It has been argued that Thomas Hardy's The Mayor of Casterbridge suffered from over-infused meaning in its content, and trivializes what art can do. Though a favorite of mine, the questions about art and meaning that are implicated in Hardy's classic are hard to ignore. They were brought to mind once again by Everyman Theatre's production of Slow Dance on the Killing Floor.
Baltimore's Everyman Theatre, consistent with its impressive performances, took on William Hanley's 1964 play, one that has largely been forgotten since the 60s. Though director Jennifer L. Nelson is to be applauded for her attempt to bring back a forgotten, edgy, and thoughtful drama, the piece is too dated to succeed with a modern audience.
The play takes place entirely in the dusty old candy store belonging to Mr. Glas (played by Stanley Weiman), where three characters confront each other and end up talking through the night. Mr. Glas, the German immigrant who's wife and child were killed during the Holocaust, seems content running and living in his store in solitude. His life is disrupted by the appearance of Randall (Brandon Price, in his Baltimore stage debut), an African-American teenager who bursts in late one night, apparently on the run from the law. A few hours later, a second visitor, Rosie (Kathleen Coons), a Jewish college student, stumbles in, lost in her search for an abortionist.
The strength of Hanley's play rests in his emphasis on well-drawn, realistic characters. They come to life on the stage, they interest and intrigue us, they elicit our sympathy. As the story unfolds, the characters gives their soul-baring monologue, and in doing so the three gain a supposedly profound understanding of each other. Different people through and through, what they share is a life tormented by secrets, and the catharsis provided by their interaction is clearly a healing force, though in the end, there is a looming sense of fate, that each character must bear his or her burden.
That the scenario is contrived can be forgiven, but the setup and topic of conversation often feel so archaic that they considerably detract from the play's philosophical center. Forty years ago, the interactions of a Jew, a black man, and an old white guy would be a daring rebuff of comfortable, middle-class assumptions. The discussion of abortion, in particular, is difficult for a modern audience to swallow.
That being said, the show carries well through the first and second acts, largely due to the strong performances by all three players. Brandon Price is utterly convincing in the portrayal of his Jekyll and Hyde character, though it would be nice if he chose less of a ghetto-pimp Erkel voice to accompany his "self-induced schizophrenia."
Stan Weiman is perfect as the weary and despondent Glas, played with an effective understatement that reflects his desire not to speak of his past. Glas has hardened over the years, and Weiman knows exactly when this begins to break down, and how to show it.
Kathleen Coons provides comic relief with her heavy New York accent and frantic demeanor. Though at first she seems to be quite the "square," once the wig comes off, we learn that she too has another dimension. As the tension is ratcheted up towards the end, Coons' Rosie transitions to the voice of the audience, concerned and anxious.
It is the third act that I really take issue with, and does no justice to neither the well written beginning, nor the performances on display. In an awfully contrived manner, the struggles of the three are packaged neatly into one message that the audience can be fed, as if the interactions of these people couldn't hold the interest of the audience on its own. Rather than have Mr. Glas symbolically light the candle, Hanley should have taken one of his own characters' advice: that sometimes things just have to be the way they are, without a meaningful resolution that puts everything in place.
