Finesse and subtlety are nowhere to be found at SouthEnd Performing Arts Center, where Steven Dietz’s relentless, obsessively researched docudrama, God’s Country, is sounding a loud, harsh alarm. Off-Tryon Theatre Company’s production, clocking in at two hours and five minutes plus intermission, doesn’t soften (or shorten) the assault, which comes hurtling at us like a grenade laden with razor blades.
At the heart of the drama are two of the most disturbing protagonists I can recall encountering. We spend the most time with Denver Parmenter, a member of the inner circle in The Order, a white supremacist group responsible for the most successful crime spree in US history. Self-servingly, Parmenter has turned state’s evidence against his cronies, who are on trial in Seattle — Dietz’s home town — for the 1984 assassination of talkshow firebrand Alan Berg.
Played superbly by Mykel Chambers, with a malevolent superior smirk nearly worthy of Hannibal Lecter, Parmenter indubitably still harbors the noxious prejudices he professes to renounce in his plea bargain. His credibility — and that of the government prosecutors bringing the people’s case against The Order — reeks with corruption.
Nor is Berg a comforting presence during his intermittent appearances. Tom Ollis renders the Denver radio personality as markedly rude and abrasive. If you’re looking for a cuddly Jewish victim of abominable anti-Semitism, look elsewhere. Dietz portrays Berg as the lightning rod he was and, under John Hartness’s fevered direction, Ollis doesn’t flinch from it.
So the alarming message of God’s Country is richly complex. Yes, we should take seriously the seditious threat of American Nazis. And no, hurling hatred or contempt at them is not the best way of dealing with the scourge.
Yet we find ourselves inwardly cheering Berg’s incendiary rants. Worse, we find ourselves tolerating the government’s dubious prosecutorial tactics, willing to trust the word of one monster if it will serve to imprison others.
Naturally, there are chilling embodiments of the most repulsive racism egging us on, appallingly American in their flavor. Seventh-grader Anthony Zanghi has a memorable debut as a young sprout who gets indoctrinated with The Order’s twisted creed. George Cole dons camo to give his skinhead portrayal a muscular, Marine mien. When he shouts out “8-8!” — a coded Nazi salute — you can almost imagine Hitler stirring from his grave.
Each letup in the stridency is a welcome oasis. Best are the poignant regrets of a Father (Phil Taylor) who realizes too late how his nonchalant racist slurs have helped shape his rabid son. There’s also a humorous patch when two hayseeds (Brian Willard and George Weldon) spout their conspiratorial theories.
Off-Tryon’s 11-person ensemble divvies up over 40 roles. Exposition is often delivered via narrative and reportage, further complicating the actors’ tasks. Now that this hurly-burly is up on its feet, maybe all of the cast have their lines down cold. AV projections for the show add some zip, hammering home reminders that we’re confronting real people and threats, and Julia Strachan’s costumes are invariably on-target.
So why doesn’t the diabolical KKK wizard brandish a torch? And why are fearsome militia wielding weapons that look like they shoot water rather than bullets?
Make no mistake though: this remains gripping theatre. Dietz’s carefully documented presentation stands in bold relief against the raving irrationality that flourishes in our midst. Let him quote Yeats. Because things really are falling apart.
For Charlotte Symphony subscribers who favor fire and flamboyance over finesse, the return of Vadim Gluzman to the Belk Theater stage was an unalloyed triumph. Premiering the Erich Korngold Violin Concerto with the CSO, Gluzman’s personality and passion carried into the top balcony. For the throngs who leapt to their feet in a lusty ovation, that deep commitment to the concerto’s rhapsodic soul — and the throbbing heartfelt tones he wrenched from his 1690 Stradivarius — made more lasting impressions than his occasional lapses in intonation.
While Gluzman negotiated the quicker passages of the opening moderato more smoothly the second time around, gaining confidence for his lengthy cadenza, the ardor of the middle andante movement was clearly his true métier with its ethereal vibrato. Only those slight wavers in intonation robbed it of perfection, and the unexpectedly feisty and humorous reading of the finale — with clownish quips from bassoonist Mary Beth Griglak — was worthy of acclaim.
Carolinas Concert Association opened its subscription season with a musical feast, nearly two hours of music from Grammy Award-winning guitarist Sharon Isbin and the Zurich Chamber Orchestra. Since Charlotte was the first stop in her 18-city tour with the ZCO running through the end of October, Isbin seemed in a fairly festive mood herself, bringing two Vivaldi Concerti, a new arrangement of the familiar Albinoni Adagio, and an encore.
Touring the US for the first time in 20 years, the Zurich ensemble clearly sought to leave a deep impression of their own. They weren’t about to play Mahler with 23 string players, but the ZCO found a couple of meaty middleweight pieces by Elgar and Tchaikovsky to frame Isbin with — plus a new work written especially for their US tour. Then came a couple of lightweight encores.
As it turned out, then, Sunday’s performance of Fabian Müller’s Labyrinth was a world premiere. Dedicated to renowned chocolate magnate Dolf Teuscher, the early passages of Labyrinth were more like a lemon drop with their astringent flavoring. After an agitated climax, the journey settled into a wistful, tonal — and sometimes tedious — gait before questing toward exquisite sublimity.
Isbin wisely started off with a less familiar Vivaldi concerto before straddling the warhorses in her program. The Zurich somewhat overwhelmed the delicacy of her amped guitar in the opening of the Concerto in A, but she strode confidently to the fore in the delectable larghetto, remaining there for the fleet finale. She was ready for action, but the Albinoni didn’t provide much. In fact, our guitar superstar looked downright anal and insecure seated behind sheet music for this core repertoire, but she sounded fine, adding a touch of charming embroidery to the main theme.
Then the Vivaldi Concerto in D with its magical slow movement. No, Isbin didn’t need no stinkin’ score for this evergreen. She clearly has her own ideas on the improvised parts of the middle movement, injecting enough fine ornament to waken this largo from its usual torpor and make it something of a virtuoso showpiece.
How do you follow such enchantment? With a miniaturized adagio from Roderigo’s beloved Concerto de Aranjuez, perfectly proportioned for an encore. I don’t think I’ve ever heard the improvised riffs played with more intricate decoration or sung with such inspired rubato. Cellist Nicola Mosca, stellar all afternoon, surpassed himself as Isbin’s partner in melody.
This article appears in Oct 12-18, 2005.
