Time for a Mystery

Oh my gosh...nearly August. We are finally getting that warm, gooey Wisconsin weather that I love to hate. Mid-summer and mid-winter are my times to stop, and dig into a light mystery. In high school, I loved to prowl through the mystery section of the public library on my way home. Of course, Gothics were my favorite, but eventually, thanks to a teacher - who was intuitive enough to know that I needed a push to move beyond the romantic stories of women with mysterious pasts, roaming the moors in search of their true identifies, and true loves - I found Agatha Christie. Yes, her stories are predictable, but, what the heck, if I can solve the crime before the detective does - that's half the fun.

PBS is currently running a series called "Masterpiece Mystery" featuring full-length adaptations of novels by the "Queen of crime." As with all PBS shows, there is a moodiness that is seldom captured in modern mysteries set in the United states. The two I have seen so far focus on setting dear to my heart - a school, and a theatre company. With that as inspiration, I decided it was time for a mid-summer mystery break.

Murder at the Vicarage introduces Christie's beloved Miss Jane Marple, who, to me, is more fun than the stories themselves. The tweedy Miss Marple lives in Saint Mary's Mead. First impressions are that Jane is fluffy, and confused. I often wondered if that's why Christie had her live in a village named "Mead". Did Miss Marple tip a few when not on a case? Or was her name a play on the word "marble, " suggesting that she had lost hers?

In reality, Miss Jane Marple is patient, observant and intuitive. She watches, and then threads together the patches of what she sees. Eventually, she gathers all the possible suspects, and one by one, lays out their actions on the days leading up to, and following the crime. One by one, she eliminates individuals, and readers get to watch while the real perptrator sweats.

Belgian detective, Hercule Poirot, solves the bulk of Christie's mysteries. Unlike Miss Marple, Poirot uses psychological inquiry, rather than working off of physical clues. He is one of the best defined characters in all fiction. Through his stories, we learn about his family life, his work on the police department, his years as a private detective, and even how he spent his retirement. Christie admitted that she liked Jane better, and that she found Poirot tedious and annoying. Still, he was the main character in the majority of her novels, and despite his popularity, she killed him off in a novel called Curtain. It was the only time the New York Times ran a obituary for a fictional character.

Agatha Christie wrote eighty novels and over one dozen plays. Mousetrap, which I was lucky to see in London, is the longest running play in theatre history, with 23,000 performances. Grease and A Chorus Line are close behind.

Emily news....here's a nice photo of ET as Lily in "The Secret Garden," at the Utah Shakespeare Festival. The show has gotten warm reviews, but the comments about our Emily have been glowing.

The Depp Report!

Get ready for another Tim Burton-Johnny Depp collaboration. Alice in Wonderland is set for release in 2010. Click on this link to see a trailer www.guardian.co.uk/film/filmblog/2009/jul/23/alice-in-wonderland-tim-burton-johnny-depp.

I hope that works...it's a complicated address, and my fingers don't always hit the keys they intend to.

Depp, Disappointment, and Some Frenchmen

Let's begin with the Depp Report

...got this picture from a friend who recently attended a big car wing-ding in Iola, Wisconsin. This car was used in the movie "Public Enemies." The display board includes photos from the film, and a certificate of authenticity, stating that the car was driven by Johnny Depp in several scenes. I haven't seen the movie yet, and despite the middle of the road reviews, four people reporting in so far have given thumbs up. However, all have been troubled by the fact that they left the theatre with empathy for the bad guys.

"My Trade Show"... in 50 words more or less...left Manty at 7:50...arrived at McCormick Place 11:00...paid outrageous $20.00 parking fee...excited to see publisher exhibits and place orders...learned that library reps can't sell to bookstores...considered lunch at M-Place but the pizza slices at $11.00 each looked old and greenish...left at 2:00.


Basically, I got free passes to the American Library Association show from a sales rep. He failed to tell me that publishers have different reps, and sales programs for libraries and bookstores...so I got to look at all the pretty book displays, and that's about it.



Here's Judy Blume signing at the Harper Collins booth.

Heading home, I discovered that Milwaukee was celebrating Bastille days near the MSOE campus, so I stopped and walked through this modest, but oh-so-neat, street festival. There's a charm about these small events that cannot be captured in the mega festivals. The rhythms are more relaxed, the music is hip, but less frantic, no one pushes; there are seldom lines deeper than four or five people. Never fear though, the evil port-a-potties stand waiting for all to enjoy. My summer event exit cue is always initiated by a choice between heading home, or attempting to get out of a p-a-p without a communicable disease. I was home by 10:30 that night!

If that falls into the too much info category, let's move on. At times, I tend to be a thematic reader, and the little French festival prompted me to read some French literature, something I have not done much of. My fave musician, Jimmy Buffett, references Flaubert in one of his fresher songs called "Love in the Library." Inspired by that, and by "Reading with my Twin", the blog written by my friend Justin-Justin and his Jon, I read Madame Bovary a while ago. I do know that there are many renowned French playwrights, Moliere being one of my favorites. I made my way through "Le Malade Imaginaire" (The Imaginary Invalid) with a minimal knowledge of French, because I could guess at bits of the plot from reading his other plays in English. His works were the inspiration for what we now call bedroom farces, or British door slammers....your know, those mistaken identity plots, filled with close encounters, and ending with the near lovers discovering they were separated at birth after drifting at sea in different directions as the result of a hurricane. One raised by slaves, the other by royalty...you have the idea, right?

Then there's Jean-Paul Sarte with his cheery little philosophy in "No Exit" - hell is other people. Wow. I wonder what happened to make thay guy so cranky.


I thought about reading some poetry by Charles Baudelaire. He was an interesting guy, living a life of literary and artistic decadence...and delusion! Upon meeting Edgar Allen Poe, Baudelaire told the American writer that many of his plots had actually been churning in his own head for years, and had no idea how Poe had extricated them from his brain all they across the ocean. Oh, that wacky Frenchman! His work didn't suit me, although a couple of his lines have stuck with me including "...the supreme delight lies in the certainty of doing evil." I wonder, was he the inspiration for one of the three characters stuck in hell in Sarte's "No Exit"?

Eventually, I decided to re-read The Little Prince, by French aviator Antoine de Saint-Exupery. This tiny book packs a wallop. The chameleon nature allows kids to read it as a gentle fairy tale, while adults, looking deeper, may decide to adjust their priorities.

A pilot, stranded in the Sahara, meets a little boy from another planet who tells stories of his life, and his search for meaning. He knows a man who drinks to forget, a businessman who wants to own as many stars a possible so he has the leverage to buy more. He tells the pilot about a map maker who is so tied to his job that he never leaves his desk to visit the places he charts, and a lamplighter stuck in the rat race...lighting lamps at night, extinguishing them at dawn, and watching the world go round as he does so, never relaxing.

On the other hand, the little prince owns three volcanoes, and a rose, all of which he visits, and cares for with generosity and devotion. He teaches the pilot that responsibility creates connections, and connections create wealth. The pilot, although saddened by final events, has a renewed outlook, realizing that he has been encumbered by the demands of adulthood, sacrificing his curiosity, and by-passing valuable opportunities to make connections.

French playwright, Samuel Beckett offers a thesis opposite of the little prince. Beckett asserts that we are totally free to do and be as we see fit. However, he contends that humans are innately responsible creatures, and that our need to be accountable for our choices kills our freedom. Bummer! That's why his main characters in "Waiting for Godot", Didi and Gogo, choose to spend their days sitting on dung heap, rather than doing something. What if they do the wrong thing, or make the wrong move, or pick the wrong direction? They are a mess. Heck, better to do nothing than to make a mistake. You know, on some days, that might not be a bad idea, except for the dung heap part.

So, that was my little trip to France via Chicago, Milwaukee, the Sahara Desert and a planet with three volcanoes and a rose.

Curtain Call

On Saturday, July 11, 2009, friends and family of David H. Semmes will gather to celebrate his life. This is sure to be an event filled with over the top storytelling, a skill that David excelled at, and one that he bequeathed to many of us who had the good fortune to venture into his world. David taught theatre at UW-Manitowoc for many, many years, making contributions to both the quality of the arts at the campus and to our community as a whole.

I first met David the year after my senior year in high school. Having dabbled a little in theatre, and wanting to explore more, I wandered into auditions in the tiny theatre at UW-Manitowoc. I knew nothing about the campus, nothing about the play being produced, and nothing about the man in charge. A small group had already gathered when I arrived. In unison, all heads turned when I entered, and a tall man stood and shouted "Welcome. Come on in and join the fun."

Now, I can't explain why I was drawn to theatre in the first place; I was always a background person - dependable wallpaper. The eyes fixated on me, and the bellering voice in my direction sent me running out the of the Fine Arts Theatre, into the lobby, out the double doors. Heading across the parking lot to my car, I heard the voice again. He was following me. I ran...honestly, the only time recall ever running! He was yelling "Come back, we need you." Right. If he hollered at me before we even met, before I had a chance to mess up even a little, what would it be like if I got a part, blanked out on stage, entered at the wrong time, or just plain couldn't cut it ? Nope. This just wasn't for me. My theatre career was over. Short lived. Done before it began.

Still, the thought haunted me, and a week after the great parking lot chase, I saw a tiny article in the HTR, announcing a training session for a readers theatre group. I called. A nice lady invited me to the meeting. Reading with a soft spoken lady seemed more my style, so I found my way to Fairmont Street, where I was greeted by a lovely redhead. Shortly after exchanging introductions in the kitchen, she was called into the living room, and crazy Fred arrived, a dog who announced his immediate dislike for me by showing his teeth and snarling. This was not run of the mill snarling. This was "I want you out of my house" snarling, the kind that includes occasional gurgling, and snorting. Well, old Fred managed to back me up until I was pinned between him and the refrigerator. I had just enough courage to sidle along, finally reaching the living room. doorway- quite a sight for those already at the meeting - me taking sideways baby steps, arms spread slightly at my side, entering the room backwards. It was then that I heard it - that booming voice - calling "Welcome. Come in and join the fun." It was him. I was torn between crazy Fred, and my parking lot pursuer. I chose the later, and am grateful for that decision.

David gave me countless, valuable opportunities over the years. Many of us still puttering in local theatre got our first moments in the footlights, and our love of the art from hours of work and play with David. The list of what I learned from him would be lengthy, and technical. It would make dramaphiles quiver with delight, no doubt. More than anything else, I cherish the peripheral lessons...give everyone a chance; try it, you might like it; nobody likes a diva; dream big; read lots of plays and see even more; be quiet and listen to the stories; be a rock in case someone near you needs a rock; nothing is too serious to chuckle about; be a little scary, it makes those you touch stronger...and so much more.

I am lucky. David and I kept in touch after he retired and left Manitowoc. Each year I got a Christmas card, with just enough of a note to let me know all was well. David still came to his Manitowoc dentist, and, on those days, we would go to lunch. He would talk, and I would listen. The stories of his new life were as engaging as any he ever told, and I never tired of them.

I will miss him.

*****No blog next week. I'll be at a trade show in Chicago Sunday and Monday.