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Reviews Of Mice and Men Libretto by Carlisle Floyd, after Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck Reviewed by Sherry Deatrick Entire contents are copyright © 2009 Sherry Deatrick. All rights reserved. Disclaimer: This review is based on the final dress rehearsal and is thus a "preview" rather than a review.
Do you often cry at the opera? What is it about opera that makes a person weep? Carlisle Floyd's Of Mice and Men opened the floodgates of tears even during the dress rehearsal, so powerful is this performance. This is no melodrama. Rather, it's the classic, tragic tale of two drifters with a dream of owning their own farm one day. The opera, which premiered in 1970, is set in 1937, on a California ranch (although Floyd says Steinbeck did not want it to be tied to a particular moment in time). The scrim covering the stage is a Grant Wood farm landscape, with trimmed hedges lined up like phallic chess pawns in front of a looming farmhouse. As the lights peek through the scrim, we see flashlights darting about like crazed fireflies. George Milton (Rod Nelman) and Lennie Small (Michael Hendrick) are on the lam because a woman mistook Lennie's attention as attempted rape. They hide out by a tree. In the distance we see telephone poles or electric poles stuck into a hill at odd angles. They look rather like crucifixes. Most writers decribe Lennie as an overgrown manchild, but it is possible he suffers from Asperger's syndrome. He is drawn to soft textures, and once he begins to stroke them (whether it be cloth, fur or human hair) he can't stop himself. He's always getting into trouble that way, and his friend George always manages to get Lennie safe again. He calms Lennie by making him "see" the farm they hope to own "one day" where they'll have lots of animals for Lennie to stroke and love. They find work at a ranch, where solitary men sleep in bunks lined up at odd angles. These men are loners, with ties to no other human. Candy (John Stephens), the oldest ranch hand, has a dog but the men complain about its smell and convince Candy a mercy killing is in order. While one of the men takes the dog outside, the others fidget with their hands, not wanting to think about the dog. They play solitaire, polish their boots, anything to keep from feeling guilt. The Ballad Singer (Clark Sturdevant) makes them forget about the deed by leading the men in song about their hope of owning their own home ("one corner of earth to call my own") in the future.
This constant yearning for a few acres of land and a small farm keeps the men pacified, but an undercurrent of violence flows in all their blood. They can barely keep its tide from rising, even though they, like Lennie, don't mean any harm. Perhaps it's useless to fight against it. We can only weep for the innocent creatures that are harmed as this powerful force rages over the earth. Lennie doesn't weep, though. He, like Candy, blames the victim. ("Why did you have to die?" he asks the lifeless dog in his arms.) These men refuse to, or are unable to, acknowledge that their violent actions result in death. And yet, we weep for Lennie, who in the end is sacrificed for his own good and for the protection of others. The costumes are authentic to the time period of the late 1930's. The men wear dirty jeans and faded shirts and hats, and the ranch boss's wife (Deborah Selig) wears floral print dresses. In her first appearance, she's clad in a neutral dress with sensible shoes that you might find in your grandmother's attic. Selig moves like a siren around the ranch hands, calling to them for attention. She reappears later in a cream colored dress trimmed in red. Although it's understated, her outfit still screams "LOOK AT ME!" The atonal music sets a somber mood. Unlike a popular musical theatrical production, where the music floats through your skull so that you leave humming the songs, this "serious" music somehow works its way deep into your psyche. It leaves a more lasting and deeper impression and carries you along as if you're floating on a river barge to places you never dreamed existed. In Act III, for example, when Lennie and Curley's wife are alone in a barn, their voices sweep you up to heights of joy only to bring you crashing down abruptly in one of the most powerful, shocking scenes I've ever seen on a stage. Int's interesting that Curley's wife has no name. As Steinbeck explained, she's "not a person, she's a symbol. She has no function, except to be a foil – and a danger to Lennie." And the final scene with George and Lennie is tender and yet horrifying, the men's voices blending in perfect atonal harmony. Bring your hankies.
Many high school students were in attendance at the dress rehearsal. They gasped and cried out with pure emotion during some of the more traumatic scenes. They squealed with glee during the curtain call, when the dog is trotted back out on stage. I can say without reservation that this is the best performance I've had the privilege of seeing in Louisville. And that was just the dress rehearsal! The intimacy of the Brown Theatre adds to this soul-engulfing experience. Amazing. Splendid. Outstanding. Genius. Moving. This is what theatre is supposed to be. Mr. Floyd will be in attendance on opening night.
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