If Greenwhich Village had wide open, green pastures, low rent and a large quantity of broken down vintage cars it would be the Hudson River Valley, New York - an area able to boast of both exclusive residential areas for millionaire commuters and a bohemian population that borders on (often spills over into) plain madness. I have always had a soft spot for this 'neck of the woods' where on lazy, Sunday drives one can be panhandled by a sixty-year-old Motley Crue fan while antiquing.
Which is why I was thrilled to attend the Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival yesterday evening, an annual summer showcase of the bard's tales performed with a contemporary, nuanced reading; spare but colorful decor; and such originality that it smells faintly of intoxication. At its inception, the festival had ties to both the American Conservatory Theatre and New York City, non-for-profit outfit, Twenty-Ninth Street Project. Since then it has taken off on its own and for the past twenty-two years has been flourishing at the historic Boscobel Estate in the hamlet (that's right hamlet) of Garrison, New York.
Which is why I was thrilled to attend the Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival yesterday evening, an annual summer showcase of the bard's tales performed with a contemporary, nuanced reading; spare but colorful decor; and such originality that it smells faintly of intoxication. At its inception, the festival had ties to both the American Conservatory Theatre and New York City, non-for-profit outfit, Twenty-Ninth Street Project. Since then it has taken off on its own and for the past twenty-two years has been flourishing at the historic Boscobel Estate in the hamlet (that's right hamlet) of Garrison, New York.
Attendants often show up early to picnic on the grounds. There, on a bluff overlooking the river, one can enjoy a homemade chicken salad sandwich and some cheap white wine while admiring a view that rivals the paintings of Frederic Edwin Church. If a bag lunch sounds like too much trouble for a theatre evening (or if, in your haste to catch the train, you have simply forgotten) - fear not - you can always hit Garrison's local culinary jewel, Tavern, where the produce is hand-picked, cooked up by Eric Gabrynowicz, former sous chef of Manhattan's Union Square Cafe, and, served country style on communal tables made of ruff, warn, wooden slabs.
Now that we are all full - on to the main event.
Each year the troupe manages to include at least one unexpected D-list actor or actress. This year it was Wesley Mann who, I am sure, we all remember from his work as Mr. Lawler on "That's So Raven". ("Back To The Future II"? "But I'm A Cheerleader"? No? None of those? Ok, anyhow.) While it is always endlessly engrossing to watch someone you originally knew as a film actor take a stab at theatre (giving you that surreal feeling that you must be watching a television set as this can not be reality) my true favorites are the troupe's local stars.
Nance Williamson, now on her 11th season, always manages to snag the lead role, proving that in some places well-hewn acting chops still beat out perky breasts. While at first the leap of imagination required to view Williamson as the sexy, sassy Beatrice in "Much Ado About Nothing" might seem like a breach too wide, by the end I, at least, was convinced she couldn't possibly be over thirty. Playing opposite Williamson as her unlikely love interest, Benedick, was Jason O'Connell, who after only two seasons in Hudson Valley has hit his stride as a brilliant and hysterical jester. O'Connell is brazen enough to pantomime his own penis as a fire hose, while genuine enough to really make the audience sweat it out in the more tense scenes. Though he is no doubt a bit of a showboat (his improvisations threw cast members for a loop) he is certainly a welcome addition to any stage without a set.
As a whole the troupe gives such unfailing energy to each performance, it is hard not to wonder if they are having more fun than the audience. By the end of the evening, after laughing for nearly three solid hours in such an intimate setting, it is easy to be tempted by the feeling that one personally knows these wacky people, that perhaps it is possible to curl up on the spacious lawn to wait for tomorrow's showing. But sadly, when the last of the applause died down, I knew it was time for the hour drive, down dark winding roads, back to New York City, where the eccentrics cultivate their oddities consciously and it is impossible to see a star on a midsummer night.
As a whole the troupe gives such unfailing energy to each performance, it is hard not to wonder if they are having more fun than the audience. By the end of the evening, after laughing for nearly three solid hours in such an intimate setting, it is easy to be tempted by the feeling that one personally knows these wacky people, that perhaps it is possible to curl up on the spacious lawn to wait for tomorrow's showing. But sadly, when the last of the applause died down, I knew it was time for the hour drive, down dark winding roads, back to New York City, where the eccentrics cultivate their oddities consciously and it is impossible to see a star on a midsummer night.
