witches woods

Directed by Jan Swank, with Eric Johnson and Marie Louise Tesch as musical directors, "Into the Woods" is the first production of Black Hills Community Theatre's 2007-08 season and the last to be performed at the Dahl theater.



The Wicked Witch from "Into the Woods," played by Jenn Greenwaldt, casts an evil spell on the unfortunate baker, Mikal Kraklio, who is comforted by his wife, Molly O. Dailey in a scene from the next production of Black Hills Community Theatre. (Steve McEnroe, Journal staff)

All involved had a formidable task bringing this Tony Award-winning musical to the stage.

The production is both difficult and long, but the intriguing plot and Stephen Sondheim's brilliant music gave them a head start at making this an event to remember.

The central characters are a Baker and his Wife, who are barren as a result of a witch's curse. The witch offers to lift said curse if they can gather a curious list of items: a white cow, a red cape, a golden slipper and yellow hair.

Fortunately, living nearby are Jack (of beanstalk fame), Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella and Rapunzel. We all can tell where this is heading.

The first half of the play follows those fairy-tale characters as each familiar story unfolds: Jack trades his white-milk cow for some beans, the wolf awaits Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella dances with her prince, and Rapunzel lets down her hair when she really ought not to.

By the time Act I is over, every fairy tale has come to its standard conclusion, and each character, having his or her wishes granted, expects to live "happily ever after." (Except for the villains, of course, who got their just desserts.)

But unlike fairy tales, the play doesn't stop there.

Even the first act is somewhat gritty; the fairy tales are the age-old Grimm Brothers versions, wherein -- for example -- Cinderella's stepsisters hack off chunks of their own feet in an effort to fit into her little slipper.

Disney didn't show that part.

But the second act is much darker, with consequences galore.

Nobody is actually happy. Those oh-so-charming (but very prissy) princes aren't much fun after the pursuit is over; having a baby only multiplies the needs of the Baker and his Wife.

Worst of all, the widow of the giant that Jack killed is out for revenge.

Through their journeys into the woods, characters face these challenges and learn lessons about community, right and wrong -- and the hazards of having a wish fulfilled.

The songs and familiar characters will keep children interested, and the "lessons learned" format also feels childlike, but the complex plot and the deeper issues addressed are clearly aimed at adults.

Ingrid Miller's portrayal of Little Red Riding Hood is the real highlight of this production. Sprightly and naive, she drew laughs just by skipping onstage. It only occupies a short scene, but the interaction between her and the Wolf (Dylan Fleming) is perfect.

And boy, can she scream. So can Rebecca Myers' Rapunzel, for that matter, both producing stunning displays of lung capacity more than once.

Jenn Greenwaldt as the Witch, Mikal Kraklio as the Baker and Molly O. Dailey as the Baker's Wife also shone in their parts.

Admirably, the production went off without a hitch. Costumes, sets, lines, lyrics -- all were just right, and with the play clocking in at 2-1/2 hours, that's a triumph for everyone involved.

"Into the Woods" is virtually an opera, with nearly every line sung or at least underscored. Not only is the singing constant, it is extremely difficult, and not every voice was up to the task.

And although she sang well, precocious eighth-grader Dakota Crocker seemed far too young for the part of Cinderella.

The princes were played as comic characters, so the "you always want what you can't have" message of their "Agony" numbers was somewhat obscured by the over-the-top silliness.

But these weak points are easily overlooked. Community theater is not Broadway, and it is not supposed to be. The actors are ordinary people with outside lives, so remembering that, "Into the Woods" is a real success.

The play was easy to follow; everything was audible and fun to watch. The ensemble numbers, with overlapping layers of dialogue and song, are particularly impressive.

I was on the edge of my seat as the play progressed, and the ending, with the songs "No One Is Alone" and "Children Will Listen" wraps everything up just right.

"Into the Woods" is rarely attempted by community theaters because it is such a challenging play. Black Hills Community Theatre should be commended for even attempting such an ambitious project, and even more, they should be applauded for carrying it off so well.


"We really don't care where we go," they said. "We just want to get out of the city."

Whether, after a full weekend of Philadelphia's gardens and country landscapes, they regretted saying it ― well, you'll have to ask them.


Betsy Crosby/Special
(ENLARGE)
The G-scale model train track at the Morris Arboretum is a quarter mile long and attracts train buffs, young and old.


Betsy Crosby/Special
(ENLARGE)
Jess Cummings, Mike Cummings, Steve Curtis and Angie Cuturick show you're never too old for a maypole dance at the Morris Arboretum in Philadelphia.


Betsy Crosby/Special
(ENLARGE)
Geese at the Morris Arboretum in Philadelphia take stock of artist Linda Cunningham's 'Germination Sequence.'


Nick Beck
(ENLARGE)
At the Hagley Museum near Philadelphia, the site of E.I. du Pont's gunpowder manufacturing, this structure conveyed water power to the grinding wheels in each powder house.

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Early last November, I flew to Philly for a weekend visit with my daughter Kate, a senior at the University of Pennsylvania. But I had another agenda: to see the city's Morris Arboretum and nearby Delaware's Brandywine Valley, and the area's glorious fall foliage.

Kate and her friend Nick Beck, both Southerners, wanted some rural relief from the inner city intensity of West Philadelphia. Nick, particularly, was up for a garden visit. Though working on a double major in biology and environmental science, he was enjoying his photography classes, and wanted to experiment with his camera. He volunteered to drive us to Morris Arboretum.

This garden, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, is also the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania's official arboretum. Though open to the public, it has been associated with the University of Pennsylvania since 1932 as an interdisciplinary research center for science, art and the humanities.

Located in Philadelphia's labyrinthine Chestnut Hill suburb, it is not very accessible either to Penn undergraduates without a car, or, for that matter, out-of-town visitors. We drove at least a half-hour on Philadelphia's freeways to the arboretum's gates, and I worried whether Kate and Nick would consider the trip worthwhile.

When we arrived, the gatekeeper welcomed us enthusiastically when he heard that Penn students were in the car, waving us through without bothering to check IDs. It became clear that day and the next that young adults were not common visitors at these garden destinations. More than once we had to edge away from overeager tour guides and museum docents, bent on making garden enthusiasts of the two of them.

As we emerged from the parking lot, we saw a magnificent ginkgo tree, its shimmering golden leaves ready to dissolve into a yellow pool at the tree's base with the first drafty blast of the season. The fall foliage was slightly past its peak, but the crisp sunny weather put us in a playful mood. Everyone we met seemed to share the determination for maximum enjoyment of the day, knowing that winter weather would soon arrive.

The arboretum was developed by the brother and sister team of John and Lydia Morris, Victorian enthusiasts of both plants and art. The two traveled extensively throughout the late 19th and early 20th centuries to build their collection at their summer home, Compton.

Though the main house is no longer standing, John and Lydia's quirky influence is felt throughout the 92-acre arboretum. Their early interest in fine art was given new life when the Advisory Board of Managers began a campaign in the 1980s to incorporate contemporary sculptures into the Victorian landscape.

Emerging from the apricot canopy of a specimen katsura tree (perhaps the largest in North America), we stumbled upon the life-size bronze statues of the Quaker brother and sister, incongruously placed near a series of aluminum sculptures by artist George Sugarman.

We couldn't help laugh in surprise, especially when little Owen Norris, a frequent visitor to the arboretum with his older brother Spencer, scrunched up his face for a picture with the dour-looking Lydia, before running over to scramble over, under and in-between the blue metal arms of one of the Sugarman sculptures. I like to think Lydia would have loved it.

The arboretum is "kid-friendly" ― even for the two big kids I had in tow. A miniature railroad garden is a draw for train enthusiasts of all ages, featuring a quarter mile of G-scale track with seven loops, 12 rail lines, two cable cars, and nine bridges, with tiny vegetation, miniature rivers and waterfalls.

Throughout the arboretum, garden sculptures beg for interaction with visitors of the human and animal variety. The Cotswold black sheep grazing on the meadow were only Cor-ten steel silhouettes, we discovered, but that little groundhog peeping out from under the giant blue spruce might have been Punxsutawney Phil's cousin.

The "Germination Sequence" by Linda Cunningham, a series of giant egg-shaped fragments in bronze and steel placed near the arboretum's entrance, attracted a flock of curious geese who looked askance at what must have just hatched.

But it's the dawn redwood grove along the East Brook that draws the most human visitors. The Metasequoia glyptostroboides (dawn redwood) is a deciduous conifer that was believed to be extinct until its rediscovery in the 1940s. Planted in the 1950s, these fast-growing "Living Fossils" as the arboretum calls them, now top out at 100 feet and in November were clothed in a feathery caramel-orange coat.

How we got Nick to drive us to Delaware's Brandywine Valley the next day, I'm not sure, but the promise of a "really nice dinner" at the end helped sweeten the deal.

Less than an hour from Philadelphia, this river valley in Chester County remains undeveloped for the most part from the outskirts of Wilmington north to Chadd's Ford, Pa. The fields and woodlands that flank the Brandywine River provide enough vistas to satisfy the Sunday driver, but I had grander goals in mind.

The valley boasts a number of museums and historic homes, several renowned for their gardens. Many were originally the homes of members of the du Pont family, whose fortunes began with a gunpowder business and grew to a chemical conglomerate. I wanted to see them all, but would settle for just a few.

Our first stop at Winterthur, the historic house museum founded by antiques collector and horticulturist Henry Francis du Pont (1880-1969), satisfied a curiosity that Kate and I share for the decorative arts. Touring the extensive collection ― 175 period rooms containing 85,000 objects made or used in America between 1640 and 1860 ― is a daunting task, however. After a couple of hours, Nick, especially, was stifling a few yawns. Yet we were all recharged the minute we stumbled into the enchanting "Enchanted Woods," a short walk from the museum's back door.

This three-acre children's garden is the first stop on the garden tram that winds through the gardens on Winterthur's 982-acre estate. Several architectural features immediately caught our eye, including the giant Bird's Nest, big enough for the three of us (though three was definitely a crowd), and the Tulip Treehouse, a tiny cottage with a roof like a witch's hat, made out of the trunk of a tulip poplar. We walked around admiring the workmanship, wishing we weren't so old. That was when we saw the maypole dance.

Four 20ish friends from Westchester had seized the deep orange and yellow streamers that flowed from the maypole on the Gathering Green and begun to dance. Mike and Jess Cummings and Steve Curtis and Angie Cuturick wore the long hair, head scarves and jeans of an earlier rebellious era. No Mayday hop-and-skip, this was a defiant jig that seemed to challenge the close of a season and the end of a stage in life.

Nick was anxious to move on to capture the afternoon light, so we let him pick the next stop: The Hagley Museum, site of the du Pont family's original gunpowder manufactury along Brandywine Creek (no longer a river at this point).

Thomas Jefferson, it is said, helped Eleuthère Irénée (E.I.) du Pont locate the waterside property in 1802. The swift creek provided the water power needed for mixing black powder, made out of charcoal, sulphur and saltpeter. Du Pont's timing was excellent: the explosive powder was needed for clearing stumps, digging canals and building roads in the early federal period. Du Pont was soon expanding the number of powder mills in his manufactory, thanks in part to a spike in demand during the war of 1812.

By the time we reached the museum, the afternoon was drawing to a close, and we were too late for the last tour of Eleutherian Mills, the family home uphill from the manufacturing area. It turned out to be a lucky circumstance, for we soaked up our last hour of sunlight on a creekside walking tour of the Powder Yard, warmed by the glow of the golden orange foliage reflected in the water.

We stopped in the Millright Shop to check out the dioramas explaining how gunpowder is made. Museum docent Anna Dunworth urged us not to miss the last rolling mill demonstration, "The most exciting thing going around here."

As peaceful as the setting is now, this was once an active and noisy manufacturing center, made noisier over the years by 288 accidental explosions, said to be heard "the other side of Philly." Of the 228 men who died in these explosions, many were du Ponts, laid to rest in the 19th century family graveyard with headstones marking the date of the accident.

We hurried to the Graining Mill area, where volunteer Steve Wertheimer opened the sluice gates that powered, through a series of gears and shafts, what he called "the biggest mixmaster you've ever seen in your life."

We listened, captivated, as the rushing water made the man-size steel rolling mills spring to life, a relic of the industrial revolution operating in this surprisingly pastoral setting.

I'd seen my foliage, Nick had gotten his pictures, and Kate had enjoyed her change of scenery. We were starved. A call to the historic Inn at Montchanin Village, a mile away, secured an early dinner reservation at the upscale Krazy Kat's restaurant.

Our appetites sharpened by all that fresh air, we eagerly gobbled up the amuse-bouche of Prince Edward Island Mussels with Pesto Aioli, the Roasted Pumpkin Shitake Soup, the Jumbo Lump Crab and Maine Lobster Cakes, and the Maple Cheesecake with Cointreau Marinated Apples. It was a "really nice dinner