It’s autumn on Beaver Island, Michigan, a summer place where the population shrinks after the tourists and weekenders have returned to their full-time homes. This is a time and place that resonates with those of us who live in the Berkshires, given our own population shrinkage when Tanglewood, Jacob’s Pillow, and other cultural organizations go into hibernation after the lively summer.
Given our familiarity with the ebb and flow of seasonal population, the Berkshire theater stalwart Shakespeare & Company is an ideal place to debut The Islanders, by playwright Carey Crim, resident artist at the Purple Rose Theatre Company in Chelsea, Michigan. We well know that feeling when the leaves are falling and the summer people are leaving as the days get shorter and the weather gets colder. It’s easy to feel isolated as the busy world around you slows down and the diminished community focuses on hearth and home.
The Islanders begins in autumn, which we can glean from the evocative, maximalist set by Cristina Todesco. The grass between two structures — a cluttered potting shed decoratively topped by the prow of a rowboa,t and the front porch of an unadorned cottage — bears a light sprinkling of fall-color leaves.
A man and a woman have an awkward first encounter; she’s lying on the ground, communing with the plants. He’s in his bathrobe and pajamas, peering through binoculars just as she’s pulling off her shorts, and he’s more flustered than she is when they see each other.
The man is Dutch, and he’s Anna’s new neighbor. He’s looking for the dog who came with the cottage he recently bought. Anna peppers him with questions and relates insider info about the island and her life there, not picking up on the nonverbal cues as he recoils from the verbal onslaught. We can see she’s nosy, overbearing, pushy, and manic, but also that she is kind, generous, and means well. We can see that Dutch is both bemused by her and annoyed, and reluctant to talk about himself. We also notice Dutch’s hands fluttering uncontrollably, even as he tries to literally get a grip on himself to stop them, like someone afflicted with OCD, and that he experiences debilitating fits of wheezing and shortness of breath.
Anna intrusively asks Dutch his reasons for moving to Beaver Island: Is he running to something or away from something? This line is among the many that set up the themes for this poignant two-hander. When Dutch finds the runaway dog and puts him up for adoption, Anna notes how easy it is for people to throw away things. Explaining her fondness for dumpster diving and shopping at the island’s second-hand store, Anna says she likes to give things a second life. Anna cautions Dutch about the deadly effects of loneliness. And when Dutch asks her why she hasn’t bought herself the next book in a series that she admits is bad but that she nonetheless devours, she says she’s waiting for it to find her — the right things always do.
In about two hours over two acts, we spend several months with these two damaged characters, rooting for them as they draw close, gain each others’ trust, expose the hurt in their lives, and face the inevitable cataclysm. The acting engages the audience from the start. Michelle Mountain’s Anna is a loveable kook with hearty laugh and a voice that crackles when she gets over excited; she’s perky in perpetual motion, until things go wrong and the energy drains out of her. The writing and the portrayal expose Anna’s hidden fragility underneath her bullheaded optimism. As Dutch, “ranney” gives us a guarded man who might be ready to let down his guard, but he’s taken aback by Anna’s inability to recognize boundaries. Time and introspection peel away his defensiveness, enabling him to reveal his kindness and compassion, and accept it from others.
Guided by Regge Life’s astute direction, the actors generate both frustration and empathy. As the action unfolds, the audience becomes highly invested in the possibility that Anna and Dutch will be able to find connection and maybe even happiness. Their journey is abetted by solid sound and lighting design (by Brendan F. Doyle, and Deb Sullivan, respectively) that subtly and effectively evokes the passage of time and the changing seasons in the natural world with bird song and a shifting atmospheric glow.
The Islanders brings to mind two famous phrases: John Donne’s line “No man is an island, and E.M. Forster’s exhortation from Howard’s End: “Only connect!” Given the obstacles that Crim has created for her characters, it’s gratifying when they do. This was a solid premiere of a play that does connect with audiences and leaves the viewer with a deep feeling of satisfaction. It will surely find a long life on stages across the country.
Shakespeare & Company’s world premiere production of The Islanders, by Carey Crim, runs through August 25 at the Tina Packer Playhouse in Lenox, Massachusetts.
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