ARTS

Pelican brings out stunning talent from its depths

Stefan Betz Bloom

It can't really be said that seeing The Pelican makes for a particularly good time. August Strindberg's 1907 drama of family secrets and parental negligence isn't exactly a whole lot of fun, and sernior Brad De Cecco's production (De Cecco both directed and translated the play from the original Swedish) doesn't make very many attempts to lighten the mood, or give the audience much to laugh about. But while the total absence of humor makes for a sometimes heavy-handed show, the play's levels of psychological depth and the skill of the presentation leave a powerful impression. reassurance

The Fourth Opus of Strindberg's Chamber Plays (plays designed to mimic chamber music's form and tone), The Pelican details a family's implosion following the death of the patriarch, as long-buried truths come to light in the wake of painful changes.

At the story's center is the mother and widow, Elise, who may or may not have been responsible for her husband's death. Her son, Fredrik, and maid, Margaret (sophomore Blythe Phillips), both hold her responsible, while her daughter, Gerda, takes a more charitable view of her mother. Gerda's new husband, Axel, is also fond of his mother-in-law, and the newlyweds plan to move in with Elise in the family's apartment, a development that Fredrik finds less than thrilling.

While the tone of the play is probably best described as heavy (while it never veers into camp, at times the production comes alarmingly close), the play's narrative drive is the more conventional, and perhaps less intellectually esteemed, device of the mystery. What keeps you watching is the ever-unfolding web of deceit and lies that the characters discover their lives to be cloaked in, and the unraveling of past events to learn how the present came to be. The Pelican is essentially a kind of Chamber Noir, full of double-crossings and hidden agendas, and despite its cerebral, intellectual trappings, what's underneath is an intense and absorbing character study.

The production's biggest risk, and its biggest successs is the degree to which De Cecco brings out and heightens the levels of sexual tension between the characters (except for the maid, who, after one scene, is gone), all of whom seem more than slightly unwholesome in their dealings with one another. In the final scene, when Gerda and Fredrik clutch at each other for comfort, there's a sense of redemption, but also a deeply creepy intimation of some kind of incestuous relationship (even if it's only emotional), that adds entirely new levels of weirdness to the family's internal affairs.

All of this repressed tension, sexual and otherwise, requires skillful acting, and, for the most part, the cast is successful. As Fredrik, first-year Patrick Mulrayn creates a moving, if somewhat one-note, portrait of a man collapsing under the weight of his past, self-destructing when he knows he should know better.

Sophomore Rebecca Lincoln is especially good as the willfully ignorant Gerda. And despite some effective moments, Carl Buffett's Axel seems mostly cartoonish in his menace (the character, however, doesn't seem to be written with a whole lot of depth). The center of the play is the mother, and college senior Monica Flory is excellent in the part, although her character loses much of her depth in the play's final scenes. A woman who cannot (or will not) hold herself responsible for the wrongs she's committed, Elise is a figure of both contempt and pity, and Flory manages to make the audience both sympathize with and loathe her�- an impressive feat.

In his Director's Notes, De Cecco writes, "To understand this play, one must accept the reality of dreams," and, to a large extent, it's important to realize that The Pelican can't be taken quite literally - it's almost a kind of fable, clever but unsubtle. While this kind of stylization gives the play a general relevance that it might not otherwise have, it also pushes it towards melodrama

Toward the end, as the final secrets are revealed and things start to come undone, the tone of the play shifts toward a kind of forced hysteria that seems discordant with the heavy, measured tone of the rest of the show. Fortunately, it never crosses the line into outright self-parody and manages to be affecting in any case. However the play's too-neat conclusion undercuts its emotional power.

Despite these problems, The Pelican is a complex and engaging piece of work, well-staged (the set and lighting are particularly admirable) and acted. And while it's not much fun in the normal sense of the term, it's satisfying in way that not many plays at Oberlin are.

The Pelican goes up in Little Theater tonight and Saturday night at 8 p.m. and Saturday at 2 p.m. Tickets are $2 for students, $3 for OC staff and Senior Citizens and $4 for general public. All tickets are $2 more at the door.


Photo:
Reassurance: Sophomore Rebecca Lincoln and first-year Patrick Mulryan pose (photo by Brad DeCecco)

 

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Copyright © 1998, The Oberlin Review.
Volume 126, Number 22, April 24, 1998

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