From 1957-1973, during a period of peacetime draft, the United States was involved in a military “action” in Southeast Asia. Though never officially declared, this “action” became known as the Vietnam War.

According to the National Archives, our nation lost 58,193 military personnel during that time. The wounded totaled 153,303. The vast majority of these were young men between the ages of 18 and 26.

This was a war that was ill advised, and one that our nation was ultimately unable to win. The relentless drumbeat of war dead – televised day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year – took its toll on the American psyche, particularly on its youth, and those young men of draft age and their friends.

Burning Coal Theatre Company’s well-crafted production of “Hair” (“The American Tribal Love Rock Musical”) which debuted on Broadway in 1968, brings to life that time of escape by some into the hippy counterculture movement (“drugs, sex, rock & roll”), the daily water torture of American body count, and the escalating urge to grasp the predominantly white male 50-something establishment by their collective lapels and shake some sense into them. For young people then, the percentage of their peers earmarked for canon fodder appeared to be growing, not diminishing, with no end in sight.

It seemed to many that our nation needed a new way of connecting: to the planet, to ourselves, and to each other. We needed to manifest this change through every means possible, and unalterably to redirect our national purpose into a humane, inclusive and multicultural direction: a true dawning of the Age of Aquarius. We believed in our gut this was real, that it could happen, and that our new generation would never again allow our nation to drive us off the cliff of adventurism in a futile commitment to some remote conflict.

Tensions were high; angst was a way of life. Many new creative byways were explored in theatre, film, music, dance, literature, poetry, sculpture, painting, performance art and multi-media.

“Hair”, among many others, was spun out of this cultural cauldron.

This frank, inventive, and very tuneful adventure is essentially a pop-rock concert loosely dressed in a very thin script. The play is little more than a series of sketches daisy-chained together with many memorable songs on topics sometimes stirring, sweet, startling, poignant, comical or embarrassing. Throw in a healthy dose of audience participation, and you have the Burning Coal’s production of “Hair” – Meymandi Theatre transformed into a discothèque slash playground slash party loft.

One may have wished – perhaps with a longer rehearsal period – this tapestry of individual storybook theatre pieces were more fully realized. Success was intermittent: young actors not always completely invested in the reality of their scene, too willing to shoot for prankster-ism, exaggeration or self-conscience parody, rather than coming at us from a position of truth.

Though vocally not everyone was at his or her best opening night, there were many strong voices and performances. Overall the show was a success. The audience participation worked, and was clearly enjoyable for the opening night crowd. The cast, staff and crews’ efforts, inventiveness and hard work were evident.

The principals Claude (Sam Heldt) and Berger (Joel Hughes) acquitted themselves admirably. Aaron Pratt as Woof was great goofy fun throughout – occasionally skittering off into stridency. The many other featured men and women in the cast did outstanding work. Sometimes rapid-fire delivery and less than clear articulation diminished some of the fun. But there were many enjoyable moments. A large cast and a very long list of songs makes it tough to correctly connect the performers with their vocal performances, however some certainly stood out. I particularly enjoyed the Supremes-esque version of “White Boys,” among others. Iris (Aurelia Belfield) was definitely in charge.

Well-deserved applause goes to the delightful featured role of “Margaret Mead” (Julie Oliver) and Ron Jenkins as her hubby Hubert. Oliver was right-on with her rendition of “My Conviction.” [Excerpt: “You know kids, I wish every mother and father in this theater would go home tonight and make a speech to their teenagers and say kids, be free, no guilt, be whatever you are, do whatever you want to do, just so long as you don't hurt anybody. Right? Right!”]

I wish that the relationship between Berger, Claude and Sheila (Whitney Madren) could have been informed with more depth and confidence. I understand that the choice to run away from feelings is a way of demonstrating that the feelings are real and powerful, however this trio, and the two young men in particular, are the focal point of the Tribe (and of the show). Their love for each other should have been emblematic and unembarrassed. “Love and freedom” then were not some wild blue yonder ideals; rather they were the unalloyed discoveries for those in the hippy movement. It was as if they owned it. (Granted, maybe at the time the drugs helped.) This writer and a great many of us are very grateful for the ground that was broken at that time in the name of freedom for men, women, and minorities of every stripe. So, the decision to connect with ones feelings by appearing to deny them seemed odd. Though not an illogical choice, it was not an inspiring one. Moreover it tended to telegraph what was to come, rather than intrigue us with a new model of how men may connect with each other: with open affection and innocent physicality – a welcomed change from the rigid handshakes or mock aggression that predominated in the 60s.

This challenging production will grow stronger in the days ahead. The cast is uniformly energetic, and captures the spirit of youthful naïveté. I applaud the efforts of this hard working and talented group. The Tribe members themselves appear to have a blast.

Choreographer Robin Harris did a good job of creating synchronous, stylized, fluid movement. Director Mark Sutch brought ingenuity and imagination to the task of staging this army of kids in a small space. Music Director Brad Gardner brought the show to life with a rocking sound from his small troupe of accomplished musicians and a vibrant sound from his Tribe of singers. Joe Gardner’s set is funky, sturdy and functional. Christopher Popowich’s lighting design was unobtrusive and fun, though the drug trip sequence might have been less bright and, well, more… what? Psychedelic? (Ah, the good old days!)

For those concerned about the famous nude scene at the end of Act I, fear not. You will enjoy the clever way this controversial moment is handled.

If you choose to sit in the balcony, you should agree to relocate downstairs when requested by cast members during Act II. If you stay upstairs, the tent-like scrim that lowers from the ceiling will mostly obstruct your view.

There were minor technical distractions: actors wrestling with uncooperative corded microphones, for example. No doubt there were reasons. Would cordless mics have been too gross an anachronism? Indeed, un-amplified soloists in that intimate space were often more pleasing.

Brittnye Elise Batchelor’s wigs were effective and necessary – hard to grow shoulder length hair in a few short weeks – however Mr. Hughes as Berger seemed often to be flipping faux bangs out of his face – an amusing flashback for some of us to our teen years. It may have been better if the actor had simply willed himself to accept it. The effect of the hair was not nearly as disturbing as the frequent gesture.

This production grows on you though. Indeed on opening night before ones eyes it solidified – one might say matured – over the course of the evening, rough edges and all.

What appeared at first as so many frolicking children playing dress-up with their parents’ vintage clothing, emerged by evening’s end as a convincing Tribe, channeling the poignancy and pain – as well as the peace, love, and joy – of some dark days in American history. By play’s end, the psychedelic joyride had arrived at the gates of a rebellious idea: that the loss of even a single young life is an unbearable price to pay for admission into an anesthetized adulthood.

Star-crossed triangulations and the heartbreak of young love, the brutal demands of endless war, the brute will to shake up the world: by the final moments, and a joyous finale of “Let The Sun Shine In,” we could see the graffiti hand-written clearly on the wall: “Claude was here. And he performed miracles.”

“Hair” is here, and still holds in its hand contemporaneous power for us all. And it continues through September 27 at Burning Coal Theatre Company.

Depicting historical events on stage has inevitable pitfalls. Focusing on the factual record can create a glorified classroom lecture; manipulating the facts for heightened drama can perpetuate untruths. Burning Coal Theatre Company's "1960" successfully avoids most of the hazards of both categories in its imaginative and moving examination of school desegregation in Raleigh.

Although the piece had been in progress for several years, the impetus for completion was the company's move to the former Murphey School, the site of Raleigh's first school integration. Playwright Ian Finley has fashioned a collage of sights, sounds and scenes that illustrate and comment on the Capital City's struggle toward desegregation.

While concentrating on the years between the 1954 Supreme Court decision mandating integration and the 1960 assignment of second-grader Bill Campbell to formerly all-white Murphey, the piece also jumps back to the founding of Raleigh and forward to present-day classrooms.

A dedicated cast of 15, itself an exemplary integration of races, ages and talents, labors mightily, playing multiple roles and performing complicated staging. Two tower above the rest. Emelia Cowans moves effortlessly from housekeeper to mother to schoolteacher, investing each with vivid character and emotional depth. David Coulter draws in the viewer despite his characters' nastiness, whether pontificating as Jesse Helms or maneuvering as school official Jesse O. Sanderson. The riveting end of act one between Cowans and Coulter, as mother battles administrator, is the production's highlight.

Another strong portrait comes from Joan J, whose teacher-narrator casts ironic, bitter commentary on the situation, leavened by sassy quips and telling zingers. Also impressive are Jade Arnold's gripping slave testimony, Jackson Bloom's frightening teenager bigotry and Ann Cole's smiling society-matron racism. The other actors all have their fine moments and work tirelessly together to admirable effect.

The whirl of names, places and events can be a little overwhelming, especially for those less familiar with local politicians and officials. Director Jerome Davis keeps the staging brisk, cleverly choreographed but sometimes too boisterous for maximum clarity of dialogue.
Burning Coal's thoughtful presentation is recommended viewing for its reminder of how far we've come in race relations and how vigilant we still must be.

William Shakespeare's Twelfth Night famously opens with the glorious line, "If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it." Burning Coal Theatre's new production of this boisterous love comedy is well-filled with music, but not to excess: Our appetite for it does not "sicken, and so die." Instead, it increases each time the witty vaudevillian clown Feste appears, a gorgeous song on "his" sassy lips. Our desire is never surfeited during the too-brief two hours vouchsafed us in the Illyria defined by Morag Charlton's transparent scenic design and large paintings.

The play tells the stories of several loves, but the trials and triumphs of the lovers, would-be lovers and separated siblings take second place under Rebecca Holderness' zestful direction to the clowning and "low" comedy of Feste, Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Or maybe these three wise men—played by Yolanda Rabun, David Dossey and Stephen LeTrent—simply steal the show by taking Shakespeare's advice: "Those that are fools, let them use their talents." Aided and abetted by Joan J, in high form as Maria, maid to the lady Olivia, and Ian Finley as the deluded steward Malvolio, this preposterous posse frolics through the play's ridiculous antics and double-edged language with such fine elocution and high good humor that we are left thinking that perhaps laughter is the true gift of the Magi.

But, as suits a play written for the night of the Epiphany (Jan. 6, the traditional 12th day of Christmas), there is plenty to think on concerning transformative love, revelation and rebirth, even if these ideas hardly take ecclesiastical form. The lady Viola (Ashlee Quinones), survivor of a shipwreck in which she believes her twin Sebastian (Lucius Robinson) to have perished, disguises herself as a man for safety, and becomes a servant to the Duke Orsino (C. Delton Streeter), with whom she promptly falls in love. Quinones, who is about as big as a minute, makes an impressive transformation from the bedraggled girl to the courtly young man, "Cesario," whom Orsino sends to plead his suit to the lady Olivia—who promptly falls in love with "him."

Olivia is played with considerable depth by the beautiful Jenn Suchanec, whose vocal skills are such that though "Cesario" may resist her, no one else possibly can. Certainly not Sebastian, who appears at Olivia's home and is taken by her for Cesario—and who, to her delight, at last succumbs enthusiastically to her charms. This is slightly confusing, because Quinones and Robinson do not actually favor, there being at least a foot difference in their heights, among other things, but hey, what's one more case of confused identity in this story? The tale hangs upon it. Without that, we wouldn't we get the priceless scenes in which Aguecheek, lusting after Olivia, fights Cesario and later is bafflingly bested by Sebastian. This last is particularly intriguing, because it shows us Lucius Robinson in an unaccustomed role as straight man, to (the usually dangerous) Stephen LeTrent as foolish fop Aguecheek.

Feste gets the final line: "We'll strive to please you every day." If the run of this Twelfth Night continues as it began, the cast will have succeeded in this pledge. Laugh on, Fool.

You may or may not have been smiling this week; either way, now get ready to laugh madly. Burning Coal Theatre Company has opened Hysteria, the 1993 farce by British playwright Terry Johnson, in the Meymandi Theatre at the Murphey School; and it is a delight.

Hysteria is set in England in 1938, and features Sigmund Freud in his study, receiving visits from his doctor Yahuda, the painter Salvador Dali, and a mysterious young woman whose gradual self-revelations bring into focus the darker elements of this quicksilver play. The silliness here has serious purpose — a fact that in no way mitigates its humor. Freud is nearing the end of his life, suffering from a cancer, and — it appears —- drifting in and out of a dream state in which the validity of his ideas, and the meaning and usefulness of his life, are challenged by the Jewish philosopher Yahuda, the Surrealist painter Dali, and the Anima in the closet, Jessica.

Some of Freud’s theories are enlivened by these characters, and they move around like chess figures in a power struggle — an analogy reinforced by the chessboard laid out downstage on the set. Along with the madcap dashing about, the slamming doors and shed clothing, the sexual innuendo and cultural jokes, the play is rich with challenge. What is true/what is right/what is good, and must those, or can those, coincide? Should one consider the effects one's rational intellectual explorations may have on individual, feeling, humans? What responsibility accrues to the promulgator of ideas for the damage they may cause?

In this scintillating production directed by Jerome Davis, Hysteria’s ideas make their transference to your brain almost unnoticed during the hilarious first act; but when the darker second act opens, you find them firmly lodged there. This is not a play that kicks you in the gut, and the only erogenous zone it rubs up against is the one in the head. It is a little paradoxical that such a cerebral play uses so much physical humor. But the technique works, and the actors’ comic timing is impeccable throughout.

Brian Linden is fantastic as the mercurial Dali, with his trademark moustache and enormous ego. He can dominate the stage or disappear like the Cheshire Cat, as the moment demands. Emilie Stark-Menneg, like Linden, visiting from New York, is vivid as Jessica. Fearless and amazing, she exhibits an astonishing range in the play’s pivotal role. The two other roles are filled by Raleighites well known to theatergoers. Kenny Gannon is marvelous as the stolid but increasingly discombobulated Freud; and George Jack’s deadpan turn as Yahuda supplies the necessary ballast in this high-flying caper. Kudos also go to the design team for an exceptionally well-conceived staging.

This highly-recommended production continues at Burning Coal through Nov. 23rd. See our Theatre Calendar for details.

Burning Coal Theatre Company aims to produce explosive re-examinations of overlooked classic, modern and contemporary plays that address poignant social issues and themes with minimalist production values. Burning Coal is housed in the newlyrenovated Murphey School auditorium, creating a 14-175 seat flexible performing space out of a 100-year-old historic buildingThe Murphey School auditorium was the room in which, in the summer of 1960, the Raleigh City School board met and voted to begin the desegregation of Raleigh schools. It was closed in 1977 when Wake County took over the school system. It sat dormant for 31 years until Burning Coal re-opened the space in February, 2008, renaming it the Meymandi Theatre at the Murphey School Auditorium.

Burning Coal’s artistic director,Jerome Davis, is a professional theatre artist who has worked with some of the great performers and teachers of our time (Ellen Burstyn, Uta Hagen, Adrian Hall, David Edgar, Oliver Platt, and others). Says Davis of Burning Coal, “Our mission is to produce ‘literate, visceral, affecting’ theatre that is experienced, not simply seen. We are working toward the creation of a fully professional company of theatre artists living in and working out of Raleigh. We like to do comedies, dramas and musicals that are about something, not necessarily serious plays but plays that are about something important to our people and our times. We mix these newer plays with classics by Shakespeare, Ibsen, Moliere, Beckett, etc., for the purpose of balance and contrast. We are also interested in developing new writers and new writing for the theatre and have staged world premieres or regional premieres of many new works in our 12 year history.”

The theater launched its 2008-2009 season Sept. 11-28 with “The Prisoner’s Dilemma,” which featured a cast of 19 playing more than 40 roles.

Next up, “Hysteria” will appear at Meymandi Theatre Nov. 6-23. This Sigmund Freud and Salvador Dali farce set in 1938 London on the eve of World War II, features a wild “dream” sequence during which the set turns into a Dali painting.

Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night” runs Dec. 4-21, Juan Mayorga’s “Way to Heaven” is scheduled for Jan. 22-Feb. 6 and Ian Finley’s “1960” will show April 9-24. All shows are located at Meymandi Theatre on Polk Street. To learn more about Burning Coal or to order tickets, visit their website at www.burningcoal.org.

"I hope you now understand two things," a polite, nearly diffident playwright David Edgar said to the audience of The Prisoner's Dilemma just after the end of its opening night performance last Thursday. "When big and rich countries, even with the best of possible motives, move into other countries and try to tell them how to run themselves, there are frequently unintended consequences.

"Secondly, these wonderful American actors have dispelled the belief that audiences in this country can't cope with the theater of ideas, political theater or large casts. They've taken a complicated, difficult and lengthy play by the throat and made sense of it."

It's hard to argue with that assessment—implicit self-critique included. Burning Coal Theater has chosen to open its 12th season with one of the most challenging scripts they've ever attempted, for actors (who play in multiple roles, accents and languages) and audiences both. Coming from the company that's brought us Uncle Tom's Cabin, Travesties, All the King's Men (Parts 1 and 2) and two iterations of Mr. Edgar's Pentecost, that's saying something.

Since playwright Edgar and director Jerome Davis throw us straight into the maelstrom without a compass, we're likely at first to feel nearly as disoriented as the nameless, but armed and wild-eyed, woman who careens about the stage reeling from the dissonance of competing choruses that border the stage during the opening tableau. It does take a few minutes—and strictly undivided attention—at the start to figure out the rules by which the first part of this world works.

A further shock to the system comes after well-heeled participants basically tear apart a glib, not quite ready for prime time, diplomatic simulation on conflict resolution between ethnic populations at an international symposium, when we find ourselves plunged into the real thing itself. Somewhere in a fictive former Soviet republic called Kavkhazia, a naked hostage, his head bagged, is threatened with electrocution from a car battery by agents of a breakaway ethnic insurgency, moments before he's freed, unharmed, with a message for the central government. A deal is, conceivably, possible—in the name of Allah, the most merciful.

From that point, we watch—at times with held breath—as teams of negotiators, representatives, fellow travelers and second- and third-party mediators try either to construct or sabotage a verbal arch of understanding over the chasm of armed conflict that two parties have known since the collapse of the Soviet Union: a Christian minority in control of that country's government, and an Islamist majority who want self-determination now.

In Edgar's skillful hands, we see that diplomacy involves finding a common language—and making the right choices in a potential minefield of terminology. The considerable suspense we experience repeatedly during this Dilemma suggests just how much nerve it takes to construct a bridge of words while you're standing on it at the same time. It also points to the stakes involved when that structure has to accommodate and support the desires for freedom and demands of justice of two peoples as well.

Much of that suspense is generated thanks to two riveting performances. Newcomer Tamara Farias Kraus gives freedom-fighter and insurgent negotiator Kelima an enviable razor's edge as she cuts through the sophistry and rhetoric of diplomatic lies. Jenn Suchanec is every bit her equal in the role of Finnish mediator Gina Olsson, a woman whose commitment to equity and the diplomatic process blinds her to a fundamental truth we're likely to find difficult to bear as well.

What is that inconvenient truth, exactly? That would be telling—a spoiler too far, by far. But rest assured, figuring out the American truth—and how it looks from abroad—in this gritty, brainy workout of a play should keep you more than occupied during a three-hour show that seems a lot shorter.