Playwright: William Shakespeare. At: Bohemian Theatre Ensemble at the Heartland Studio, 7016 N. Glenwood. Phone: 866-811-4111; $17-$20. Runs through: Aug. 29
Our setting, ironically, is both disquieting and trite at the same time: an institutional hallway opening on rows of anonymous, small-windowed doors inform us, even before we witness a straitjacketed patient being given electroshock therapy, that we are observers in a mental hospital, circa mid-20th century. And the instant that we recognize the medics' instructions to each other as the opening scene of Shakespeare's Tempest, we realize that we are trapped in one of contemporary theater's favorite metaphors for re-conceptualization of classical themes.
Our suspicions are soon confirmed. The delusional subject under treatment fancies himself to be the wizard Prospero, conjuring magical events peopled with asylum personnel: a friendly nurse is cast as Miranda, an absent-minded doctor as Caliban, a pair of slackerly janitors as Stefano and Trinculo, fellow inmates as King Alonso's court and, as Ariel, a Weird Sister dressed in Florence Nightingale garb, who hovers at his behest like a ghostly apparition in an Edvard Munch painting. Our story—likewise occurring, we presume, in Prospero's deranged mind—is narrated in truncated scenes divided by blackouts or flutter-fades ( reducing the show's running time to under two hours ) , accompanied by phantom dance music, pictures projected on the room's irregular surfaces, and the obligatory ambient muffled groans, sniggers and screams of lunatics in other wards.
One cannot dispute the validity of Peter Robel's concept, nor the care invested in its analogical development and execution. The question that remains unanswered, however, is that of his purpose in undertaking to present his efforts to audiences not already on singing-in-the-shower terms with Shakespeare's venerable play. Theatergoers who insist on maintaining cognitive distance from the fantasies of our madman-hero will find no clue as to what's really going on here until the play's very last moments. And visually oriented viewers happy to immerse themselves in the loony bin-gothic imagery associated with this milieu—which mandates acceptance of inappropriate fraternization or outright abuse between staff and patients—will find their comprehension obstructed by the archaic language and preponderance of text interpretation over dramatic or physical action.
The mission inherent in departure-from-tradition projects is to contribute, in some hitherto-unexplored capacity, to our understanding of the source material under scrutiny. When it fails to do so, as in this case, we are left with nothing more than an academic novelty as self-serving as the venerable acting-class exercise inspiring it.
