Opening
Nights

In the Book Of

Taproot Theatre, 204 N. 85th St., 
781-9705, taproottheatre.org. $20–$40. 
7:30 p.m. Wed.–Thurs., 8 p.m. Fri., 
2 & 8 p.m. Sat. Ends April 26.

You might think In the Book Of would have a short shelf-life. Written by John Walch on commission for the 2012 Alabama Shakespeare Festival, the play is hyper-topical, grappling directly with the war in Afghanistan, Tea Party politics, and immigration. Despite this, Walch’s script manages to feel timeless, at least in the hands of this able cast, directed by Scott Nolte.

It might have something to do with the fact that Walch’s play was inspired by the Old Testament’s Book of Ruth, in which the titular character, a widowed stranger in the land of Israelites, adopts her persecutors’ God as her own. Here our stranger is an Afghan woman named Anisah (Carolyn Marie Monroe), a former translator for the U.S. military who’s brought to small-town Mississippi for protection by retired Lieutenant Naomi Watkins (Allison Strickland). Both women are war widows, and, in the play’s most moving moments, they bond over their common grief. It’s a credit to the actresses that their stage accents—Monroe’s broken English, Strickland’s Southern drawl—don’t get in the way here.

However, the rest of Broxton isn’t so welcoming. The Muslim Anisah experiences xenophobia, most vehemently from Naomi’s former sister-in-law Gail (a spirited Pam Nolte), who also happens to be running for mayor as a Tea Party–style outsider. Gail turns the family turmoil into political hay and focuses her campaign on sweeping illegals—possibly including Anisah—out of the country. Gail is just the type of sideshow barker created by populist politics and FOX News. She’s blinded by ambition and married to gimmickry (in this case her corn broom).

As the election approaches, however, the young widow Anisah finds kindness from Gail’s adult son Bo Jr. (Kevin Pitman). Suddenly family threatens to trump hot-button politics, and hard choices must be made. The play’s topicality falls away, and we’re left with a family of complicated, likable characters and a play that does them justice. Mark Baumgarten

PA Midsummer Night’s Dream

McCaw Hall, 321 Mercer St. (Seattle Center), 441-2424, pnb.org. $28–$174. 
7:30 p.m. Thurs.–Fri., 2 & 7:30 p.m. Sat. 
Ends April 19.

Opening night at Pacific Northwest Ballet last weekend was its 101st performance of George Balanchine’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. PNB first presented the work in 1985, has toured it nationally and internationally, and even made a film of it for the BBC in 1999. It’s become a calling card for the company, and a great way to gauge its artistic health. This production is all about new casting, with 28 people stepping into new roles—10 of them last Saturday afternoon alone. (Keeping the different choreography for multiple roles separate in their heads is a skill that almost everyone in the company must master.)

With three sets of earthly couples falling in and out of love, a quarreling king and queen of the fairies, a roiling band of dimwitted actors, plus butterflies, bugs, and retainers, there are more than enough parts to go around. Balanchine manages to tell Shakespeare’s story in just over an hour, and the action is indeed brisk. But this leaves the second act for a more formal exploration of idealized love, with one of his most beautiful pas de deux at its center.

Benjamin Griffiths continues to refine his technique as Oberon, translating precision into power. James Moore’s debut in the role worked in that same vein—they both assert their authority through detail. As their Titanias, Lesley Rausch and Laura Tisserand are equally wild and queenly. Kiyon Gaines sharpened his visual focus as Puck, especially in his asides to the audience, while adding a goofy Lysander to his repertoire. Lindsi Dec and Jessika Anspach debuted as Helenas opposite two new Demetriuses, William Lin-Yee and Joshua Grant. Balanchine’s kinetic equivalent of that relationship (Helena tells Demetrius to “treat me as you would your dog”) is full of thrashing temper on his part and heedless devotion on hers, stopping short of actual violence.

The Act 2 Divertissement pas de deux knits together several movement themes from various characters in Act 1: the lovers’ twining arms, Titania’s daring plunge into a deep arabesque, and her multiple changes of direction throughout a single extension. Kaori Nakamura has performed this duet several times in the past—she and Seth Orza make long phrases out of these elements that ebb and flow organically, so that the audience is holding its collective breath by the end, as they shift through an exquisitely arched back-bend. It’s a beautiful contrast to Titania’s Act 1 duet with Bottom transformed to an ass—the fairy queen turns in arabesque while holding onto his impressively large snout. Sandra Kurtz

Tails of Wasps

ACT Theatre, 700 Union St., 292-7660, 
acttheatre.org. $15–$30. 8 p.m. Thurs.–Sun. Plus Mon., April 21. Ends April 27.

We haven’t had a sex scandal in Seattle politics since God knows when. Partly for that reason, local playwright Stephanie Timm places her short new four-act in a very generic setting. Newly elected suburban congressman Frank Davis (Paul Morgan Stetler) isn’t a Democrat or Republican, and he doesn’t have any positions besides fighting the good fight. After the victory party, he’s returned to his hotel room—ringed by us 100 spectators in three banks of bleachers set close to the action—with his loyal campaign aide Rachel (Brenda Joyner) on what’s effectively her last night of employment. She throws herself at him, and the lights go out. (I’m compressing slightly.)

In the next three acts we meet three more women, each visiting the same hotel room with Frank, though not necessarily during the same night. (In fact, about five years pass.) Each vignette echoes the others, with repeated gestures, lines, and grapplings on the bed. There’s a hand job and a kick to the nuts. Booze is consumed, and confessions of alcoholism—among other admissions—are made. Fake names are used. The goddamn phone keeps ringing at inappropriate times, as if someone’s fucking with Frank’s head. Timm writes parallel structures for these episodes, but there’s also an overarching circularity to them. Frank never really leaves the hotel room; it’s a kind of purgatory for him, an arena for the eternal recurrence of his lust. His punishment isn’t just the shame but the irresistible repetition. (Bill Clinton and Eliot Spitzer are obvious inspirations here.)

And yet, Timm makes women—two of them paid—the enablers and even instigators in Tails of Wasps (the title’s a nod to A Winter’s Tale). Certainly Rachel is attempting to seduce; she’s no Lewinsky-style lackey. She has the intelligence and self-awareness (plus a fiance) to consider her actions, as Frank does not. And if the hookers are there for the money, they also get the better of Frank, who remains somewhat maddeningly opaque to us. He’s got no political views, no real qualities besides looking good in a suit and having a near-constant hard-on. He can’t be a tragic figure without greatness; nor can we even pity a shallow guy who’s lived his life by teleprompter. He says he’s a sex addict, but addiction is a poor substitute for character onstage.

Battling against this blank, Timm’s actresses fare better; yet their isolation—one per act, never meeting—dilutes the potential drama. (Darragh Kennan directs this very committed New Century Theatre Company production, with Betsy Schwartz, Sylvie Davidson, and Hannah Mootz rounding out the cast.) Each time the lights went down, cued by the phone or a knock on the door, I expected a mob of reporters to burst in. But no. We’re told of a press conference, of hasty speeches and damage control, yet Wasps excludes the outside world. Frank is trapped with himself; and worse, we’re trapped with him, too. Brian Miller

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