“Metamorphosis’ @ Hip Pocket Theatre
Photos by Shannon Cahoone Atkinson
—Jan Farrington
When the cockroach character gets more empathy from the audience than his (its?) shockingly cold human family members, you know this is a strange story.
And when Franz Kafka’s notorious 1915 novella gets you going with a burst of unexpected energy and crisply creepy high style, you know this is a very different kettle of…bugs.
Hip Pocket Theatre closes its 48th season with actor/director Christina Cranshaw’s engaging adaptation of the Kafka classic Metamorphosis, playing to the company’s well-honed strengths of ensemble acting, fascinating uses for cloth, fine-tuned shadow puppetry, and ingenious lighting and sound effects. All that, plus a mournful but melodious score from just-offstage composer and musician Clint Niosi—and this is something to see and take home…until HPT unveils season 49!
Cranshaw, who directs, clearly understands that Metamorphosis is closer kin to Death of a Salesman than The Fly. Yes, there’s some monster-y action, but the core of the story is the sad saga of young traveling salesman Gregor Samsa, trudging through life pinned to a job he hates—but stays with to support his distressed, unemployed family: a father (Kyle Spencer Van Swol), mother (Aja Jones-Crowe), and barely grown sister Grete (Nadia DeWolf).
The plot, which you’ll follow easily enough, can’t be told without spoilers—so let’s focus on how the story is told, and what happens with lights, sounds, and actions on the stage. It begins with words (and Kafka’s own words at times) introducing us to Gregor and his daily existence: waking uneasily to the urging of the family, trudging with his case through crowds at a railway station, knocking on endless doors to make a sale (a circle of actors nod “yes” or scowl “no” at random). Poor Gregor, who doesn’t dare skip a day, or even an hour for a decent lunch. It’s a dream, or a nightmare, that he wakes from only to find it’s the same story in daylight, using up every ounce of energy and joy in him.
But he doesn’t make it out the door this day. Something’s happening here: he can’t coordinate his body movements, and his replies through the bedroom door can’t be understood by the family, though he says plaintively, “It’s just me.” His manager (a white-faced mask and a suit coat) soon comes to check on his outrageous absence from the office. Everyone is upset.
Over days and nights of little sleep and many dreams, Gregor transforms, less human every day. More to the point, he knows “I got no purpose, no use’ for the family, who sit stunned and grieving the loss of their breadwinner. Only sister Greta takes pity, trying to bring him food and drink, checking on him daily. Will her attachment to her brother last? His mother faints, his father’s sole emotions are fury and embarrassment—and if you’ve watched many Eastern European films, you can guess this isn’t going to end well.
On the bright side, the ensemble stays engagingly in the moment. We haven’t yet mentioned the four Kafka’s onstage (Paul Heyduck, Francis Kahn, Vermont Horner, and Joseph Tully, who also figure in the ensemble), typing pages of the story from equidistant points in the theater —and occasionally voicing the author. Gregor’s words are spoken by Clint Niosi from his musician’s perch above the stage.
Susan Austin’s prim costumes in whites and browns are uniforms almost, placing the ensemble and family as members of the same plodding group. Niosi and Cranshaw are credited as sound designers, and there’s a terrific mix: the clatter of old typewriters, the on-off click of lights from Samsa’s customers, the sounds of a railway station, etc. This is paired with unusual lighting effects by Nikki DeShea Smith (with input from Cranshaw, one assumes, as they’re so tightly tied to the stage action).
The set, by Jeff Stanfield, is a wide white stretch of cloth on the second level of the space—used mainly for the projection of shadow puppet images handled by the ensemble. Images also are projected onto the empty stage floor, or up in Gregor’s room. Rapp’s body is variously illuminated under cloth to give a shadowy understanding of what he’s becoming. And yikes, who designed the absolutely life-like, quivering roaches—projected by ensemble members using what look like a pair of twigs and a tiny flashlight? Good work, even if it did make my feet lift spontaneously off the floor.
Little more need be said. This strong, darkly comic and surprisingly touching story plays out in a scant hour, and it’s a great fit for the Halloween season coming on fast. As always, come early and stay late for pre- and post-show live music in HPT’s Back Yard. There was a half moon out the night I came, and a bit of a breeze.
WHEN: October 11-November 3, 2024 (performances at 8:15 pm)
WHERE: 1950 Silver Creek Road, Fort Worth
WEB: hippocket.org
