They all left. A cloud of geese, thousands of geese, squawking about being rousted, flew southeast in a cloud. Had they flown over my head, I would have felt like I was in the movie The Birds. An awesome sight.

Later, I saw some of the geese walking on water. Well, technically, walking on ice, but it sounds more dramatic the other way.

Our next post will take a different tack. Restoration of a photo of a dear loved one. A task filled with joy, coming soon.