Pigs Eye Theatre - Buried Child: 'Child' a murky glance at American Dream

Buried Child By Sam Shepard	Directed by Randall J. Funk
January 16 - 31, 2004 at Cedar Riverside People's Center

'Child' a murky glance at American Dream

by Graydon Royce
Minneapolis Star Tribune

January 20th, 2004

Playwright Sam Shepard was in the midst of a journey from the metaphoric landscape to naturalism in "Buried Child." By straddling reality, Shepard could cheat a little with surreal imagery in his meditation on the American Dream. Yes, it all takes place in a normal Illinois farmhouse, but Shepard poetically sketches a symbolic madness born of pain, anger, decaying patriarchy and dread.

Pigs Eye Theatre opened "Buried Child" last weekend at the Cedar Riverside People's Center in Minneapolis. It reminded me of the argument over whether a workmanlike production of an important work (a Pulitzer Prizewinner) is worth seeing. I think so. Director Randall J. Funk's staging is squarely earthbound and somewhat limited in its acting, but he has a clear sense of Shepard's intent and enough ruthless verve to find the dark humor and bizarre stench emanating from these ghosts.

Shepard offers for our consideration Dodge, an alcoholic couch potato hectored by his wife, Halie, who gave up on reality long ago. Their traumatized son Tilden cradles vegetables (are they the buried child?) that he has picked inexplicably from the barren fields behind the home. Another son, a peg-legged thug named Bradley, shears his father's hair and contributes an ugly moment worthy of a stray dog.

Gary Keast's Dodge lacks a physical presence, an example of how important age, physical type and appearance are in casting. Keast is certainly game, but the irony is that his greater effort robs Dodge of his bearing and fetid stature. Indeed, Keast's most effective moment is when Dodge slowly falls asleep on the couch, mumbling about baseball. He's far more relaxed.

Jodi Kellogg has a believability in her deep voice, which she modulates nicely, but in appearance she also is too young for Halie.

Jay J. Urmann, on the other hand, is perfect as Tilden, the scary but gentle menace at the center of the play. Urmann affects the carriage of a man deeply wounded by life yet determined to stay alive. As he husks corn, he snaps off the cob stem with a muted brutality that speaks volumes.

Tilden's son, Vince, arrives at the home with his girlfriend, Shelly, who becomes the sane set of outsider eyes through which we judge the family's decay. In the coltish frame and handsome head of Zoe Pappas, Shelly squeals with delight over the Norman Rockwell ethic this house radiates from the outside. Inside, though, her humor sours. Pappas clearly understands the open heart at Shelly's core. She tries to get this family back on its feet, despite its members depredations.

Ultimately she is defeated, and Vince, in Dave Pust's innocent face and demeanor, is the principle agent. Haunted by what he has discovered in his grandfather's house, Vince runs away but returns and takes his place on Dodge's dysfunctional throne, finding his future in the past.

Host: x10