In ‘Nevermore,’ the Evergreen Players rock the creepy tale at Center Stage
Famous for his groundbreaking literary accomplishments, Edgar Allan Poe is nearly as well known for his short, bleak life. It’s hard to imagine anyone with a sunny disposition able to write things like “The Raven” or “The Fall of the House of Usher,” and no doubt death and misery informed much of Poe’s work.
Trying to capture that life in an entertaining musical may seem like a tall order, but Nevermore: The Imaginary Life and Mysterious Death of Edgar Allan Poe by Jonathan Christenson attempts it with mixed results. Now playing at Evergreen’s Center Stage Theatre in an Evergreen Players production, the 2009 musical is a curious mashup of fact and fiction that takes a deep dive into Poe’s life from childhood to his death at age 40.
Musically, the show is a series of rhyming songs that sound very much alike — I can’t think of a single standout number. There’s a great deal of exposition, with different characters filling in bits and pieces of Poe’s story alongside the acted-out portions. It’s not terribly inventive, but it serves the story well enough, and director Michal McDowell has an able cast to handle it successfully.
At the top of Act One, we learn that Edgar (Chris Warren) had actor parents and two siblings. Having a bigger-than-life show-biz mom (Becca Quintero) helps kick things off as she depicts her love for the stage as greater than that of her love for her family. Quintero, a strong singer, is great in this role and has a lot of fun as the dipsy diva. The drunken dad (Jeremiah Martinez) soon leaves the family and when TB takes Eliza, the kids find themselves split up. Edgar ends up with a mostly nice, well-off family in the form of Jock and Fanny Allan (Martinez and Steph House) and things look rosy for a time.
The deep-voiced Martinez is convincing in the role of the overbearing patriarch while House plays Fanny as a braying ninny prone to bizarre, falsetto exclamations — more like a cartoon character than a real person. But we don’t have to endure it for long since TB takes her as well, leaving poor Edgar with a tightwad stepdad who, while agreeing to send him to college, won’t give him enough to live on.
With the exception of Warren in the role of Edgar, all of the actors handle multiple roles as real people in his life as well as the characters he created. One of these is his editorial rival, a man with the impossibly excellent name of Rufus Griswold. Brian Dowling is excellent in this role as Salieri to Poe’s Mozart and he’s also a ton of fun to watch as the creepiest of the ensemble members.
First-time choreographer Kellie Fox deserves a shout-out for nicely managing a great number of musical numbers and dance sequences while costume designer Nealy Drew does great work dressing all the characters in steam-punk fashion (although I missed the goggles — I thought those were required!).
One area that doesn’t always work is with sound. On one end we’ve got Martinez deploying his Voice of God to rock the rafters and on the other is Warren, who at times can barely be heard with his soft voice. The soundtrack accompaniment also runs over the actors’ voices in places, making it hard to make out the lyrics.
Nevermore is a clear choice for an October show, and while it’s not particularly scary, it’s certainly plenty creepy in places. The script gives a pretty good overview of the many low points of Poe’s life while glossing over his accomplishments — there just isn’t room for any sun in this poor man’s life. Under McDowell’s direction the cast pulls off a challenging show that’s perfectly suited for the 100-year-old Center Stage Theatre among the pines in Evergreen. Get up there if you can!
‘The Raven’ by Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“‘Tis some visiter,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“‘Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
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