Yoshiko Uchida's novel
is now a one woman play, and the one woman who makes it happen is
Roye Mae, whose soft face and small frame leave a gigantic
impression on an audience that sits fixated on her words and
actions, often rolling back a tear that insists on sneaking out in
spite of knowing that this is only an act of something that took
place long ago.
Credit Roye Mae for that. Her portrayal of
the young girl is vivid and compelling, as she becomes the daughter
whose father is whisked away to a Japanese detention camp days
before Christmas, leaving a confused and tearful family
behind. As she talks about the presents she prepared, her
brother's quiet rage, the mother's whispered resigned words, it
becomes evident that the ravages of war are not always caused by
bombs and bullets. Rape and pillaging are common in the battle
field, but Yuki's ordeal is equally degrading and
dehumanizing. The soul and mind can be ravaged when one is
yanked away from home and family or when the material things that
build one's memories suddenly become mere objects to be discarded
because of governmental whim.
Roye Mae brings us face to face with the loss of
such things. The pets that must be left behind - the furniture
that becomes objects fought over by neighbors - the friends who now
glance a suspicious eye, and the officials who treat the evacuees
like numbers or things, become real images as Roye Mae moves quietly
in the tiny stage that she converts to a stable, a windy barren
field, or a barracks in Topaz, Utah, with just a few words or
gestures.
Jeanette Farr's adaptation of the novel captures the
innermost feelings of an imprisonment without a crime, and Roye
Mae's performance tugs the heartstrings like a melancholy harp
strumming a song of sadness. Director Carol Heidelbach has
built a delicate framework for the story, almost with the frailty of
a teahouse, but with a solid foundation to support a weighty tale
that recalls how easily people's fears can change moral values and
ideas.
The eerie parallel to the situations of today is not
lost, as we have recently seen people of Middle Eastern descent
suffer similar suspicions. Could it be that after sixty years,
the lessons or yesterday have not yet been learned? Will there
be another Topaz for those who don't fit the image of the "true
American"?
It's very unusual for a cabaret to stage this type of
work, but Masquers is the type of place that takes dares, and in
this case, comes up a winner.
The reserved ovation that followed the play is
evidence that the audience had been stunned into a realization that
theatre is a mirror of life, and this mirror can become a reality in
a matter of weeks, days, or perhaps even hours.
Sobering? Perhaps. But not inevitable, thanks to
history and efforts like these artists who have the courage and
determination to bring the story to life.
This is a journey you must take!
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