By Lauren Smart
By Jane R. LeBlanc
By Lauren Smart
By Elaine Liner
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
Miller lays out in spare, clinical terms the whole confusing saga of the first family as portrayed in the book of Genesis. He sets one contradiction against the other to show that, if there is much muddled and misinterpreted communication between the sexes, that's perfectly on par with the story of how Adam and Eve were punished by God simply because they acquired knowledge about their own bodies.
With equal parts toughness and delight, Miller also presents Christianity's creation story without denominational baggage: He asks the questions that are simplest yet most profound, what I call "the Sunday school questions." There's no highfalutin hairsplitting about what historical periods rescinded which Old Testament doctrines and what so-and-so really must have meant when he said this or that. My own blessedly brief experience with Protestantism as a kid--the occasional visit to a friend's church-related youth activities--proved that little kids know the real questions to ask. "So if you're a Christian and your best friend isn't, and God sends you to heaven and your best friend to hell, how can you enjoy eternal salvation knowing your best friend is in hell?" I recall one young theologian asking a befuddled youth minister, who replied that all his love would be with God in the afterlife. "Does that mean God will make me forget my best friend after I die? Will He do that with all my family members who don't go to heaven?" This discussion was cut short by treat time when the kid declared he'd rather go to hell with his best friend than be alone with God in heaven; they couldn't fill our mouths with juice and store-bought cookies fast enough after that.
Arthur Miller approaches the story of Adam and Eve, and their life as parents after the apple incident, with the same childlike skepticism about all those Genesis questions we're supposed to swallow in the name of faith. Wasn't the Old Testament God creepily like some Orwellian tyrant, content with the creations he'd made in his own image only until they started asking too many questions? Wasn't the archangel Lucifer motivated at least in part by a genuine desire to illuminate the lives of Adam and Eve with the knowledge of their own bodies and their place in the universe? This exploration of the nuances of a most mysterious, titanically influential tale can best be summed up by a line from Miller's God: "Sometimes it's only after I do something that I discover the reasons I did it."
Eleventh Street Theatre's show opens with God (Jeff Bush) holding court with his angels over paradise. His chief cohort, Lucifer (Kevin Keating), shows a propensity for second-guessing God's decisions, especially where the creator's favorite breathing clay likeness, Adam (Shane Beeson), is concerned. As you probably already know, things begin to go downhill after God makes a companion named Eve (Blue McDonnell). She's too inquisitive for her own good, and soon, the first couple are propelled into a nightmare of pleasure, pain, clothes, and ungrateful sons like Cain (Kevin Grammer) and Abel (Conn Larson).
On the opening-night performance I attended, either there were some technical glitches or 11th Street Theatre Project hadn't quite mastered their expanded resources. 11th Street has often put the audience onstage with the actors in St. Matthew's Cathedral, dividing the stage in half and pulling the curtain to block out the empty auditorium. With The Creation of the World and Other Business, they placed ticket-buyers back into the auditorium. Sound, in particular, was a trouble spot. Many of the effects weren't integrated well into the action; a few you could barely hear. And although the lighting worked well for a second-act seduction sequence between Eve and Cain, some of the subtler mood stuff during the first act didn't quite hit the mark onstage.
For the rest of the time, the church auditorium setting for this production of The Creation of the World and Other Business seemed especially apt, even a tad transgressive, when you consider the thorough interrogation Miller gives the scriptures. This sexual passion play, delivered with a frame of red velvet curtain around it, has two terrific leads in Blue McDonnell and Shane Beeson. McDonnell, whom I last saw as a spoiled, slutty Desdemona in 11th Street's production of Paula Vogel's Desdemona...a play about a handkerchief, lets her natural Irish accent embroider the dialogue. The result is a fiery, full-bloomed Eve. Because she's blamed for the fall of man, and because Miller's script is mostly comic, you could see how a lesser actress might have chosen to portray Eve's initial innocence as dimwittedness, but McDonnell puts a gleam of ambition into her conversations with Lucifer, and in the second act she backs up her "sin" with convincing sorrow. Shane Beeson plays Adam with much the same boyish restlessness he brought to a young Elvis look-alike in Angela Wilson's Black Velvet. He travels a wide, satisfying emotional circle from a guy who just wants to sit around and admire paradise to the weary father whose bellowings for a return to that patriarchal paradise close the play with real impact.