Tell Us The Name Of The One You LostThere is a gate, strong and iron, standing proud in the gathering evening. It is gently open, only one small placard to betray what waits behind it, up the path to the herb garden, atop the crest of the hill. A gentleman stands waiting, careful. We trade no names. He asks me, are you here to see the play?
So, then, began Cymbeline.
The walk up the hill was itself an evocative thing, following a soldier's line of unlit torches, not yet necessary. Up in the herb garden, a young woman recommended a small risk: use this number, she said. With your cell phone, send a text to it. She had a small card, with words written. Send it this. Then, up and around to the seating. I found friends, and took place by them. A simple set, more natural than not. With trumpets, the play began.
I was interested to see Cymbeline. I have always been done better by seeing the plays first, cold, and then on to the text, the movies. This is getting more and more difficult to do, and the play proved to be a delightful surprise. The company moved with ease through the machinations of the thing, as much so as they strode and bowled and tumbled on, across, through, and under the set. They brought us love, they brought us war, they brought us betrayal and Gods: they brought us blood, and by the end had all of us.
The set held other secrets, too: through our phones we tied ourselves to the play in surprising ways. This city is celebrating many things this year; one of them is robots, and this was a play with robots. I will say, though, caution. These are not those kinds of robots. Their role in the production was a careful thing, quiet, gentle, well done.
Somewhere in there, the sun set behind them; somewhere in there, the fireflies rose up to add their own accompaniment. There was mist that wrapped us as darkness fell. I grinned like an idiot when we clapped for the players as they thanked us from their stage, and we clapped for a long, long time, even as the players disappeared laughing into the darkness. After, we took the careful walk back down the hill, passed from torch to torch now lit to show our way, stepping out into Pittsburgh through a simple metal gate.
Quantum Theater is staging a production of Cymbeline. I thought it wonderful. I recommend it well.
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