Ghosts Review

Henrik Ibsen's play Ghosts was recently produced at a local play house and although I enjoyed the entire production, I felt there was one actor who stood out among the others. Kent Johnson's portrayal of Jacob Engstrand was either a great performance with solid depth, or I'm just babbling on about a shoddy performance.

The set has a white sheet pulled from the back of the stage to the front, serving as both background and flooring. The furniture, a couch with a coffee table, a small wooden chair and table, a chandelier, are antiques. The couch is an elegant white with some yellow stitching trim, no doubt to resemble gold. The chandelier is hung low, about a foot off of the floor, which is odd but serves as an object to walk around, keeping others at a distance. The chandelier also is representative of the "upper class" mentality everyone tries to portray at one point or another but by displaying the chandelier so low shows the audience that these "elites" are no higher than us.

     Kent Johnson either does a wonderful job of portraying Jacob Engstrand under terrific directing by John Johnston, or they completely missed a great opportunity at showing the lengths Engstrand would go to in order to deceive everyone. Engstrand has a long standing leg injury from falling down a set of stairs at a bar when attempting to "convert" the patrons. Regina even mentions how she is tired of hearing about his leg, "Ugh--! And that leg too!" Yet the only time Johnson sits down is at the beginning of the play when it's just Engstrand and Regina and Johnson chooses to sit on the regal white couch over the wooden chair. Rest of the play, Johnson is standing and walking around. Even Johnson's walk is indicative of Engstrand sandbagging his injury. A man with a leg pain bad enough to warrant a can would always strike the ground with the cane first, then his foot. Johnston put his cane down first early in the play but discontinued as the play progressed.

The funniest of Engstrand's lies is his inept ability to keep hold of his hat when in the presence of Phillip Leahl's Pastor Manders. Johnston would "accidently" drop his hat near the Pastor's feet and glance at Leahl expectantly, waiting for eye-contact before making a feeble attempt to reach for it.

     When we first meet Engstrand, Johnson is wearing a dirty white shirt and patchy pants, black shoes with his injured leg having a small wooden black tied to its foot, and a black bowler-hat. Later, Engstrand first comes to see Pastor Manders, Johnson is wearing the same cloths as earlier but now he has donned a gray vest and his hair has been wetted and combed. Engstrand is a poor carpenter. Engstrand probably spends a lot of money being "out on the loose."

Being that Engstrand is crippled, even slightly, his work must suffer making him a less than valuable worker. It is little wonder then that Engstrand's clothes be dirty and patchy. Still Engstrand's shirt was once white, when he agreed to keep his wife's secret to himself; he was doing well for her and her daughter's benefit. But Engstrand's wretchedness has tainted his white shirt, not enough to blacken it, but enough to dirty it.

     Engstrand never shows any true emotion. Any point that you might expect an emotion to appear, you enter wondering what is his motive or angle. The pain in his leg looks over dramatized, which is well within character, and his attempts at seeming humble and devote are laughable. Even when Engstrand has won his way with Pastor Manders and you know he must be happy. But Engstrand must not appear to be too happy so Pastor Manders will continue to be Enstrand's every beck and call.

    Johnston portrays Engstrand exactly as I imagined while reading with one exception. Johnston is quite obviously a tall man, possibly 6' 5", maybe taller. Even hunched over and slouching as much as possible, Johnston still towers over the rest of the cast. I had pictured Engstrand as being about 5' 7" or 5' 8", rough stubble around his face, and an accent that sounds vaguely like a pirate. I guessed that at one time or another in his youth he might have been a sailor since the only town any speaks of is obviously a port town and Ibsen grew up in a port town. Johnston nailed each expected aspect, though the accent wasn't exactly pirate-like, I felt like he did have a sailor's air about him.

    I really enjoyed watching the play far more than reading it. Seeing the characters come to life, I could read into each personality better than just the black and white of paper. Seeing Leahl's reaction to every temptation was hilarious and really helped to keep the audience engage in between character changes such as when Regina went to get Mrs. Alving.

    I suppose most of all; I enjoyed watching the end of the play with my wife who had a fascinating take on the medical basis of the play with historical perspective. The suddenness of Oswalt's catatonic condition is not indicative of syphilis as we now know it. Historically, many people thought to have died of neurosyphilis actually suffered from schizophrenia. Patients who have been diagnosed as schizophrenic are categorized into five types. The two most likely portrayed are: residual, they hear voices in their head but at a low intensity, and catatonic, they are unable to talk or can only manage to repeat one or two words. Both the bi-polar disorder and schizophrenia are hereditary. It is my wife's belief that Oswalt suffered from a bi-polar disorder and schizophrenia passed down from his father. Given that Mrs. Alving complained of hearing ghosts, I believe Mrs. Alving suffers from a positive reaction to schizophrenia and Mr. Alving suffered from bi-polar disorder which resulted in mood swings, drinking, and fornicating. Oswalt received both while his half-sister may not have received either.

200 Miles From Home

200 Miles From Home

I was born on December 3^rd in 1981 in a small hospital in San Antonio. My mother has no middle name. My father came from Seattle. I live in Houston now, roughly 200 miles from my place of birth. 200 miles doesn't seem that far. If you average it, I've moved less than 10 miles every year. 2.4 miles seemed like a lot more to me before, especially when falling. The farthest distance for me was the 4 to 6 seconds of free fall after stumbling out of an aircraft. That's the point in time where I really hope all my gear works, or else the next 12,000 feet will be the last that I travel. There's no place farther from home than those 12,000 feet.

I signed my paperwork to go into the Army on December 20^th in 2000. It was the day I met my future wife. Thanks fate. I'm not saying that if I had met her the day before I wouldn't have signed the contract that would take me through 2 wars, a concussion, multiple bodily injuries, 4 cars, 2 universities, 26 jumps, and 5 years of my life, but sometimes I wonder if I would have. It's hard to describe that period of time succinctly: hard, fun, slow, boring, fast, scary, or lonely? What stories can I tell quickly? The one where I saw a man drink his own urine for seven dollars? Driving through Kuwait in a caravan when death from IED's was at its highest rate? Pleading with my wife not to leave me? Hearing the people around me in Iraq going through the same trial and tribulations? Or what it feels like to hit the ground in high winds? Like I said, it's hard to describe succinctly.

Or do I talk about my life before the army? I loved high school. I know most of my generation would not say, "Those were the best days of my life." But I loved it. I didn't take anything seriously except music and computers. I played tenor, bari, and alto saxophone in multiple bands and ensembles. I played anchor base for our indoor and outdoor drum line. When I had time to spare, I'd pick up a set of mallets and blast away at the marimba, tenor drums, or just a snare drum. I became good enough at percussion that I would sometimes be mistaken for our drum line captain. That was my wife's first impression of me – me picking up the base guitar she was trying to learn for the garage band she was in. When she asked me how long I'd been playing, truthfully I answered, "I think I picked one up a year ago, but that's about it." And that was life before the Army.

Should I then talk about life after the army? My wife and I lived in apartments in San Antonio. I subcontracted for the Army under a company I hated and a boss who resembled more of a belligerent platypus than a human. My wife worked odd hours in a trauma ICU that was emotionally and physically draining. We didn't like it. We didn't talk. We didn't have time to We loved each other, but hated the situation. So we came home to Houston and we were happy.

About a year after we got here, and we were truly settled, she started feeling "off" one weekend. She was hungry but not hungry, nauseated at the smell of a hamburger. That Sunday morning she took a pregnancy test. Before she even set the stick down, the little cross telling us of our impending son was bright in a little bubble. I wasn't in the room with her. It was 4:30 in the morning. She came back to bed. I said, "So?" She said, "Well, I'm pregnant." I held her and whispered, "Thank you."

He's now 6 months old. He was born July 3^rd in 2009. He weighed 6 pounds and 9 ounces. I didn't know a human could be so small. I still can't; he's almost tripled in weight. We're still happy – sleep deprived, but happy. He started trying to stand with help at the age of 2 months, locking his knees so you couldn't do anything but stand him up. My and my wife's eyes are green. His eyes are a clear blue, and they are beautiful.

When I am with my family, I am home. I live 200 miles from where I was born, but the farthest I travel from home now is the distance to school.

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