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Published in 1623 by arguably the greatest literary giant to ever live in William Shakespeare, “The Winter’s Tale” has curiously remained an underrated play nearly 400 years later. Directed by A Noise Within’s co-producing artistic director, Geoff Elliott, inhabitants in Pasadena and throughout Southern California are in for a treat with this five-act masterpiece, which is now presumably set sometime between the late 1920s and 40s. There are relatable images and sounds comprising a story filled with high drama, lightheartedness, and the happiest of happy endings, carried out by A Noise Within’s talented resident artists and creative team.
Certainly, Shakespeare had some assistance this time around, having based his play on Robert Greene’s “Pandosto” (1588), which is more devastating and less bullish than Shakespeare’s adaptation. The bard definitively splits the tale into two diametric halves: one irredeemably dark and the other miraculously turned 180 degrees.
The plot essentially focuses on two lifelong friends of a royal background and the trajectory of their lives over several years: Leontes, the King of Sicilia and Polixenes, the King of Bohemia (in this case, the kings are seemingly generals). The narrative’s discord is set in motion when the irrational Leontes suspects the innocent Polixenes of impregnating his (Leontes’) wife, Queen Hermione. Leontes’ first inclination is to order his upstanding friend and courtier, Camillo, to poison Polixenes, but this doesn’t work out. Hermione is then put on trial and thrown into prison despite information being relayed from an oracle asserting everyone’s innocence and despite fiery pleadings from Hermione’s lady-in-waiting, Paulina. Hermiones’ baby, a daughter, is exiled to Bohemia at the behest of Leontes, who appoints the husband of Paulina, Antigonus, to carry out the mission. This baby is named Perdita by a shepherd and his son who find and raise the mysterious girl. A turning point 16 years thereafter is when Polixenes hears that his son, Prince Florizel, is in love with the “commoner,” Perdita. This beckons Polixenes and Camillo to attend a sheep-shearing festival in disguise in order to see the two young lovers. Polixenes becomes angry with his son, and Camillo gives Florizel and Perdita safe passage to Sicilia where a now very understanding Leontes awaits. This precipitates the rest of what follows, all the way through to the supremely gratifying denouement.
The fulcrum of this play is undoubtedly King Leontes, whose transformation over time is a sight to behold. As the lead, Frederick Stuart is tremendous at holding the audience’s attention from the moment he is fencing with his onstage kingly peer, Polixenes, played by Brian Ibsen. This celebratory boisterousness suddenly turns ugly, and with a furrow of Stuart’s brow, the menacingly stalking manner in which he walks, and the uneasiness that washes over his character, Stuart eloquently emotes Leontes’ villainy, contriteness, and compassion. In what is a credit to Stuart’s naturalistic expressions, and the measured pacing of Elliott’s direction, the change in Leontes’ behavior never feels abrupt, but rather appropriate.
Whereas Leontes wallows in the agony of his own making, Polixenes is effusively charming and usually in good spirits even if he has a reason to be incensed. Ibsen, who is dressed in a tailed tuxedo in the first half, imbues his Polixenes with very modern sensibilities and comic timing. A memorable example occurs when Jeremy Rabb’s Camillo, who is ever bound by his rectitude, reveals to Polixenes directly that he is tasked with killing him. The awestruck confusion that Ibsen affects, not only via his body language, but in the inflection of his voice, scores laughs, and Rabb is also effective at feeding Ibsen’s reaction by being so matter-of-fact about the confession.
On the other hand, Trisha Miller’s Hermione is a much more tragic figure, as she becomes the target of of Leontes’ unrestrained jealousy and ire. Miller shines brightest during the finale and when, in Act III, her Hermione ascends a staircase during her trial and speaks into a hanging microphone. Standing in her once beautiful dress, and now smudged with dirt and an undeserving shame, she trembles but never ceases to speak powerfully and from the heart as Stuart’s Leontes, surging with vindictiveness, glowers at her. Miller’s performance here is potently sympathetic and is highlighted by empowered truths and questions such as, “What blessings do I have here that I should fear to die?” Miller paints such a vivid picture that it’s like the audience has become jurors at her character’s trial.
Similarly, Deborah Strang delivers another searingly inspirational performance, this time as Paulina, the best advocate that Hermione could ever hope for. Every time Strang thunders onto the thrust stage, she steals the show, equipped as she is with her resounding familiarity with Shakespeare and a confidence as Paulina that cannot be subverted even by Leontes. This is underscored when Paulina brings Leontes’ shunned baby to him in an effort to neutralize his thirst for revenge. Strang is positively insistent in her role, taking big steps with a courageous intent, and also not being afraid to slap some sense into her supplicating husband Antigonus — portrayed by Alan Blumenfeld — upon exiting with a roaring applause. Blumenfeld, who plays not only Antigonus, but the bearded Shepherd, is wonderfully personable and endearing in everything he does.
Furthermore, there is Angela Gulner; she first comes onto our radar as Mother Time, who moves the play forward 16 years with her winning smile and the effortless opening and closing of her umbrella. Subsequently, as the grown-up Perdita, she enjoys a rhapsody in the flowering Bohemia, alongside Alexander De Vasconcelos Matos’ Prince Florizel, where they dance to the choreography by Julia Rodriguez-Elliott and to the tune of “Mairzy Doats,” which emanates from a phonograph, before Polixenes disrupts the festive proceedings. Gulner’s Perdita glows with an optimism for her future with Matos’ Florizel, who himself is not too imperious to marry the love of his life. Unfortunately, Perdita’s brother, Mamillius, who sees a fateful end, and is depicted by the amiable Jayce Evans, does not witness the good fortune that his sister does. The only criticism of the play worth bringing up is that the eventual reveal of Perdita being Leontes’ daughter seems to be glossed over, with its outcome not matching the anticipatory impact it ought to have.
Nevertheless, the character arc and redemption of Leontes is doubtlessly felt, never more so than during the joyously teary-eyed conclusion in this production of “The Winter’s Tale.” Director Elliott not only stages his actors to make every scene feel immediate and urgent, but Frederica Nascimento’s scenic design (featuring ominous columns and a paradise-like Bohemia), Shara Abvabi’s doomy projections of rain and snow, Jeff Gardner and Ellen Mandel’s drama-furnishing sound design, Garry Lennon’s early 20th century costumes representing the disparate themes, Shannon Hutchins’ top-notch wigs and make-up, and Ken Booth’s detail-emphasizing lighting all contribute to the satisfaction of the play’s journey.
Ultimately, in a world where the stubborn clinging to the past oftentimes outweighs the prospect of hopeful change, A Noise Within’s “The Winter’s Tale” reminds us that anything is indeed possible and that perspectives can expand with lessons learned and through the healing passage of time. All that is asked is that you “Awake your faith.”
For more information about A Noise Within’s production of “The Winter’s Tale,” which runs through April 11th, please visit: