Harvey

Critiqued by Holly Bartges

The loveable six and a half foot white rabbit, a shape shifting pooka, Harvey, temporarily took up residence at the Highlands Historical Church under the direction of Presley Conkle for the Curtains Up Theatre Company. Because Harvey evidently has other engagements, it’s a short run.

Curtain Up’s production of Harvey Photo Credit: Eric Franklin

Aaron Paschall brings Harvey to life with his enchanting portrayal of Elwood P. Dowd. Because Paschall believes in Elwood, the audience can sense, feel, imagine Harvey breathing down their necks right there in their midst.

In the Fellowship Hall of the historic church, the audience sits at tables in cabaret style with coffee, water, soft drinks, spirits from a bar that folds into the show, popcorn, jellybeans (ah, wondrous black licorice and chocolate bunnies. (Do enjoy the jellybeans, but leave the bunnies in tact. No cheating on the ears.), During Intermission members of the cast serve a variety of cakes and cookies.

A picture of Harvey and Elwood appears above the mantle of the Dowd home in the midst of Act II.  Harvey looks exactly as he is imagined. He’s delicious (No, no one tried to eat his ears.)

Necessary pre-show announcements (turn off the cell phones), but sometimes aggravatingly long, is creatively handled by Elwood and Bartender, Curt O’Hara.

The highly functional and creative set designed by Technical Director, Eric Franklin, engulfed the main stage as the sanitarium dressed in appropriate static, clinical white. A garden outside sits at the foot of the stage. Stage left, O’Hara attends bar for the audience and Elwood. On stage right is the illusion of the Dowd home. The use of space is wisely and grandly used for characters to appear in the midst of the audience.

As endearing as Paschall is as Elwood, and delicious as Elwood invents Harvey, there are some elements that gravely need attention.

The characters have one foot in the play and one foot in real time distracting from the intent of the production. Most of the actors play to the audience. In some plays this is a deliberate playwright move, but this isn’t the way Denver’s Mary Chase wrote Harvey. From the side of the actors, the fourth wall is completely eliminated with the intent of the characters addressing, flirting, and speaking directly to the audience. It’s inappropriate for professional actors to speak to the audience when their lines indicate they are speaking to characters standing right behind or next to them. The production comes across as actors reading lines for characters rather than living their parts.

Why?

Chase wrote Harvey in 1944, a time when American became greatly interested in Freud’s development of shock therapy in the 1920’s, a controversial psychiatric treatment from the beginning. Chase chose to address the issue employing a much loved childhood memory of three Irish uncles entertaining her with Celtic folklore, including the pooka, an elemental spirit who could appear as a horse, a dog, or a rabbit.

Aaron Paschall as Elwood P. Dowd Photo Credit: Eric Franklin

For a play written in 1944, to be believable, there has to be a fourth wall. To take Harvey out of the 1944 time period destroys the significance of the play. Dr. Chumley, (Gary Crow-Willard), head of the sanitarium, chomps at the bit to try his newly developed serum on a patient. When he injects Elwood with the serum, Elwood will forget Harvey ever existed, a happy solution to a most embarrassing situation. In today’s society, that would be sadly out of line.

Harvey’s plot is really very simple. Elwood, a simple man, decided it was better to be pleasant rather than smart because his mother told him he could be one or the other, but not both. After his mother died, Elwood’s sister, Veta (Dessa Baxman), and his niece, Myrtle Mae, (Elizabeth Sheron) move in with Elwood. One small problem. No one told them about Harvey, the six and a half foot white rabbit they couldn’t see. Eager for pseudo-society’s approval, Veta arranges to have Elwood committed. End of story, except playwrights often find addressing a serious issue with a comedic bent. The result is upside down confusion, jumping to conclusions, misidentifications, and misunderstandings. Veta gets committed. Elwood and Harvey are doing their normal roaming thing. No one can find them.

Yes, Harvey, a comedy is deliciously fun, enchanting, cloaked in stunning laughability, but it does not call for every actor to exercise his/her comedic wings. Slapstick does not have a place in this classic story. Most of the actors not only play directly to the audience, but also emphasize how funny their situation is. When an actor points to the self and says, “Look at me. Aren’t I funny? The answer is always a resounding “No”.  Can an actor playing a character stand inches from the audience and respect the fourth wall? You bet.

The costumes, designed by Conkle, Tammy Franklin, and, Mary Link prove confusing. Some of the outfits look to be 1944’s, specifically, the women, although some are questionable. Most of the men look like they just arrived home from work.

In the beginning we find Veta in the midst of one of her pseudo-society affairs. Myrtle sports a lovely laced short black dress. OK for the party, but for the entire play? At one point when the main action takes place at the sanitarium, Myrtle Mae moves to the settee at home, stretches out and reads. In her party dress? Aunt Ethel, (Krista Rayne Reckner) who really isn’t an aunt at all, appears at the party in a gorgeous long red dress.

Leaving, she wanders into Charley’s Bar, a favorite haunt for Elwood and Harvey. Ok, she goes to the bar, but remains dressed in the gorgeous red gown throughout the entire play. Wasn’t she able to get off the stool to go home?  It was a major distraction during Act I, but when she appeared in the gorgeous red gown during Act II, I had to shake my head. Had Ethel died and not told anyone? Why wasn’t a costume change brought into focus? Ok, the play takes place in one day ending shortly after 10:00 PM. Veta had time to change clothes. Is this really suppose to be Aunt Ethel, or is it suppose to be a bar customer? These are the questions that consume a critic when the leaves just don’t shake off the tree the way in normal fashion. It’s a Charley Brown “snow falls up” moment.

A small technical problem squeaks with the 1944 setting. When the actors whipped out ballpoint pens, my antennae’s shot straight up. Hungarian brothers, Ladislas and Georg Biro invented the pens in 1938, but they weren’t in common use until sometime later. Fountain pens were the thing. This may be a small thing, but these small digressions in a production take center stage striking me right in the middle of the forehead. This may not matter to the audience, but I am not your “Average Bear “ audience, and I expect production companies, professional and community, to take vital research necessary.  The truth is, before I remember Paschall’s endearing Elwood, I will remember inappropriate party dresses and ballpoint pens.

Conkle’s over eager direction brought up a great deal of confusion. When most of the action takes place at the sanitarium, the action on stage right and stage left growled immense distraction. First with Myrtle Mae sauntering in and out with her party dress to stretch out and read, and second, having the maid whip through the Dowd home flicking her feather duster. Action out of the corner of the eye demands attention, taking away from what is going on right in front. The bar activity is kept to a minimum, except for the gorgeous red dress. If Conkle wanted to indicate life continues with what the sanitarium offers, it’s a cool idea that doesn’t work. If the stage right, stage left action goes unnoticed, what a waste of time and energy for the actors.

Jason Griffith as Dr. Sanderson needs aging makeup greatly. He’s far too young, action-wise and physically to be believable as a psychiatrist. His flirting with the audience may be fun for the audience, but takes the play out of context, and we’re back to actors reading lines pretending to pretend.

Yea, flirting with the audience. Most of the characters speak directly to the audience instead of the characters their lines are meant for. Not only do they speak directly to the audience, they turn every character into a funny man on a spree. It becomes the actors saying. “Look at me. Aren’t I funny?” No, matter of fact.

Torrey Jenkins as the cab driver, E. J. Lofgren, grandly holds his own with his short stint on stage at the end of the play, except... Except he spoke all of his lines directly to the audience with the people he was suppose to be talking to standing behind him.

The over indulged attempt at being funny marred the scenery. The play is pure comedy. The characters aren’t.  Crow-Willard as Chumley, Baxman as Veta, Sheron as Myrtle Mae, Stephanie Hrgich as Nurse Kelly, Griffith as Dr. Sanderson, Dutch Shindler as Judge Gaffney, all go overboard forcing comedy, where comedy doesn’t exist. What was really stunning to me was with the overindulged forced acting going on, Paschall remained consistent with his wondrous Elwood.

In spite of the comfortable cabaret setting, what this production reminded me of was a Church Family Night romp just to kick up some heels and have a good time, rather than a serious production of a classic comedy. There is no question Harvey embodies some sound actors, who somehow got lead down a primrose path into a world of slapstick. Am I glad I went? You bet? Do I recommend it? Yes, indeed. If for no other reason than to experience Paschall’s endearing Elwood, and to catch a glimpse of the loveable Harvey whom I know brushed by several times.

Harvey
By Mary Chase; Directed by Presley Conkle