By Ciara LaVelle
By Jose D. Duran
By Kat Bein
By Juan Barquin
By Ciara LaVelle
By George Martinez
By Kat Bein
By Ciara LaVelle
Brian Friel, one of Ireland's premier dramatists, built a repertoire over the past 30 years that includes Philadelphia, Here I Come!, Translations, and the Tony Award-winning Dancing at Lughnasa. Sharing the themes of communication, memory, identity, and exile with his other plays, Faith Healer, written in 1979, also explores the ordeal of being an artist blessed with a talent that is both an inspiration and an affliction.
The drama consists of four monologues delivered by three characters, none of whom appear on stage at the same time. This deceptively simple structure allows Frank, an itinerant healer who is part con man-part miracle worker, to speak first, followed by his wife, Grace, his manager, Teddy, and then Frank again. In rich, anecdotal language that shifts seamlessly from memory to self-delusion to confession, each monologue offers different recollections of the same events during the trio's twenty-year relationship. Traveling the back roads of Scotland and Wales in a van, they bring one-night "performances" of Frank's healing powers A which sometimes work for him but just as often fail him A to the blind, the crippled, the rejected, and the maimed. By the final monologue, an exquisitely textured tableau of a complex life together emerges -- a life, as Frank describes it, "always balanced somewhere between the absurd and the momentous."
I was not surprised to read in the program that Friel published short stories early in his career. Combining the poetry and potency of Celtic names, keenly observed details about people and places, and numerous other details left to the imagination, Friel's writing in Faith Healer taps into the Irish flair for storytelling while achieving what great fiction does best -- disclosing its characters' inner lives. Yet no one would mistake the play for prose. Friel undeniably has conceived the work for the stage, and reaches dramatic heights through distinct voices and a purposefully crafted layering of information. Patrice Bailey honors the playwright's haunting and poignant script with cautiously paced direction that allows the mesmerizing language and the characters' pain to resonate fully. And she elicits stirring, memorable performances from each actor.
As Grace, Cynthia Caquelin begins a bit on the self-consciously earnest side, and her alleged Irish accent, wavering between uneven and nonexistent, proves initially distracting. But the characterization builds until Caquelin the actress fades, and the enigmatic, contradictory Grace appears -- fiercely intelligent, dependent, tenacious, rebellious, ironic, devoted -- to close act one on a stunning emotional note. David Kwiat balances comedy, compassion, and integrity in his heartbreaking portrayal of the all-forgiving manager-servant Teddy, who sees Grace and Frank's relationship more clearly than the couple itself does, even as he grapples with his own feelings for each of them. And Andrew Noble delivers a nothing-short-of-remarkable performance as Frank. Although the faith healer finds himself burdened by a gift he neither understands nor seems able to control, Noble the actor is in full possession of his powers, infusing his character with equal measures of cruelty, selfishness, self-pity, pain, and charm.
While Jeff Quinn's sparse set -- consisting of a banner, a platform, and several chairs -- and subdued yet evocative lighting evoke lonely rural byways and shabby bed-sitters, a mere review cannot begin to transmit the power of Friel's language in a live setting. Do not miss this chance to see an excellent production of this playwright's fine work.
On the other side of the world from Faith Healer's small-town Britain, New York City pulses as a war-torn battlefield, a place where disaffected angels have descended from Heaven in order to lead a rebellion against God. Termed by some critics as magical-realist, Puerto Rican-born Jose Rivera's Marisol is more accurately described as an apocalyptic passion play, at the center of which lies the fall, the suffering, and the re-education of the title character. Marisol Perez (Micha Espinosa), a Puerto Rican-born copy editor, aspires to a form of the American dream by donning trench coat and high heels every morning and riding the subway from the run-down South Bronx to a steady job in Manhattan. Protected partially by a veneer of job security and partially by the efforts of a guardian angel, Marisol has steered clear of New York's street culture -- the menagerie of homeless people, psychotics, and bullies whose paths most city dwellers attempt to avoid. On the eve of the heavenly rebellion, however, Marisol's guardian angel (James Samuel Randolph) visits to say he's withdrawing his talismanic powers because he's needed to fight the good fight -- from now on, Marisol must make it on her own. By the next morning the violence simmering just below the city's surface starts to erupt, and Marisol's life on the street begins.