Skinwalking

On Friday evening, I went to see a play called "Skinwalking," written, directed, and stage-designed by Cecelia Raker, a Harvard College senior who is pursuing a cool special concentration in "the conception and direction of socially impactful theater and opera." Despite her young age, Cecelia has been involved in theater and opera direction for many years, has a special interest in Yiddish theater and interned at London's Shakespeare company.

The play tells the story of the return of Mari, a young woman working at her father's law office in the city, to her hometown to inherit her grandmother's house. There she stays with her uncle, who is the only person left in the house that used to be home to her traditional Jewish family. She sees again her elementary school classmate David, who was and is in love with her and would do anything to protect her. And she meets strangers too -- a homeless couple at the Dunkin Doughnuts who turn out to be the biblical figure of Mary and Joseph; and a 12-year-old girl Miriam, who turns out to be Moses' sister, and has lived through three millennia wandering in the desert listening and retelling countless stories. Mari is also haunted by two ghosts--the ghost of her own mother, who committed suicide after being abandoned by her lover, Mari's father; and a skinwalker, a creature without mouth who can nevertheless take people's skin and suck people's soul. It is a story about one's relation to religion and tradition in today's secular world where connections to the past and to traditional mythologies are severed or repressed. The play treats this serious topic with humor and lightheartedness, gently poking fun both at the jadedness and banality of everyday life.

This complex story unfolds in the play very intelligently, as the audience is given bits and pieces of references and symbolism that require patient piecing-together. Meanwhile, each character is fully developed--they are vibrant and consistent, simultaneously strange and familiar, and their language is the most delicious kind of colloquial English--understated, funny, working-class. Every line of the dialogue is written so seamlessly and with great care.

The stage design, done by the director and writer herself, is very effective. The stage is broken into six parts. Three parts on the stage (Uncle's home, the desert, and Dunkin Doughnuts), two balconies (a bed where Mari was born and now sleeps, and a bridge where Mari's mother committed suicide), and some actors also sit in the audience. There is no change of scenes. Just a single set covers every need in the play. With multiple actions happening in its different compartments, the stage is so interesting to look at, yet not too overwhelming, leaving enough space for the viewers to ponder.

Adding to the play's expressiveness are many outstanding moments of choreographed dancing and fighting, meticulous sound design, and amazing performance from a cast composed of mostly freshman and sophomores. It's, simply, a work made with great care. And because of this, it has a dazzling expressive power.

It is such a treat to encounter a piece of art conceived and executed so well in all aspects. The fact that it is a low-budget, collective work by such a young group of dramatists adds to its power to inspire. I have much to learn from these 19-year-olds.