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With its somber tone, gritty diction and unglamorous portrayal of working class America, The Woolgatherer, a play by William Mastrosimone, could easily be mistaken for a play by Tennesee Williams. This two person play, which takes place in the dark and dingy apartment of the lead female, Rose (Miriam R. Asnes ’02), is a slightly unsubtle mixture of A Street Car Named Desire and The Glass Menagerie. Through its examination of two people on the fringe of society, The Woolgatherer attempts to deal with the inherently human condition of isolation. Rose, a poverty stricken, single woman, combines Blanche DuBois’ hysteria with Laura Wingfield’s loneliness, resulting in an intense, needy amalgam of insecurity and neurosis. Cliff (David L. Skeist ’02), her male counterpart, a misfit truck driver, is a kind of wannabe Marlon Brando who demonstrates his manly virility through his brusque, to-the-point language and pontificating monologues.
The two meet at the five-and-dime store where Rose works, and the play begins after she has just invited Cliff up to her apartment. While Cliff thinks her intention is for a little “wham bam thank you ma’am” action, her motive is a little less clear. The play that unfolds is a record of the unusual relationship that forms between these two very lonely people.
Rose, who lives in a perpetual state of fear, epitomizes urban paranoia. Her one window is boarded up after the previous tenant hanged herself, and she refuses to let Cliff open it up and let in fresh air. She is a woman who seems painfully afraid of men and sex in general, and tells stories about her good friend Brenda, who, after being wronged by a man, disappeared for good. She is diametrically opposed to swearing, drinking and smoking, frequently breaks out into irrationally impassioned monologues about the vicious boys who stoned to death four of the last seven birds of an endangered species, and has an odd habit of collecting men’s sweaters for mementos.
Cliff infuses her puritanical and fantastical world with a gritty bit of real life. He smokes and drinks unabashedly, treats her like a woman and philosophizes in a layman’s way about such lofty subjects as freedom and guilt. He shatters her system of values with such statements as, “Maybe she did the right thing, maybe she’s happy now,” when commenting on the previous tenant’s suicide, and enrages Rose so much throughout the course of the play that he actually gets her to swear.
Rose is a dreamer who reacts to the harshness of life by avoiding it, but Cliff chooses instead to attack. “It’s a rough tough world, and if you want to survive, you got to be tough.” Both characters are lost souls in a world that doesn’t seem to have room for them. Yet, by seeking comfort in one another’s presence, they eventually find hope in an otherwise dismal life. After much arguing between them, and after many bitter monologues, the two seem ready to accept the fact that although neither of them are perfect, they both need each other. The play ends on a relatively positive note as they both contemplate the wonder of the ocean, indicating a kind of baptism or re-birth.
The Woolgatherer possesses a great deal of energy and emotion, and although the actors occasionally become overzealously swept up in the moment, the fact that they are so excited about the project is refreshing, and excuses their transgressions. The production staff, led by director Joy B. Fairfield ’03, is relatively young, and their age does show. At times The Woolgatherer resembles an overly dramatized high school production, but, despite its flaws, the cast of two manages to hold the audience’s attention against the appropriately depressing set.
Though it struggles in places, The Woolgatherer marks an ambitiously conceived and staged Harvard directorial debut for Fairfield, who promises far greater things to come.
The Woolgatherer will be performed in the Loeb Ex tonight and tomorrow night at 7:30 and tomorrow afternoon at 2:30.
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