Since there are only a handful of top actors in the Tampa Bay area, it's a great pleasure to discover an unknown talent. Her name is Linda Slade, she's a Brit educated at Cambridge, and she's currently appearing as the Governess in the Stageworks production of The Turn of the Screw. "Appearing," though, is an understatement. More precisely, she's currently acting up a storm along with Eric Davis, another fine thespian, and reminding us that it's possible to love a production as much for its performers as for its script.
Slade's talents are manifold. When she describes the ghostly apparitions so pivotal to Henry James' story (adapted for the theater by Jeffrey Hatcher), she does so with such precise, rapt horror, we can almost see them ourselves. In her relations with her two young charges, Flora and Miles, she helps us to understand that this Governess is not only a prim maiden of the 19th century, but also a needy and aggressive woman, possibly unbalanced from too much isolation. And, far from coming across as a mere abstraction in a tale famous for its ambiguities, Slade brings us the Governess as a creature of flesh and blood, to be admired, pitied or despised, but never to be discounted. This is wonderful, multidimensional acting of a kind we've been missing too long on area stages.
The story that The Turn of the Screw tells is one that seems more suited for cinema than for a live theater without special effects. A young woman applies for the job of looking after two children at a mansion called Bly. The man who hires her — the children's uncle and guardian — tells her that once she accepts the post, he wants never to hear from her again.
Accepting this odd condition, she proceeds directly to Bly, which turns out to be an attractive, castle-like edifice by a lake. She meets the housekeeper, Mrs. Grose, finds the children to be adorable, and is just settling in for a comfortable stay when she notices a strange man staring down at her from one of Bly's towers. She tells Mrs. Grose, and learns that the only man fitting that description is the master's former valet, who's been dead for some time.
Soon after, the Governess sees another spooky sight: A woman on an island in the lake seems to be calling for little Flora to wade out to her. Now the Governess learns that the governess before her was involved with the valet in an illicit love affair that ended with their double suicide. The conclusion is inescapable: Both the valet and the former governess — Peter Quint and Miss Jessel — are back from the dead, with their ghoulish hearts set on the children. Can the poor kids be saved? Or — if one could only understand — are their loyalties with the ghosts?
Hatcher manages to put this tale with all its potentially spectacular visuals — the mansion, the lake, the ghosts — on stage by using narration along with dialogue. So, for example, when the Governess first approaches the mansion, she tells the audience directly: "What actually greeted me upon turning through the gates was a tremendous surprise! First, the shade of a broad, beech avenue which sweeps up the great lawn past a sparkling blue lake with its own green island shimmering in the sun; above, a looming, Gothic tower over which rooks circled and cawed in the golden sky; and then finally, the great mansion itself," etc., etc. On stage, this description works because Slade invests it with all the emotion of a woman describing the most important moments of her life. And as it turns out, there aren't many occasions when such narration is necessary; beyond a few key images, Hatcher is able to present James' story in dialogue.
But Hatcher does use one other special technique, and that brings us back to the subject of fine acting and its enjoyment. Hatcher has four of the drama's five roles played by a single actor: in this case, Eric Davis. So while Slade is always and only the Governess, Davis is The Man who introduces and ends the story, the Master who hires the Governess, the housekeeper Mrs. Grose, and young Miles (Flora, we learn, has long been mute). I can't honestly think of any reason these parts should be played by a single actor (aside from the obvious: to attract theater producers with limited budgets), but this arrangement does allow a real showcase for a performer, and Davis is in every way equal to the task. From the obsequious Mrs. Grose to the secretive Miles, he persuades us entirely of his latest impersonation, and wraps all of them in the same suggestion of depravity (even little Miles has some dirty playing cards up his sleeve). I've been watching Davis act for several years now, and I have to confess that he's recently shown — in Angels in America and now in The Turn of the Screw — a really splendid artistry that I wouldn't always have guessed at. So yes, he is every bit as good as Slade in the current production, as much a reason to buy a ticket, as much a delight to the spectator.
Slade is the newcomer, and thus a discovery; but Davis, the veteran, has got some surprises of his own.
Everything else in this satisfying production is first rate. I can't think how Anna Brennen's direction could be any more intelligent, and Robin New's period costumes are all we really need in order to feel ourselves in 1872. The simple set — credited to "cast and director" in my program — is elegantly made up of large candlesticks, a candelabra and a rocking chair, and Karla Hartley's somber lighting design is absolutely crucial in setting and — where appropriate — changing our mood.
But the real story here is acting: some of the best that I've seen ever on a local stage.
Welcome to Tampa, Ms. Slade. And good to see you again, Mr. Davis.
Do us a favor: stick around.
Performance Critic Mark E. Leib can be reached at mark.leib@weeklyplanet.com or 813-248-8888 ext. 305.
This article appears in Sep 18-24, 2003.