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Regional Reviews: Minneapolis/St. Paul The Coward Also see Arthur's reviews of The Unsinkable Molly Brown
The plot revolves around Lucidus Culling, a 20-year-old man of high station with a severe aversion to violence. He prefers such genteel pastimes as pie tasting picnics, in the company of his similarly foppish friends. Lucidus' father Nathaniel is mortified by his son's unwillingness to display manly bravado, especially when called on to defend the family honor. The proper response would be to challenge the offender to a duel, but Lucidus not been able to meet these expectations. To prove to his father that he is not a coward, Lucidus picks a quarrel with an elderly gentleman, leading to a call for a duel. The gent has a disability making it impossible for him to respond to Lucidus' challenge, so he has his son stand in for him. This shakes Lucidus to the quick, as he now must face the robust son—until he conceives of a plot to hire someone to play his part in the duel. He recruits ruffian Henry Blaine, a veteran of the recently fought revolutionary war in America with no qualms about pulling a trigger. Henry finds that he likes this notion of murder sanctioned by the rules of polite society. Lucidus acquires a reputation as a man to be reckoned with and feared, earning the fawning attention of his friends and the amorous advances of the much sought after femme fatale Isabelle Dupree. Things go out of control as Lucidus, Nathaniel, Henry and Isabelle are caught up in this web of deceit, mayhem and bloodshed, all presented with a broad wink. Director Amy Rummenie has added to the story's absurd trajectory by casting all of the male roles with women, and the sole female role, Isabelle, with a man. If the notion of a duel to the death solving disputes over family honor is not ridiculous enough, the feminine forms of characters praising this signal of male dominance, and high-camp femininity turned into madcap aggression bring all of the proceedings to the point of lunacy. There is much that is very funny in The Coward, and the audience around me laughed heartily and often. I did find, however, that variations of the same jokes were repeated often, making sport of the mannerisms of the upper classes, the folly of the duel, Lucidus' maneuvers to avoid being found out as the coward he is, Henry's gleeful opportunism and lust for blood, and Isabelle's deficit of virtue. There is far more plotting than is necessary to lay out the story and make its points. It is as if the playwright believes that if one pratfall is funny, three are hilarious. The risk, though, is that they become tedious and slow down the telling of the tale. What makes The Coward watchable are three fine central performances. Briana Patnode as Lucidus comes across as the only sane person stranded in a mad house. He alone in his society recognizes that in his cowardice is a measure of reason, and that a duel to the death fought over a negligible insult is a craziness. Charlotte Calvert's Henry Blaine is a wonderful comic invention, with long, arched strides that convey exaggerated confidence and manly swagger. Chase Burns creates in Isabelle a noblewoman with the heart of a harlot, over the top from first gush, but a hilariously consistent creation. Linda Sue Anderson provides a crisp turn as Friedmont, Lucidus' butler and eventual co-conspirator. The remainder of the cast, some of whom play multiple roles, give adequate performances in roles that are closer to cartoons than real characters. Sara Wilcox has designed costumes that cleverly indicate the social status of each character. The banana yellow suit that Henry acquires with the proceeds of his career as a duelist, is a sublime expression of his character. The simple sets designed by Eli Schlatter are effective, and their placement between an oversized gold leaf frame across the top and bottom of the playing area create an exaggerated period-piece quality, which is belied by the raucous events that follow. The finale of The Coward features fountains of blood spurting out of the duelists' wounds, soaking the stage in crimson. Lest this be viewed as a spoiler, what else would be expected from a play that lists, among its artistic team, a blood designer, and two blood assistants listed on the tech crew? As in many of the jokes, if a little blood is a spectacle, mounds of it is an extravaganza. The artists at work cannot be accused of restraint. The conceit of cross-gender casting does not make The Coward more (or less) funny, nor does it deepen the message it brings forth. It does spur on the sense of ridicule toward the behavior portrayed and celebrates the freedom to take matters to excess. Walking Shadow Theatre has done strong, heavily dramatic work in its two previous plays this season, Gabriel and The Whale. With The Coward, it breaks loose and sets forth a bust of silliness. To that end, it has had great success. Performances of The Coward continue through February 28, 2015, at the Red Eye Theater, 15 West 14th Street, Minneapolis, MN. Tickets are $22.00 - $26.00, $20.00 seniors, $15.00 students and veterans, $10.00 Economic Accessibility Tickets (advance sale only). For performance and ticket information, visit www.walkingshadowcompany.org. Writer: Nick Jones; Director: Amy Rummenie; Set Designer and Technical Director: Eli Schlatter; Costume Designer: Sara Wilcox; Lighting Designer: Jesse Cogswell; Sound Designer: Michael Croswell; Props Designer: Abbee Warmboe; Blood Designer: Tyler Olsen for Raw Red Meta Productions; Fight Choreographer: Meredith Larson; Accent Coach: Keely Wolter: Stage Manager: Sarah Holmberg; Production Manager: David Pisa; Assistant Director: Jessica Springer; Assistant Stage Manager: Karina Grimaldi; Assistant Costume Designer: Jessica Bell Cast: Linda Sue Anderson (Old Man, Friedmont the Butler), Debra Berger (Finn, The Earl of Dorchester, King's Messenger), Chase Burns (Isabelle Dupree), Charlotte Calvert (Henry Blaine), Suzanne Victoria Cross (Egbert the Bartender, Sir Derek Lanley), Suzie Juul (Gavin Klaff), Briana Patnode (Lucidus Culling), Shelby Rose Richardson (Robert Blithe), Jean Wolff (Nathaniel Culling).
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