Lary Bloom photo
Between dips in the Brewster Fountain, Lucca apparently found time to audition for The Tempest.
In the days prior to opening night of Shakespeare’s “The Tempest” at Edgerton Park, small comedy was afoot, none of it played out by members of Actors Equity.
At the heart of it, I was wondering whether our pooch, Lucca, could attend his first play.
In previous productions of Elm Shakespeare Company, now in its 27th year of performing under the stars, we’d seen some canines apparently enjoy the staging without adding an impertinent woof to the script.
Lucca, an Italian water dog, perhaps more attuned to the operas of Puccini, seemed quite interested in the preparations for this summer’s Bard production, including rehearsal scenes and apparently the taste of a few unattended props.
As for me, I found myself more and more anticipating this production. The reason seemed obvious. Covid, among its damaging effects but not much discussed, robbed us of art when we needed its uplift the most.
So my imagination took over. I said to our nearly two-year old canine, “Ah, a natural thespian you are, Lucca. I mean with all that emoting every day about wanting to go outside, or playing with the ball, or coming to this park to have reunions with your pals. Maybe you should audition as an understudy for The Tempest, even though Shakespeare didn’t think to include any parts for fidos? I mean, in casting nowadays, anybody can play anybody.”
At that moment, however, he seemed to ignore the career advice as he ran toward the fountain. He loves to splash in the top part, though unaware that he owes a great debt to the early owners of the land, Eli Whitney, and then the Industrialist Frederick F. Brewster, who willed these gorgeous 25 acres to the city. A spectacular gift. Even if this brief history camouflages the salient point that the original owners were Native Americans.
The lesson in origins would be too much for little Lucca, but I thought of revealing to him some of the great lines from “The Tempest” as a way to inspire him. I could have quoted at least one, which I first came across in college, but way back then I had no idea of its perpetual application to life, in whatever century.
“Lucca, can you believe this sentence, written eons before you were born. Just listen to it. I bellowed, as if I were on stage myself, ‘Hell is empty. All the Devils are here!’ ”
“Do you get that? It certainly applies to the politics of these days, though I remain unsuccessful at interesting you in that vital subject. You seem to think life is nothing but enjoying yourself. What a crazy idea.”
During final days of rehearsal on the new set, the noises from the stage attracted canine ears.
One afternoon, Suzanne (known to Lucca as Gigi) and I were sitting on our favorite park bench near the Brewster Fountain. We were assuming Lucca was dipping into the water for relief from the 90 degrees of the afternoon. But he wasn’t.
Apparently, he had taken the audition idea to heart. There are, after all, a few nonspeaking roles in the show, graceful figures that rearrange the furnishings, which of course Lucca is natural at. His CV lists a variety of expert alterations of woodwork and couch material, not to mention costumes as well (shoes, a rain coat pocket, a new pair of Loveable underpants).
Yes, that might work.
However, his audition didn’t seem to go well. We presumed this when someone in the tent where the director and other major figures sat, warmly shouted, “Whose fucking dog is this?” We guessed, correctly as it turned out, that Lucca wouldn’t get a callback.
Well, not only did he not qualify for any role, but he didn’t even attend the play. As we made preparations to go to the fourth night of the run, we worried that Lucca, perhaps affrighted by the opening storm scene, would run up to stage and try to save all the sailors, thereby giving the cast members some measure of agita.
So, Lucca stayed home, but we were so glad we didn’t. Friends, who had planted their lawn chairs close to the stage, met us there, and in the hour before the action began, we spoke of our great good fortune, living long enough to see live theater again, to enjoy a fine picnic dinner, and to sip from libations that one shouldn’t transport to a public park. We noticed two small canines near us, neither making a fuss, and wondered if we had missed an opportunity.
Even the crickets roared their approval at curtail call. But not Lucca, who learned firsthand of the heartbreak of showbiz.
But, as the show proceeded, there were good signs. I realized, for example, my usual understanding of at least 53 percent of Shakespeare’s dialogue was still in force – I hadn’t lost that special gift even after the Covid interval. Also flashes of New Haven theatrical moments flashed before my eyes.
Elm Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night” was so joyous, I demanded a sequel, “Thirteenth Night”; Long Wharf’s production of Tom Stoppard’s “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead,” in which the relatively minor character, a confused fellow named Hamlet, walked across the stage while munching on a Danish; the witty and sad “Realistic Joneses,” by Will Eno, at Yale Rep, and more recent powerful stuff from playwright Branden Jacobs Jenson; and any number of magical moments at the storied Shubert Theater.
As “The Tempest” at Edgerton came close to its ending, as even as a million crickets seemed to be joining in the chorus appreciating the resuscitation of live acting, and all seemed well again on a magical island, I had evidence on my cheeks of what the whole experience meant to me. When I cry at the end of a comedy, I am reminded that art is the heart of life, and I wish all the Devils who call themselves public servants would understand that.
Whether Lucca does, I’m not sure. We got home, I told him, “The show tasted great.” He thought a minute, and then tilted his head in the way that he does when he knows I’m making a point but can’t discern what it is. “Too bad about the audition. Maybe next year.”
Note: The Tempest runs every night but Mondays through Sept. 4. For more info, see elmshakespeare.org. For a full review of this year’s production of The Tempest, click here.
Dogs should be leashed within the parks unless inside the enclosed dog play yards. The fact that the owners let the dog roam unleashed, unattended, and out of sight to chew on scenery for the play is irresponsible dog ownership. The dog could have fought with another dog, jumped on a child, ran up and slobbered or rubbed against someone who is allergic to dogs, escaped the parks walls and ran into traffic, or encountered a wild animal and either hurt them or gotten hurt themselves. Please keep your dogs leashed at all times in parks and public spaces unless in a dog play yard enclosure.