Humble Boy

Reviewed by Holly Bartges

Even though a funeral has just taken place, the bees buzz, even though they are not suppose to be there any longer, and chaos entwines itself amongst the myriad of roses growing in the garden nestled in Cotswolds of England, Humble Boy, brilliantly written by Charlotte Jones, (See Interviews) and exquisitely performed by an outstanding cast of actor artists, opened Friday night at the John Hand Theatre. Directed by Richard H. Pegg, this production is about as close to perfection on stage as any play can possibly be.

Stephen Pearce and Deborah Persoff in Humble Boy now playing at the John Hand Theatre. Photo by Richard H. Pegg

A satirical comedy, Humble Boy wraps itself around a loose as a goose adaptation of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, buzzing with the inspiration of a Bumble Bee. Bumble Bees aren’t suppose to be able to fly. Their bodies are too big. Their wings are too small for any aerodynamic exercise. The one mistake made in this conclusion is that no one told the Bumble Bee he couldn’t, so he did it anyway.

As roses climb and cling to their trellises in the garden set designed by Michael R. Duran, neurosis does likewise for the Humble family and the Pye family, climbing and clinging.

With a lost uncomfortable look stretching from his blank stare eyes to his awkward stance, Felix Humble (Stephen Pearce) saunters into the garden. He’s late for his father’s funeral. A Cambridge astro-physicist, Felix, dressed all too casually, finds comfort in physics and physic-type ideas, but in a social situation he wears a suit of ineptness. Pearce wraps himself so snugly in Felix’s persona that if you saw him walking down the street engulfed in his off in the wilderness stare you would not recognize Step Pearce.

The moment Jim the gardener (Dell Domnick) meanders onto the stage with an ethereal flair, you know he knows something not yet to be revealed. He knows gardening, no question, and he knows bees, almost as much as James Humble the beekeeper, who died of a heart attack looking after his bees. Domnick fills Jim with an air of tranquility, a knowing, a keen sense of humor delighting in the fact not all the bees have been removed. He knows of a secret hive, releasing some of Felix’s disappointment in finding his father’s bees so abruptly removed from their hive.

Unsettling, nervous, fraught with discomfort over just being, the beautiful actress Kendra Crain McGovern turns herself inside out to portray Flora Humble’s (Deborah Persoff) best friend, slave to pleasing, stumbling in anxiety, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time Mercy Lott. This is a comic genius at work.

Dominating, self-absorbed, wrapped in a social air of self-importance, nose in the air, criticizing, demanding, picking, Persoff gives one of her most outstanding performances as the complicated, irritating Flora. Bored, feeling imprisoned, Flora never gets enough of anything. She wants more, and the more of what she wants she found a long time ago with George Pye, a neighbor, and an affair up his sleeve. Verl Hite plays George to the hilt, hopelessly in love, deliciously delighted over James’ death, hell bent for leather to finally be able to marry Flora.

This news stuns Felix even more into stuttering, with glassy eyes beyond repair to find his mother carrying on with George.

And that’s not all, there’s George’s daughter, Rosie streaking with a breath of fresh air totally engulfed by Katharyn Grant. George hates Felix, making no bones about it behind Flora’s back. Seven years ago Felix and Rosie were a close-knit item. They were in love. George managed to crack that rock solid relationship wide open. Felix left for Cambridge, and Rosie had a daughter Felicity to raise. Felix not only has to deal with her overbearing mother, her affair with George, the loss of the bees, but also with the fact he has a daughter he never knew about. Rosie’s strength and courage allows her to heal her broken heart, giving her opportunity to say what she thinks no matter what with a devil may care attitude toward everything and everyone. Grant pulls this off with natural stamina, tongue-in-cheek humor, and relishing in a delicious pay back time.

Intertwining the multitude of issues and complications gives all of the characters depth on multi dimensions so that no one issue stands out, no one issue rules or reduces the characters to paper dolls, no one can be boxed in. They are all full of surprises; they are all allowed to grow as people. They are all allowed to entertain new thoughts, even though they struggle with the reality.

Humble Boy is three hours long, but I was so completely captured and touched by the way the characters embrace their neurosis, unraveling barricades that long stood in their way, I was completely unaware of the time. With Brian Miller’s accompanying underlying lighting design, and Pegg’s symphonic sound design, Humble Boy is simply breathtaking. Poignant moments are off set by honest humor, much of which is supplied by McGovern’s imprint on Mercy. A highlight in comedy comes when Mercy discovers she inadvertently uses the wrong ingredient in her Gazpacho soup that no one seems to get around to eating. Distraught over no one eating her creation, when she learns of the identity of her seasoning, she comes unglued in one of the most memorable hysterical moments ever to grace a stage.

Miss this show, and you’ll wish you hadn’t. Humble Boy is about as near to perfection as a play can get in all arenas, in all aspects with heart, soul and honest legitimate laughter.