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Once in a long while a theater company rises to flout the conventions of stagecraft, carving out its own niche and engendering fresh enthusiasm for the art of theater--in both practitioner and patron--by challenging the dull status quo. One immediately thinks of the old Storefront Theater, where Ric Young, a Scheherazade in cowboy boots, spun his fantastic tales. In those days, one could push past the piss-stained doors of Theater Paris and find an extravagant world peopled with tempestuous divas and hedonic rent-boys, sometimes masquerading as each other. Young once said that friends of his from New York jealously marveled at the work he was staging here, as we can only wonder at the memory of it. But with the passing of Young and his dangerous spectacles and thoughtful plays, Portland seemed to sink back into hebetude, becoming lost to the work of Grotowski and Brook, though bewitched by Mitzi Gaynor specials and the artistry of Chevy Chase. This has created a crisis for the serious theatergoer, who rightly objects to the arrant nonsense and vanity projects perpetrated by an incestuous circle of worn-out mummers. Occasional hope is found at ART (when it bothers to remember what the "A" stands for), Profile, The Other Side and Stark Raving--but first and foremost, the true lover of theater turns to Imago. Founded in 1979 by Carol Triffle and Jerry Mouawad, Imago has quietly built an international reputation. It honors the history of theater while embracing the modern; from masks and Noh to Lecoq and Foreman, Imago confidently gathers up each piece to create something fire-new. As at Storefront, to enter Imago is to enter another world (strange that both theaters would be on corners of Burnside). Its latest original piece, in a year of original pieces, is Dead End Ed, which has rightfully garnered praise from every quarter of the city. Any description of Dead End Ed must employ that blend of joy and astonishment used to recount dreams. There is a bare hotel room, containing only a sofa and a television showing a similar bare hotel room. The room's door opens, and from a fog comes a woman in black inching her way into the room. She tries to communicate with us with semaphoric eyes, but we lack understanding. This is Lady Lavinia, Death played by Garbo (or is she Garbo as Kali?). There follows a mad encounter with Ed, a room-service waiter, that rivals the Marx Brothers' inspired mayhem in, well, Room Service. This sets the stage for a metaphysical vaudeville of hallucinatory beauty, full of broad humor, sadness and wit (Imago hazards to credit us with some intelligence). Sketches of lone tangos; eerie encounters with one's doppelgänger on the street; an embarrassing lack of control over metamorphosing at the dinner table; death by cinematic misadventure; dolls as twins; a cabal of tape recorders that questions our existence; mysteries inside an enigma. If this sounds complex and ambiguous, rest assured that it is--as life is, as dreams are, as the oracular pronouncements of Delphi were. "Experience is ambiguous," playwright Paul Godfrey has said, "and there is very little that can be simply explained." Our need for the comforts of the explicable is a type of mental atrophy, aggravated by the formulaic fantasies of popular culture; our age is bereft of mysteries and curiosity. As theater critic and playwright Irving Wardle has summed up the present state, "the brain has abnegated its artistic responsibility to think serious or significant or new thoughts." Fortunately for us, Imago continues to think. Mouawad and Triffle's rich script is delightful, as much Sartre as it is Seuss. The production itself is of the highest standards, with a great carousel stage and chameleon-like drop curtain. The soundscape is undoubtedly the company's most ambitious, with original music by Hohner diva Miss Murgatroid, as well as the excellent 3 Leg Torso and Waltzing Mice, accompanied by tonal selections from Greg Ives. Of the performances by Triffle and Mouawad, it is surely redundant by now to say that the two are masters of their craft. Triffle's face is a field for a hundred emotions. Her skill as an actor is equally matched by her lissome mime and graceful puppeteering. Mouawad is a terrific clown who can quickly switch from intricate, detailed business one moment to flat-out slapstick the next. His movement is disciplined anarchy--Nijinsky trapped in the man from the Ministry of Funny Walks. Bold, fresh and imaginative, Imago is truly the prize in Portland's theatrical jewel box. |
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