We took our show inside in front of an audience for the first time last night when we performed at the Sangre de Cristo Arts Center in Pueblo. And it felt like our play—at last! Shakespeare is the hardiest and most delicate of playwrights; he can survive wind and rough weather, but he blooms even more in the great indoors. That's what we found again last night.
The Sangre de Cristo Arts center is a terrific and under utilized theater space in an under appreciated town. The 100 degree heat sits as well in Pueblo as it does in Lorca's Andalusia (even if the wine isn't quite as good). Pueblo's brick bakes and glows in the late afternoon; the fountains at the art center mean something; the few remaining foundry towers seem as delicate as cathedral spires. But it is warm. Everything says, come hither, come hither, come inside,and even if only about a hundred did, they were a happy and appreciative crowd. Kids, old people, people of color. The show slipped away from its moorings like a light boat in a summer stream, and when we got to to woods sometimes it positively rippled; it shimmered. Phoebe's arm bracelets clicked on her arms like a hot little rattlesnake. Touchstone killed William in a 150 different ways including a new power drill gun in the ear. Rosalind was Ganymede and Ganymede was Rosalind in happy abandon. The starving lioness hid in the bush, the green snake almost darted into Orlando's mouth, Audrey found blossoms in her bosom, the fiddle player returned to the cast with a strain that Jaques said gave him the melancholy he needed. Just about every word floated easily , effortlessly and clearly into the house. It's beginning to be Shakespeare as we like it.