The play sets up a very powerful beginning as we hear a veritable symphony of the workplace. It begins slowly as the lights fade up, then builds to a crescendo of typewriter and ticker-tape noise, slamming file cabinet doors, greetings, sneezes and yawns. Welcome to the machine.
Here are Helen's coworkers. Soon we will meet Helen's boss and learn that he wants to marry her. A creative set design choice places Helen's 'workstation' (a single chair) on the apron, the front of the stage.
This transitions easily into Helen's near-schizophrenic soliloquy in which we learn that she does not want to marry Mr. George H. Jones & Company, and that she is not particularly stable. Differential lighting sets her apart from the rest of the stage, and her coworkers' movements slowly cease as a ringing noise pipes up. Notice how little of what I've had to say so far is about the scripted play itself–and this is only the first scene.
The decision to cast four actresses in the part of Helen was made by the director, Manu Mukasa. Though not indicated in the script, the play has been performed with as many as seven Helens. The 'Helen-switch' always occurs between scenes, on the apron, distracting the audience from the elaborate set change that is taking place behind the scrim. In addition to their function, these Helen-switches yield, arguably, the most emotionally charged moments in the play. Ironic, since they are not actually in the play.
Helen marries George, goes to bed with him and bears him a child. She meets a man in a bar and has an affair. She murders her husband, goes on trial, confesses and is executed. This is all that happens.
The pathos, the tragedy and yes, even the comedy, comes from what is done with it. The script is not entirely barren, but it is sparse and arid. What saves it is the time and attention put into it by its cast, its director and its various designers. These people bled for this play, and it shows.
Yet another fabulous choice by Mukasa was the addition of the bailiff's monologue at the beginning of the courtroom scene, depicting the trial as a boxing match between the prosecuting and defense attorneys. This brought to life an otherwise very slow-moving scene, lending itself to the hilarious consequence of having to physically restrain the lawyers from coming to blows. This is not to imply that it detracted from the emotion of the confession; rather, it deepened the complexity of the scene, while simultaneously allowing for a rather chilling commentary on the justice system.
The acting was impeccable. The striking sound design by KT Buechner '04 was rivaled by the brilliant lighting concept by lighting designer Michael Baumgarten. The seamless quality of the costuming by Marni Grambau '04 belied the considerable thought and effort that went into it.
Last, but by no means least, the set design by Tristan Jeffers '03 set a new standard for Amherst theater with its careful attention to symmetry, variety and originality. The combination was pure visual harmony.
One thing that can be said of the script is that it showed how powerfully a story could be told, not in a clear linear fashion, but as a series of distinct vignettes. In my experience of the play, I was fortunate enough to see yet another vignette after the play had ended. As Jeffers, Mukasa, alumni cast member Bernard Bygott '02, stage manager Jonathan Dunkman '05, and several other cast and crew members embraced, talked and laughed together after the show, they revealed beyond a doubt, as Grambau so humbly put it, that "ultimately, the strength of this show was in its collaboration." They were still engaged in a dialogue, still excited about the project and about working with one another. It is easy to see from this 'vignette' how a show as powerfully moving as this one came to be.
"Let the show speak for itself" Mukasa wisely instructed me-and indeed it did … but not in the voice of playwright Sophie Treadwell. Rather, this play spoke-shouted-sang, in the voice of its collaborators.