Summertree

Critiqued by Holly Bartges

Ron Cowen’s Summertree takes stream of consciousness to a new level. Written when he was only 22 years old, Cowan penetrates his take and reaction to the Vietnam War. So universal in its concept, it can and does apply to any war: World War I and II, The Spanish American War, The Civil War, Afghanistan, The Gulf War, Iraq.

Jeffrey Hass and Missy Moore in Miner Alley’s production of Summertree Photo Credit: Sarah Roshan

Summertree doesn’t care who is right, who is wrong. Summertree concerns itself with the universal strain war causes by a noose placed around the neck of families, individually and collectively. It reaches deep within the human psyche tied up in specific knots with a stylistic approach, and in an explicit nature of humanity. Erasing time and space allows the mind to do what it does naturally, remembering what it wants to when it wants to.

The characters representing Everyman don’t have names. Every son struggling with life’s direction, every father aching for his son to do what he wants him to be and do, every mother clinging to the little boy, thrilled at the man he’s becoming, standing between opposing ideals, between the man she dearly loves and the little boy growing up in front of her eyes.

Somewhere on a battlefield, a Young Man, mortally wounded divorces himself from the pain of dying, reliving selected moments not trapped by time and space. He sees himself sitting under a beloved old tree in his backyard, embracing and reliving priceless moments sparked by ideological differences between a father he loves, a father who angers him, and a mother who dotes on him.

Directed by Wendy Moore, Summertree comes to vibrant life on the stage of Miners Alley Playhouse. It’s an important play not to be missed because of the story it tells, and the powerful presentation.

The simplistic set designed by Sarah Roshan, Jerome Stiller, and Rick Bernstein gives the old beloved tree a highlighted place of honor. If only trees could talk, what wondrous webbed tales they could spin.

Jeffrey Haas embraces the Young Man with a sense of knowing, a deep rooted sense of humanity, raging hormones, idealistic and naive dreams, longing to please his father, aching for his father to be proud of him, knowing when to give way to teasing humor, playing with a neighbor boy, remembering poignant moments when he was a boy. The little boy lives within the Young Man and he squiggles with pain, honoring who he is, who he will never become, and what he dreamed to be. Haas gives a memorable performance timing his slide from one emotion to another. Each memory of the Young Man cloaks itself in its own astounding emotion. Haas knows when and where to let his eyes shine with explosive fun, when to shut down in pensive thought, when to revel in the joy of loving and being loved, and when to release the anguish of anger.

Shawn Cremer takes on Little Boy who sometimes is a neighbor, sometimes the Young Man as a child. So intertwined are the two; sometimes he’s one, sometimes the other, sometimes both. Cramer, a second year student at the Denver School of the Arts, makes his professional acting debut in Summertree. Remember his name. He is definitely one actor to watch. Cremer shows a grand artistic grasp for climbing inside a character. Little Boy, a difficult role to play, never confusing who he is and when.

John Lodico shows a remarkable natural believability in his stage presence as Father. A natural stylistic stiffness plays into his Every Father role reiterating who holds the purse strings, reiterating responsibility, obligations, making lots of friends who can do things for you, a tough concept to grasp for carefree college students in love with life. When dreams of father and son clash, or father and daughter for that matter, a wall of frozen butter builds. Frozen butter because at any time the wall can melt if enough warmth is applied: warmth, compassion, and understanding. Only in this instance, time runs out. Father will teach Young Man a lesson by George! Young Man ran away once from Camp, and he will not have his son running away again. Never mind the little boy never wanted to go to camp. Responsibility is responsibility. In a quiet moment, he confesses to his wife, “I don’t know how to talk to him”. How about talking with him? A lesson Father learned too late. Not too late for those who listen and hear.

Priscilla Young’s stylistic stiffly controlled approach to Mother accomplishes exactly what Mother needs to achieve: peace in the family, peace between the two men she loves most. Wanting to keep the little boy safe, close to her, proud of her growing up son. So many things to remind him to do: “brush your teeth, comb your hair, be nice, change your underwear every day, do your homework, be tolerant of your father, don’t leave me.”

Summertree is a story about the affect war showers itself on one’s life, on every life. Summertree explores electric tension sizzling between father and son, smoldering between mother and son, simmering between Mother and Father.

As a musician Young Man dreams of going to the School of Music. Father will pay for college, but not for that. Dreams of a scholarship get buried in the roots of the old tree. The family has too much money to warrant a scholarship. OK, he’ll work part-time and attend the music school part-time opening up to the risk of being drafted.

Priscilla Young and Shawn Cremer in Miner Alley’s production of Summertree. Photo Credit: Sarah Roshan

His girl friend, Girl, Missy Moore, loves him dearly as long as he’s right there. Of course, she’ll support him in whatever decision he makes. It thrills her that their song, which he recorded for her, is a classical piano piece. Letters are a dreadful way to keep communication warm and close. When he’s far away, he writes every day, He’s there. She’s here. There are things she wants to do, places she wants to be. Letters can’t compete with the here and now. Moore brings to the scene a fun-loving girl with dreams of her own “smooshed” together with a happy go-lucky love of life, and a legitimate love for Young Man. She’s young, maturity knocks at her door. Letters can’t compete with real life, real boys, real invitations, and real adventures. She reads his letters, but stops writing.

Young Boy digs around the roots of the old tree. Young Man remembers doing that, eventually realizing he can’t uncover the roots that are as big as the tree itself. If he did, he understands the tree will fall. He remembers wanting to dig to the other side of the world, (Didn’t we all?)

Summertree stands as an honest crucial play and will be a hundred years from now as it is now, as it was in the 60’s. It speaks to the imperative and tenuous relationship between father and son, mother and son, father and mother. How easy to impose thoughts onto someone else. How easy to unravel the fabric of life. How fragile family ties can be. How easy relationships can be mended when attention is given.

He’s been gone three years now. Father hangs a swing on a large branch of the old tree, a red swing, because that’s the way it came. Mother thinks she’s too old for a swing. For one brief glorious moment she finds herself flying through the air, laughing, free as a bird, and then remembers. What once was, now gone, can never be replaced. After three years she still thinks of herself as a mother.

Periodically Soldier appears dressed in combat gear, his face blackened in camouflage. He’s serious. He means business. Jonny Schroeder encompasses Solider with an uncomfortable frightening reality. Soldier wants to be there. Young Man doesn’t. Soldier will do whatever he’s told to do, standing proud. Music doesn’t play in his soul, at least not now.

An unexpected trip to school, Father goes because Mother wrestles with a concern. Mother? Or does Father hide behind Mother’s skirt? Far easier to be courageous expressing someone else’s uneasiness. Well, she thinks he’s spending too much time with his roommate. Of course, Father means well, even through his thick headedness, but the son must stop seeing the roommate, get his own apartment. It matters little they are good friends. And, well, they think he’s queer. Young man hates his father so much he could kill him, and he loves him.

When the life-blood flows from Young Man, the memories remain, the tree stands tall.

The stylistic approach emphasizes the universality of Summertree, emphasizes the Everyman story. Forty years later the truth of the fragility of family ties stands as tall and honest as the summertree.

Not to be missed by anyone who values the fragility of human ties, whether it be family, friends, girlfriends, or boyfriends. Not to be missed because of the suburb cast grasping their characters’ significance of what they do and why. Not to be missed because Summertree is a Now story. What they learned too late, can still be learned, celebrated, and appreciated.

Summertree
Regional Premier
By Ron Cowan
Directed by Wendy Moore