Theodore Roethke, brilliant poet and teacher, died in 1963. Yet in "First Class" now playing at ACT Theatre, he lives in all his passion, roaring energy and madness in a brilliant portrayal by John Aylward, directed by Kurt Beattie.
The poet was larger than life, in body and soul. At 6 feet 2 inches and 200 pounds he was described by contemporaries as a mountainous man, sensitive in nature, yet outwardly flamboyant. He affected friendships with gangsters, blasted his colleagues with scathing assessments of their work and phoned luminaries with unrequested reading recommendations. He taught at some of the country's best universities, including the University of Washington, and was an astoundingly good teacher. His poetry won just about every major award granted to modern poets.
Yet beneath this bravado, charisma and outstanding success was a troubled man, wracked by inner doubts and a tormented mind. During his well periods he often hid his uncertainties under a giant coonskin coat. At less salubrious moments, he spent tortured weeks in mental hospitals.
For approximately two hours, Aylward throws his hulking body about the stage and paces the aisles, mesmerizing the audience with Roethke's poetic insights and paining them with his unstable mental health. It's a bravura performance in which Roethke is miraculously reincarnated.
Playwright David Wagoner brings his personal knowledge and love for the man to this theater piece. He was a student of Roethke's at Penn State and a fellow professor at the University of Washington. The play sparkles with his remembrances of Roethke's language and style.
"I've been hired to promote poetry, but I'm not to upset anyone.... God help us," says Aylward's somewhat rumpled Roethke shortly after he galumphs into a bare classroom. Desk, blackboard, coat rack, chair and little else are on stage, but the whole audience serves as the students. And then he recites - from the expected and the unexpected. "Hear that thump and smack of Mother Goose?" he asks the class, after reciting a well-known verse, thus forcing us to find the rhythm, to absorb the sound.
"Look closely," he demands while describing a fish swimming in a pool. In lulling tones he asks us to note the still water, the near banks. Suddenly he becomes the heron, arms folded like wings, eyes alert, standing erect, totally still, watching, watching, watching and then LUNGE, down goes his head and up comes the imaginary fish. See, he tells us, you have to look. You have to see.
Wagoner's words and Aylward's acting create the most exciting class most of us have ever attended. This is the class we always hoped to find, but never did. It's funny. It's shocking. It causes one to see in a new way, to connect what appear to be unconnectables. It's thrilling.
Aylward is working with good material, but he masterfully shapes it with his voice and body. Arms flail, head jerks, torso thrusts. And the mouth, oh the mouth. It snarls and twists; it lulls, seduces, then spits fire like a volcano. It's worth the price of admission just to watch Aylward's mouth.
As this one-act play continues, Roethke's mental health deteriorates and he descends into a psychological state that demands hospitalization. We watch as he fights his demons, retreats into his delusions. He writhes and strikes out, calls to "Papa" and desperately seeks the mental stability that seems just beyond his reach.
"Papa" looms large in Roethke's troubled state. One assumes that he really is calling out to his own father and not to God, seeking some sort of closure to a painful relationship. His father, a Prussian immigrant, died when Roethke was 14. He was a short-tempered, stern man, said to drink to excess. Yet in his poetry, Roethke memorializes him, refers to tender moments as well as harsh ones, expresses the pain he felt at losing him, losing him before the father could be proud of what his young son had become.
Though the occasional descent into madness is part of the Roethke story, it doesn't play out on stage as well as the scenes of teaching do. Here there's a bit too much histrionics, and it goes on a bit too long. But, of course, Wagoner is too good a writer to end the piece in that depressed mood. In the final moments we see Roethke back in the classroom, pulling his thoughts together, admonishing his class to read, read, read ... to read all the poetry written in the English language. Then he dons his coonskin coat, and walks out.
Amazing! Gifted writing, smart direction by Kurt Beattie, clever lighting by Rick Paulsen, simple but effective set by Carey Wong and astonishing acting by John Aylward. It doesn't get much better than this.
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