The Summer's Tale

The Young Shakespeare Players prepare their annual miracle: a difficult adult play performed by kids.

Maureen Gerarden, Isthmus, July 18, 1997

Rosencrantz: There is, sir, an aery of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question, and are most tyrannically clapp'd for 't...
Hamlet: What, are they children? Who maintains 'em? How are they escoted?
(Act II, scene ii)

The Madison Friends Meeting House is usually a place for quiet contemplation. But not now. This morning, it's filled with youthful voices shouting with excitement as the Young Shakespeare Players, clad in summer uniform of T-shirt and shorts, get ready to go to work. They're going to need all their energy to accomplish their goal. In just under one month, this motley bunch of Madison-area kids aged 7 to 17 will transform itself into five casts of actors, presenting The Winter's Tale at Oakwood Village Theatre.

By now, it's a familiar miracle. This is the 18th summer that Richard DiPrima...has directed a full-length, unbowdlerized version of a Shakespeare play, acted entirely by children. With the help of his wife, Anne (who co-directs), two assistants, and a small army of parent-volunteers, he has introduced a generation of local youngsters to the greatest literature in the English language.

This year's play is singularly challenging. The Winter's Tale is a tragical-comical-pastoral work, or, as DiPrima describes it, "Romeo and Juliet in reverse." A story of madness, death, love and redemption, it contains echoes of other tragedies like Othello and King Lear, combined with the mistaken identities and happy endings of Twelfth Night or As You Like It. The range of emotions it depicts is demanding for any case, but no one here seems daunted by the prospect.

Such optimism is justified by an impressive track record. The program's success can be measured not only by longevity, but by numbers - it has grown from 17 kids acting in someone's backyard to a company 63 strong.

For several years now, I've watched Young Shakespeare productions and been impressed by the level of understanding the actors have displayed. But I've always been curious about the process of attaining it. Why do these kids spend half the summer memorizing knotty Elizabethan verse, when their peers are busy watching Nickelodeon or packing the malls? How do they learn to convey adult emotions? And what does the experience do for them in the long run?

"Get up and find yourself a space" Interns Saima Akhtar and Julie Bannerman call the group into action with an air of calm command, leading a series of stretches and vocal warmups while marking out stage dimensions on the floor with duct tape. Rehearsal is about to begin.

Akhtar knows this process intimately. A seven-year veteran of Young Shakespeare Players, she is now part of the program's dedicated support staff, working over 45 hours a week during the season, drilling scenes the directors have introduced during their weekend sessions. "I wake up every morning absolutely exhausted," she says, "but with an incredible sense of joy, looking forward to working with these kids."

This year may be particularly difficult; many experienced players have recently left the program, so the median age took a sudden shift backwards, to about 11. And nearly half this crop of players is brand new to acting and to Shakespeare.

Today's business is blocking, so action is intermittent as the assistants work on entrances, exits, proper carriage, and maintaining clear sight lines. It's slow going; still, the players maintain their focus. Even those not on stage sit quietly, paying attention, applauding each scene.

The director isn't here ... but in a sense he's as close as each actor's Walkman. DiPrima has painstakingly recorded each speaking part on tutorial tapes that explain the speeches in detail, defining unfamiliar words, clarifying complicated metaphors and allusions, and placing each line in its context within the emotion of the moment and the play as a whole. Another set of lines-only tapes reinforces memorizing. "Have you listened to your tapes?" is a frequently heard question today.

The morning session goes on for three hours, with one break, during which the players run loose and yell like any other gang of kids. But when it's over, they settle down quickly, giving the same intense energy to their work as to their play. It's one of the advantages children enjoy as actors: the ability to focus absolutely in the moment, on whatever they love to do. Right now, blocking is it.

Next day, the scene shifts to Oakwood Village Theater, where a bearded, bespectacled, slightly owlish man is leading a guided meditation on the magic of acting.

"Close your eyes, and think of a line your character says in the play. It can be any line...now, imaging a full-length mirror in front of you, in a beautifully carved frame...it's a magic mirror. You look at yourself in the mirror, and as you think your line, you begin to turn into your character...you're wearing their clothes, thinking their thoughts, feeling their emotions."

The group sits in rapt silence as the director weaves a transforming fantasy that will prepare them to enter Shakespeare's world.

Even for the casual observer, it's an education to watch Richard DiPrima at work. His manner is friendly, but matter-of-fact; he never talks down to anyone. Splitting his attention equally between language comprehension and stagecraft, he provides a steady stream of reaction, exposition and encouragement, but doesn't harangue, intimidate or nag. He can even tease without a hint of grownup condescension.

Though his words are easily understandable, DiPrima presents big concepts: staying in character, identifying key themes, listening to verse and breaking it down to its components of rhythm, imagery, sound, antitheses, repetition, and architectural balance. Accompanying all the scholarship is a warmer message: "This is an important story, one that has been told for hundreds of years - one that each of you can tell beautifully in your own way."

Best of all, he creates an atmosphere in which the children teach each other. As they prepare to take the stage, he tells them, "From this moment on, you're all assistant directors."

The action begins. Leontes, king of Sicilia, is in an insane rage, denouncing his innocent queen as an adulterous slut:

...then say
My wife's a hobby-horse, deserving a name
As rank as any flax-wench that puts to
Before her troth-plight; say't and justify't

It is admittedly jarring at first to hear these words spoken by Megan Kaseman, a tall 16-year-old girl with a fresh, dimpled, heart-shaped face. But by the end of the scene, the sweep of the language and her feel for the character have taken over, rendering her a menacing figure. No costume, no makeup, no FX - just Shakespeare and an empty stage.

As each segment is finished, the actors stay to hear the comments of their peers, some of which are surprisingly trenchant.

Camillo, you weren't facing out
Hermione, I couldn't hear you. And don't walk so fast - remember, you're pregnant.
I liked your gestures - they were really fluent - but you should use your whole arm.
Your accent was good at the beginning, but it dropped off at the end.
Leontes, I wasn't expecting anything this awesome at the beginning. You gave me shivers.

Eager hands go up all over the room.

The spectators offer praise whenever they can and make specific, constructive suggestions, knowing their turn to be criticized will come. And when DiPrima puts on a tape of John Gielgud performing Leontes, they give him the same rigorous treatment. (There are no sacred cows around here.) When responses eventually die down, the director wraps up the session, saying "Thank you for the quality of your listening. Remember to listen like that onstage."

During breaks, we talk about the project's objectives. DiPrima downplays his own role in favor of the children's contributions, but it's obvious that the program draws its effectiveness and staying power from the clarity of his vision, his certainty about what it should - or should not - be.

He's adamant that it shouldn't reflect society's debased view of children. "Where does a child turn who wants to experience the best our species has to offer? The movies and television that are designated for kids are mindless, and have eliminated words; schools are little better. There are wonderful teachers, but they're being defeated by a massive system that expects too little of young people and makes them feel terrible about themselves."

Conventional children's theater programs continue this process of discouragement through auditions. "I can't think of anything more damaging than to have tryouts, and then tell half the children they're not good enough. It's stupid, too. These programs tend to pick kids that are audition-wise, but they have no idea how a child will develop given the opportunity. I've seen kids come in that were almost too shy to speak, who after a few seasons were playing leads, and doing well. There is no such thing as an audition in YSP, and there never will be."

In contrast, his group remains inclusive and democratic. The program is open to any interested child who can attend rehearsals, and everyone gets at least one speaking part. There is a tuition fee, but scholarships are available. And there's no limit - of age, gender, size or experience - on who can play a given character; the players themselves vote on who should get which roles, and everyone works on the crew. "It's critically important to us that we get the kids involved in every phase of the production," says DiPrima.

The peer feedback sessions, a relatively recent development, grew out of this imperative. "We do too many things in this society divided by age level. Here, the 7-, 8-, and 9-year-olds feel free to criticize or praise the 15-year-olds, and vice versa. It shows them that their ideas are important, and cuts down on the rivalries you so often see in schools. Everyone sees their own triumphs as belonging to the entire cast.

Another day, another rehearsal space. Today, it's Edgewood College.

We're in the trial scene, the exact center of the play. Hermione has been vindicated, but, it seems, too late. Her outspoken friend Paulina announces the queen's untimely death and berates Leontes for persecuting her:

...Thy tyranny
Together working with thy jealousies
(Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle
For girls of nine), O, think what they have done, and then run mad indeed-
Stark mad! For all they by-gone fooleries were but spices of it...

Redheaded Nora Kehl, 12 years old, comes offstage after delivering this impassioned speech. I waylay her to ask of portraying such strong emotion is difficult. "Yes, it takes a lot of energy. My throat gets itchy from all that yelling." Still, acting Paulina is a treat.

"She's the strongest female character in all of Shakespeare," Kehl says. "She sees a lot of people cowering down to Leontes, but she's not about to do that. If she's going to die, that's fine, but she's standing up for the queen's and the baby's rights to live. It's a happy ending because of Paulina."

Last year, Kehl played Ophelia, which was a greater challenge. "It was really hard to go crazy, and it would've been a lot harder if Richard would've had specific stuff I had to do. He left it up to the Ophelias, which was nice. Some people smiled a lot, some people cried a lot. Some changed really fast, and some were more gradual. I liked the fast emotions."

Nora, who has been in Young Shakespeare for six seasons, is one of many players following in the footsteps of an elder sibling. Her sister Kristen, 17, played Hamlet opposite her last year. "That was weird. In one scene, she beat me up. But it was easier to do it with her than with one of the other Hamlets."

Kristen is now in New York, studying at the National Shakespeare Conservatory." Nora misses her mentor, but isn't discouraged: "Now I have to rely on my own instincts."

Can any kid do Shakespeare? "Totally. It's so much fun. As long as you have the commitment, and want to do it. To come here and have this guy saying, 'You can do this, I know you can' - it's like somebody in the world cares."

At midday, parents begin to arrive on the scene as the afternoon shift of players comes on. It's a good time to find out how they feel about YSP; after all, they've held the program together since the DiPrimas moved down south in 1994 [note that the DiPrimas returned to Madison in 1999]. Instead of letting the organization die, the parents formed a volunteer support group to take over day-to-day administration - registration,scheduling, fund-raising, costuming, etc. - leaving the DiPrimas free to direct on weekends. As the group has grown, so has the workload, but they persevere. Why is this experience so important to them and their children?

Like many of the parents, Emily Auerbach has seen changes in her 9-year-old daughter, Melanie Meyer, since she joined: "It's not only a great alternative to trivialities like Beanie Babies and Superman - I think it's made her more compassionate. It seems to me if you have to become a queen who's lost her child, or a king who discovers that the wife he thought was dead is actually alive, then you gain a real sense of the tremendous heartache and joy that's lurking behind the doors of anyone's house.

Weeks have passed; the tragic part of The Winter's Tale is over. Now the players are back at Edgewood, tackling their toughest job - comedy. As they rehearse the harvest feast scene, it's clear that it has a way to go. (The dancing definitely needs work.) Thomas Deming-Henes, a 14-year-old with a mobile, puckish face under a mane of tawny hair, seems born to play the roguish cutpurse, Autolycus; but some of the other characters are still stumbling over their lines. Others are busy working up bits of stage business to get more laughs. The action isn't quite suited to the word yet, nor the word to the action, but DiPrima isn't rattled.

"Comedy always takes more work than almost anything else, because so much of it is timing, which needs refinement. Sometimes that little spark of energy is the very last thing to come along, but this group is taking their risks early. I'm not worried."

Neither am I. Envious, yes, but not worried. By the time I slip away and leave them to it, I have no doubt that this group of neophytes will be ready on opening night. All I wish is that I were young enough to join them.

(c) 1997 Maureen Gerarden, Reprinted by Permission