Your behavior hath struck her into amazement and admiration

Mr Rice (my high school Shakespeare teacher) used to talk about how great the Shakespeare festival in Ashland, Oregon, was. We tried to get him to take us there on a field trip, but he said no, but that we should definitely go on our own. Since then, I've always wanted to go there. Well, it's been over 30 years and I still haven't been. We did pass through Ashland last summer on our way home from a family reunion. I thought, "Hey, I've been wanting to come here for years. I think we'll stop here and take a look around." The others in the car didn't mind, so we walked around town for a bit, and ate lunch, and then continued on our way. One of these days, I'll go see a play there.

When I was at BYU, everyone talked about the Shakespeare festival down in Cedar City, and noises were made about going there. I thought, well, it's only three and a half hours away, not half a day or more like Ashland, so I ought to go. I never did.

When I say I never did, I mean I never did when I lived fairly close and was single and had no obligations. No, I waited until I lived twice as far away and had four children tagging along. Actually, my first visit to the Utah Shakespearean Festival was totally spontaneous. Back in the summer of 1996, I was driving myself and those very same four children up to Idaho to a family reunion. (Because of work commitments - meaning stupid year-round school - Gary was unable to go with us that year.) Anyway, as we passed through Cedar City, I thought (as I later did in Ashland), "Hey, I've been wanting to come here for years. I think I'll stop here and take a look around." The others in the car had no say in the matter, so I walked around town for a bit with four kids in tow. Except we didn't eat lunch.

I can't remember what other plays they were doing that year, but I did notice one of the plays was The Winter's Tale. I had just recently read that play for the first time and really liked it, so I decided to buy tickets for me and the gang. There was no show that day, but we could stop a week later on our way back home and see it then. At that time, the minimum age limit for children attending the plays was five years old (I think now it's six). Ian would be five by then (he had his birthday during the reunion), so I wouldn't need to worry about leaving him in the car with a bag of Cheerios. As it turned out, they questioned me going into the theatre about how old Ian was. They said there was an age limit. I responded that I knew about the age limit, that it said children under five not admitted, and that my son was five. They let me in, but I've wondered since then if that was the reason they changed the age limit to six. By the way, Ian did very well. I had to hold him on my lap during the fifth act, but otherwise he and the girls were rather well-behaved during the whole thing. Whenever he began to get really squirmy, something exciting would happen on stage: the lightning and thunder at Leontes' rejection of the oracle's decree, or the bear, or the dance at the sheep-shearing festival.

As for my reaction, I can't describe it adequately. I can't explain what a marvelous experience it was to be so affected emotionally, intellectually, even spiritually, by what I saw. I'm not saying the play was perfect. There was some less than adequate acting. There were technical problems (this was only the second showing after the premiere the week before). But it was as fulfilling an experience as the plays I'd seen and loved at BYU, maybe more so.

The play began with the sound of tolling bells, designed, I guess, to wake everyone up, since the play had a starting time of 8:30 pm, and they started nearly ten minutes late besides, according to the watch belonging to a man sitting behind us. (How did I see his watch? I can't tell you.) There was fake snow falling, which stopped just as the whole cast came in from vomitories (isn't that a great word?) halfway down the aisles. They walked onto the stage and, with uplifted hands, sang a verse of Christina Rossetti's "In the Bleak Midwinter".

I'm not sure if this is what the director's motive was, but what it did for me (besides make me think, in quick succession, "That's not Shakespeare, that's a Christmas song", "I know who wrote that song!", and "Gee, I'm pretty smart") was put me in mind of the Nativity, which in turn led me to think that this was going to be one production of The Winter's Tale that focused on love and forgiveness. Another hint was that "love" and "forgiveness" were printed on the tickets. I was glad to know it, because I would've hated to see Hermione reject Leontes at the end of the play, which I've heard has been done by some very hateful director-types. In the program notes, the director, James Edmondson, wrote: "The Winter's Tale is the story of a deep spiritual journey shared by several people over many years. It is a parable of human destruction and loss, followed after a time by redemption and grace achieved by faith and forgiveness. It is perhaps the most spiritual of all of Shakespeare's plays." Okay.

After they sang the verse, the lead characters took turns quoting significant lines from the play as they moved crisscrossing over the stage: lines like "Thou met'st with things dying, I with things newborn", and "What's gone and what's past help should be past grief", and "It is required you do awake your faith." Then they sang another verse, most of the cast departed, and 1.1 began. Finally.

I should say right here that, although some of the lesser parts were played in a rather amateurish manner, I thought the acting overall was quite professional. I was particularly impressed with Kathleen McCall as Hermione, Gary Armagnac as Camillo, and Michelle Farr as Paulina, in that order. The guy who played Leontes was also pretty good, but the anguish of his jealousy was identical to the anguish of his penitence. Well, maybe some people are like that.


There was no indication of when Leontes' jealousy began - that it was a pre-existing condition or anything. Just all of a sudden he begins to say veiled things to Hermione, who can't quite tell if he's serious or not. Like Othello, he talks himself into his wife's infidelity, only he doesn't wait for any "proof". As he begins his speech in 1.2 ("inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd one"), his son Mamillius (who looked like he was played by a five-year-old - see, I knew five-year-olds were allowed in the theatre!) comes up to have a bonding moment with his father. "Go play, boy!!" Leontes roars at him impatiently, shocking the poor little fellow and the audience.

In 2.1, when Hermione tells her ladies to take Mamillius off her hands, it is done jokingly (he wouldn't put his nightgown on), but almost immediately she calls him back to her, and they are very close when Leontes storms in with his guards and practically wrenches Mamillius from his mother. The exchange between Leontes and Hermione here is very powerful as she tries to make Leontes see how mistaken he is. But, "I must be patient," she says, and "I am not prone to weeping," yet her voice breaks as she begs to be allowed to take her women with her to prison. Leontes shakes his head at first, but relents with a gesture when she says "for you see my plight requires it." This is a perfect example of how you can take the same words and, with a pause or gesture here or there, make a completely different interpretation of Shakespeare. I've never seen that specific moment in the scene done that way again.

Paulina appears in 2.2, and brings Hermione's baby to Leontes. The actress got some laughs here as she resisted her husband's and the king's efforts to usher her out of the room. She made me a little nervous with her treatment of the "baby", though - she kept forgetting to support its head as she picked it up, passed it around, etc. Being a doll, it was stiff as a board and didn't need any support, but it distracted me just the same.

Act 3, scene 2 - one of my favorites to read, and I wasn't disappointed in the performance of it - has Hermione brought on in a rude cart made of sticks lashed together, the kind you associate with prisoners being hauled to the scaffold. She looked haggard and wan, wearing the same nightdress she had been arrested in, only now it was somewhat bloodstained and dirty. There were audible murmurs from the audience (of pity, I assume) as she was brought on. She could hardly stand, and frequently clung for support to the cart or, when she got down from it, to one of the courtiers or her women. When her eloquent defense is over, and she asks for the oracle's decision to be read, she and Leontes kneel at the front of the stage in a ceremonial manner with their hands raised (an echo of the position the actors took as the play began), waiting for the decision. As it is read, Hermione nearly collapses in relief, her hands on her head, then stands and goes to her women to hug them, while Leontes remains kneeling, hands up. All of a sudden he stands and denounces the oracle. As he finishes, there is sudden thunder and a flash of lightning, then a courtier runs in to announce Mamillius' death.

As far as I know, it's physically impossible to control the flow of blood to one's face, and I'm sure Hermione didn't really turn pale, but it certainly seemed like she did as she swayed a couple of times, her eyes rolled up in her head, and she fell to the floor. It was very awesome, in the real 'awe' sense of the word.

Act 3 scene 3 has Antigonus placing the little bed holding Perdita on some pretend rocks adorning the front of the stage. Suddenly, a polar bear comes out of the trapdoor center stage and begins pursuing Antigonus, but then turns toward the baby. Antigonus yells to draw the bear away from Perdita and towards himself, the bear knocks him down, and he scuffles, crab-like, offstage with the bear looming over him. Intermission.

I'm afraid the appearance of the bear got a big laugh from certain members of the audience. One woman seated right behind us was almost hysterical with laughter the whole time the bear was on. She laughed even harder when Antigonus got knocked down. Myself, I couldn't see it. I mean, it was strange in a funny kind of way to have this bear rise up suddenly from the middle of the floor, and my first thought was "Are there polar bears in Bohemia?" But a snicker or two would have sufficed. The excessive laughter seemed more inappropriate than the color or behavior of the bear and was certainly more distracting. My kids, however, generally agreed that the bear was the most exciting part of the play thus far. The lady behind us apparently didn't agree: she and her escort did not return after the interval.

Act 3 started out all right and got better as it went along. Autolycus and the shepherds tried to be real funny, and the shepherds sort of succeeded, but Autolycus is not one of my favorite characters, so that may affect the way I saw him. Also, I thought his singing could've been better. It was kind of tuneless and he sounded like he was out of breath. I think maybe he was just really nervous. There was also some continuing business with him accidentally dropping the money purses he'd pinched. They'd thud to the floor and he'd sheepishly try to hide them with his shawl, hoping his victims wouldn't notice. It all seemed rather awkward and silly to me, but perhaps it got better as the play continued its run. The best part about act 4 was the dance the sheep-shearing festival participants did. It was a real foot-stomping energetic country dance - very joyful and fun. My kids considered it another of the show's highlights.

Then comes act 5 with the amazing statue scene. Oh, there was one bit earlier in the act where Paulina makes Leontes promise he won't marry anyone without her permission - just prior to this Leontes had been engaging in some self-flagellation with a little hand whip with multiple cords. That bit didn't work for me, maybe because I was sitting in the second row and could see that the strands of the whip were about as sturdy as yarn.

Hermione's return to "life" was very moving. She remains still for so long that Paulina has to call her down from the pedestal six or seven times. She moved stiffly at first, towards Leontes' outstretched hand, and when she touched him she drew a deep breath - it reminded me of a newborn baby taking its first breath. After that she moved more naturally. Her reunion with Perdita was a real tear-jerker. She walked, almost unbelieving, toward her daughter, touched her on the head and a soft cry escaped her, then she held her kneeling daughter to her, finally kneeling herself as she began to ask how Perdita had managed to survive, where she had been, etc.


The play lasted about three hours, including the interval. Afterwards, my children were very exuberant in their praise, and, shortcomings aside, I agreed with them completely. We all piled back in the car and continued our journey in the late night toward home. The children were soon asleep, but I wasn't tired at all. I drove for a long time, my thoughts occupied with what I had just seen and with trying to find the words to describe it. Marvelous, awesome, fantastic, amazing . . . just words, after all.