Rashomon: He Stabbed, She Stabbed
Meat and Potato, the low-fi theatre company devoted to reviving disused devices such as puppetry and masks, has taken on Rashomon as their latest experiment. Is this a good idea? No, it's a great idea, which makes it all the more disappointing that the show, despite the obvious care and labor that has gone into it, arrives half-formed.
The story, of course, is so iconic that its title has become shorthand for any situation wherein contradictory accounts of what happened are equally plausible, or -- that sticky little word -- true. M&P founder Tobin Atkinson has written his own adaptation of the same Ryunosuke Akutagawa short stories that inspired Akira Kurosawa's landmark 1950 film of the same title. In Atkinson's restaging, this prismatic tale of a bandit, a samurai, and his wife, told from the point of view of each character, benefits from some inspired stunt-casting. In each retelling, we see only the face of that version's narrator; the other two characters are Bunraku puppets. It's a brilliant use of the device, and the puppeteers are skillful. There's even some puppet-swordplay that's on par with the puppet-swordplay featured in Maribou Mines' production of Peter and Wendy at Arena Stage last summer, and those folks don't have day jobs.
Image of actor Marynell Hinton trying to fend off an attacker -- or is she? -- in Meat and Potato's adaptation of Rashomon.
But it's still pretty much a one-trick show. It's a good trick, but it's also a long time coming. For at least the first 10 minutes, the Commoner (Brandon Ferraro) is alone onstage, waylaid by a rainstorm. He huddles for shelter with the Priest (Joseph Madison) and the Woodcutter (Atkinson), both strangers to him, and both represented by only by their voices, pre-recorded and unseen. Ferraro isn't commanding enough to draw us in, and the awkwardness of having him play off recordings lays bare the clunkiness of the exposition he receives. Things improve considerably when the other actors show up: Jay Saunders has a squirrelly charm as the Bandit, and Marynell Hinton exudes dignity as the Woman. But the first time we see the puppets, the production pretty much exhausts its shallow well of surprise.
Meat and Potato staged a show two years ago called Poe 2000, which used Banraku and every other arrow in their quiver to re-frame Edgar Allan Poe's classic tales of suspense, horror, and heartbreak. Each was more inventively told than the last, making these familiar spook-stories fresh and surprising. That's what Rashomon needed: a new angle every time we change narrators. One sincerely hopes Meat and Potato will revisit this material and push its narrative possibilities further next time. Call this production a strong first draft, albeit one that makes Kurosawa's dense riddle all too susceptible to curt synopsis: He stabbed, she stabbed, we shrugged.
Rashomon is at Playbill Cafe, 1409 14th St. NW, through November 4. Tickets are available here.