Caffeine High

This month the legendary Caffeine Theatre did Dona Rosita by Lorca / Svich in the attic of the Athenaeum in Chicago. More than well worth the fifteen bucks. Bridget Dehl is an amazing actress. So much so that it should really be billed as “Bridget and Cast.” Despite whatever else was going on, she could always pull me in to the illusion, whether playing forty or sixty.

The work is a tour of styles and moods, riding on the train of a teenage romance that extends into a protracted long-distance relationship ending (as they all do) in betrayal. Apparently written by a poet, it’s at its most believable when sticking to prose, as the odd transitions into rhyming couplets left me scratching my head. Some of the prose (a credit to the translator) reaches that wonderful self-aware wit of the very best of theater, especially in the ensemble scenes at the center of the piece.

Jennifer Shook appears to have some idea how to direct. Beyond kudos for just finding this script, the blocking and timing is adequate at its worst, and absolutely inspired at its best; most notably in the large scene with the visiting spinsters that has the polished beat-and-rest of being rehearsed hundreds of times. Surprisingly, things are at their strongest in the complicated scenes and, not at all surprising, whenever Ms. Dehl is involved, but even the bizarre transition into a musical at the end of the first act seems to come off. I kind of took issue with the handrail-as-keyboard (there are other props on stage,) but that’s a small glitch in an otherwise purring machine.

It’s a shame that the total cast couldn’t keep up with the high bar set my Mmes Dahl and Shook. Lisa Mauch deserves credit for bringing enthusiasm and an unqualified good will to the Housekeeper, but still was enough over-the-top to make those of us outside the fourth wall wince. There is no such ambivalence in Stacy Magerkurth’s widow – just an already over-the-top role taken to a level of over-the-top that almost made me begin to doubt the believability of the redoubtable Bridget. It’s a tiny stage: take it down a peg or three. Call me a heretic, but not all of us ascribe to the yelling-and-screaming school of theater. That and the unrepentant Texan in me wonders that there isn’t a Hispanic anywhere near the production.

The biggest hole, unfortunately, is the title character. While Dana Black’s Rosita would be fine in a less central role, there’s a stiffness and discomfort there that sits well outside the role of a lovestruck teenager, and about six extra inches of height that have to be acted around. But most egregiously, having wooed my share of sixteen-year-old girls, I can assure you that the absolute last thing you want is one that has the voice of a chain-smoking taxi dispatcher. Innocence lost requires the illusion of innocence (and cute wouldn’t hurt.) The final scene would be incredible if our hearts were breaking as well as hers. All a cynical old man like me asks is a girl to fall in love with.

The music is effective, Danne Taylor is understated excellence, and despite a precipitous fall in story arc the whole thing is a fantastic step for a company so young.
Besides, I’d pay to see Bridget Dehl iron in character.

It’s just a good thing that no one critiques surgery centers . . . .