'Frankenstein' is alive at StageloftBy Paul Kolas Telegram and Gazette Reviewer STURBRIDGE- Doug Ingalls may have bitten off more than he can chew, but the ambitious writer and director of Stageloft Repertory Theater's world premiere of his sprawling adaptation of Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" deserves abundant admiration for debunking the encrusted image of Boris Karloff raging through a terrified countryside. If you go to see "Frankenstein," think of it as a work in progress that is still evolving, and that, to its credit, tries mightily to remain faithful to Shelley's Romantic Period rebuttal to the Age of Enlightenment. "Frankenstein" is as much a story about a monster as "Moby Dick" is a story about a white whale. It is about the hubris of assuming that reason and logic can lead to unlimited progress, and eventually, a state of perfection. Victor Frankenstein toys with this misconception, and the results are horrifyingly tragic. In his desire to tamper with nature and play God, he creates a creature longing for love and acceptance, and finds only brutal rejection by all those around him because of his outward appearance. This injustice leads to murderous revenge. One by one, those near and dear to Victor are disposed of, until the body count piles up like a Shakespearean tragedy. Some people simply aren't meant to be "parents". Victor is unable to provide for his creation, and blames "science" for his undoing as a way of appeasing his sense of guilt. These are weighty themes running through the story, and it's a formidable challenge to make them palatable to a contemporary, instant-gratification sensibility. The first 45 minutes or so of "Frankenstein" are so dense with establishing exposition, they feel like homework at times, but once the creature, played with a fabulous combination of menace and empathy by Jeremy Woloski, arises from the operating table and comes to life, so does the play. Credit Robin Gabrielli for his marvelous sound design, and Rich Dussault for expert lighting, in augmenting a feeling of dreadful and fateful foreshadowing. Doug Ingalls' set design is a nautical wonder, too. The cast is cleverly called upon to assume multiple roles, sometimes in very amusing ways. Jill Bailey is quite ardent as Victor's adopted "sister," and eventual wife, Elizabeth, and quite feisty as a mustached sailor aboard Capt. Walton's (Bruce Adams) ship. Robbin Joyce plays Baron Frankenstein's second wife, Caroline, with Victorian flair, and also sports an impressive Scottish accent in another role, as does Stacie Beland in the same scene. Beland also does fine work in the pivotal role of the doomed Justine. Robert C. Latino is as protean as anyone in the cast, his wide variety of characters anchored by his dignified portrayal of the Baron. Able multicasting work is also turned in by Peter Arsenault (as Felix DeLacy and Victor's ill-fated brother, William), Erik Evan Johnsen (as Professor Clerval and Victor's friend Henry), and Ken Gagne (as Professor Waldman). Bruce Adams handles the ubiquitous part of the narrator/ship captain with an effective underlay of wistful melancholy, perhaps because he can identify with the creature better than anyone. Zachery Murphy certainly has Victor's torment down pat, uttering his lines like a man possessed and demonized by his foolhardy ambitions. It takes some getting used to his outsized emoting, but it all fits in the end, like a black-and-white movie melodrama from the Turner Classic Movies channel. Ingalls has reluctantly pruned a great deal from his idealized conception of Shelley's novel in an effort to make her story an audience-friendly three-hour length, yet even with its flaws and sometimes unwieldly narrative flow, it's refreshing and exhilarating to see a local artist tackle something so daunting and succeed enough to make one wonder what he really had in mind. In the meantime, a devout theater-goer would be wise to see what he offers here. |