Hairy Ape; explores the jungle of the soul

Posted on Nov 23, 2009 in Reviews | Comments Off on Hairy Ape; explores the jungle of the soul

By Lawrence Enscoe

Stage lights cut across Yank Smith, who stands like a Neanderthal king in a creaking steamship stokehole. Yank’s muscles twist and glisten as he snarls his ferocious insults, spitting them out like rotten meat.

All around him are shadowy, apelike men, hooting and shrieking as they drag their knuckles across the coal-layered floor.

Above, a millionaire with blond hair and a snow-white dress struts and pecks her way across the deck. She caws and squawks, preening herself and cocking an eye from side to side as she listens to the noise below deck.

These are the opening images in Berkeley Repertory’s arresting rendition of Eugene O’Neill’s “The Hairy Ape” at Theatre Artaud. It’s the third installment in the Rep’s O’Neill celebration, and the company’s first production in San Francisco.

“The Hairy Ape” is full of turbulent, assaulting stage pictures, and vivid performances that play in your mind long after you’re winding your way out of San Francisco’s fraying warehouse district.

A capacity crowd watched this seldom-performed O’Neill expressionistic masterpiece about one man’s search for his place in the world.

Yank (Sam Tsoutsoulvas) is a brutish, ignorant coal stoker who rudely discovers that he doesn’t “fit in” to the world above deck that he’s a “hairy ape.”

Yank is enraged at. this Insight, and when his ship docks in New York, he’ cuts a swath of violence across the city. -He assaults wealthy churchgoers on Fifth A venue and is thrown in jail. He breaks out, and attempts to join the “Wobblies,” who he sees as subversive. They beat him up and toss him out on the street.

Finally, Yank ends up at the city zoo confessing to a lone, frightened gorilla, who he finally sees as his compatriot. When Yank frees the primate, it crushes him to death and throws him into the cage. Heavy-handed, yes, but not without a certain satisfaction.

Director George Ferencz underscores O’Neill’s departure from realism by creating odd rhythms for the dialogue, and portraying many of the characters as animals – apes and birds, depending on their social position. It may not be what O’Neill intended, but it certainly makes for striking theater.

The only problem with Ferencz’s stage metaphor is he doesn’t use it consistently. In several scenes the characters are all human, which makes the device seem more for effect than substance.

Yet, however inconsistent the show’s concept may be, the problems disappear when Tsoutsoulvas is onstage – which is most of the time. His turbulent, hammering delivery doesn’t allow the audience to see anything but what he wants it to. His chiseled presence saps energy from anyone who shares Artaud’s cavernous stage with him.

A Juilliard-trained actor who has worked on Broadway, Tsoutsoulvas is relentless as he assaults O’Neill’s vibrant street language, snapping it apart into raw edges. There isn’t one weak moment in his performance.

Tsoutsoulvas is supported by a strong ensemble. Stacey Jack is excellent as the rich do-gooder Mildred Douglas, who sets Yank on fire. Her husky voice holds up well in the whirlwind around her, and her birdlike pantomime is flawless.

In a cameo as Mildred’s snooty Aunt, Barbara Oliver is marvelous with her sharp command of O’Neill’s language, punctuated with squawks and chirps. John Abele is compelling as the avian Second Engineer – complete with a fluttery mating dance with Jack – and as the gorilla.

Max Roach’s score folds neatly into the play, with passages of ethereal guitar meanderings, expertly played by Dimitri Vandellos, tumbling into thundering percussion performed by Michael Bruno.

Michael Cawelti’s fight direction is the best I’ve seen on a Bay Area stage in sometime; it’s a stylized violence that’s never out of controL.  Peter Maradudin’s moody lighting is superb.

Artaud’s cannery-turned-theater is the perfect choice for this production. Dusty, high-framed windows disappear into high shadows, giving some perspective on mankind’s tiny tragedies.