Theater Online - New York Theater Reviews

Like translations of DANTE, versions of poetic texts inspire passionate loyalists. The current production of Johannes von Saaz' Death and the Ploughman at LaMama E.T.C. is based on the 1947 translation by K.W. Maurer and it is ( no pun) DIVINE!

In the lobby, even before the house opens, we are asked to turn off cell phones. Enter the theater and the play begins to act on us. While we take our seats, there is already life on stage. Writing, center, is a man: big strong and full of life. Upstage, framed by barren trees, a lovely lady in white sits atop a white coffin. She softly sings and hums a wistful tune, like a lullaby to her unborn child, sensing, perhaps, her connection to the ages and to all the mothers who have gone before. The music, composed by Storm Garner (who plays an aspect of Death) sets the time and tone.

When the play does begin, the wife has died in childbirth and the Ploughman, powerfully portrayed by Rob Howard, in grief and anger, rails against the heavens and calls down a curse upon Death. How could Death be so unfair and cruel as to take his beloved in the fullness of life. Death, on the other hand, is incredulous to be so accused. How can Death be unfair, when he takes everyone! What follows is a fierce debate about who dies when and why; where does Death stand on punishment and retribution; death and fear thereof; in fact, Death appears to be on trial.

In this adaptation by director Peter S. Case, Death is personified by four characters: a man (Robert Yang), two women ( Elli Stefanidi and Storm Garner) and a ten yearold girl (Bridget Clark) who singly or in combination manifest Death's arguments . Movement and music unify Death's characters and lend a sense of antiquity and ritual. Credit the direction, too, for a pleasurable balance between the lighthearted and the dark. This play may be 600 years old but there are some very modern takes on the foibles of man and marriage.

The set, designed by the director, is stunningly simple, visually delicious and allows for considerable movement in a small space, although creaking boards do sometimes compete with the beautifully lyrical text of the play.

In the end, we know, Death always has the last word: "Each man owes his life to Death, his body to earth and his soul to the divine".