Tiny Tim Is Dead

Reviewed by Holly Bartges

Tiny Tim is dead? No one wants to hear that. If Tiny Tim is dead, Scrooge as Scrooge wins; an unspeakable concept.

CJ Hosier (seated) Arthur Martinez, Gwen Harris, and Isaiah Miller in a scene from Tiny Tim Is Dead.

The Theatre Group’s Theatre On Broadway took a nosedive into the ashes, rising with Phoenix power as Theatre Off Broadway. Barbara Lebow’s gnawing, poignant, play Tiny Tim Is Dead, directed by Steven Tangedal, plays through January 5. Point blank: should not be missed.

Frustrating, as it is to not be able to see every production on opening night, there are advantages in catching a show after it has jelled.

This top-flight production should not be missed by anyone no matter how unnerved or rattled the subject of Homelessness creeps down the spine. Even if the spine-creeping strikes a constant reminder many live but one paycheck away from a Homeless State of Being. A major disaster, a life-threatening illness, an unexpected death carries the potential of the feared and shunned State of Being coming to fruition right in the midst of where we live.

Theatre Group’s Tiny Tim takes us smack into a Homeless community where throw away junk transforms into life saving possessions. Of course, we don’t want to look at it. We don’t want to believe anyone could survive such conditions, where refrigerator boxes become bedrooms, and heat comes from burning debris in a rusty oil drum.

What immediately struck me with this six-actor cast were the characters. Change their clothes, change the place of being, and there stands a representation of humanity from all walks of life. In every social group, every political group, every church group there is the little paranoid child living in a woman’s body (or man for that matter), the bitter cynic, the Raw Raw cheer leader, the person from another country, alone, wanting a place to belong, getting teased and laughed at for not knowing the language, trying too hard, being too eager, misunderstood for lack of patience, the disabled living in a wheel chair, dying of Aids, feeling trapped because it wasn’t his fault the factory he worked for suddenly closed, and the little boy who doesn’t speak, the little boy recognizing his father who wants nothing to do with him.

Tiny Tim Is Dead embroils provocative passion. It is not possible to see this production and walk away with the shrug of the shoulders. At the beginning of Intermission last Saturday, the audience sat perfectly still for several seconds. Not a sound could be heard. The impact of Act I swept over everyone.

Shelly Bordas gives a knockout performance as Verna; fearful of the Shelter Police, fearful they will take her son, Boy, away from her, hiding him in a cart, doting on him. Boy doesn’t speak, doesn’t have a name. He hasn’t told Verna what it is. His first time on stage, Isaiah Miller feeds Boy eyes and expressions calculated to knock your socks off. In particular the very last scene, Boy, abandoned, sitting alone in silence, waiting, squirrels chills around the shoulders.

CJ Hosier wraps himself as Charley, Verna’s best friend, confined to a wheel chair, using whatever strength he has to comfort the child-woman, quietly living his own torment in silence, dying of AIDS. Hosier’s quiet degenerative transformation as Charley sucks air out of the lungs.

Keithwayne Brock Johnson rattles the serenity as Otis Pope. Everyone calls him Pope. He wants to be called Otis Pope. Angry, bitter, intelligent, a dyed in the wool cynic over everything and everyone he beats down, beating to death any hopeful word, any happy phrase, anything positive because no one really wants to help; no one really wants to bring about change. Handouts to the homeless are used to make people feel better rather than affect change. Pope sees myths and lies in everything. Interestingly enough he stays with the group he bashes, denying any responsibility to or for Boy, no matter how attracted Boy is to him. Peppered throughout his biting aura, lies sharp elements of hard to swallow truth because they come from him. Johnson shatters the nerves with his Otis Pope.

Arthur Martinez flashes onto the scene as Filomeno Hodge. Spanish is his language. Dressed in a bright green coat, with dark hair slicked back, he met Charley at a church function, having just arrived in this country. He wants a job, connection, he wants to belong somewhere, Charley invites him to the group, and this over eager young man accepts unprepared for Pope’s sliding snide attitude.

It’s Christmas Eve. Verna desperately wants to find something in the trash, something special for Boy for Christmas morning. Hiding a red Christmas tree ornament in a hamburger box, she wants something really special. The special comes in the form of an old tattered book of Charles Dicken’s Christmas Carol. Pages are missing, but that doesn’t matter. Everyone knows the story. Everyone, that is, except Filo. Verna has found her special present, to have the group act out the story for Boy. Oh, yes, and she will be Tiny Tim.

Gwen Harris comes into the fray as Azalee Hodges, a friend, who lives at the shelter Verna heatedly avoids. Azalee flies on top of the world. That night the shelter is sponsoring a Cinderella makeover leading to new clothes, leading to job interviews, leading to new opportunities, for life to start over. Giddy with excitement, protective of Verna and Boy, supportive of Charley, delighted to meet Filo, punching hope out of Pope’s desperate need to box her down into the ground. Something there once was between them, and oh, yes, she would welcome a rekindling. Does she see something in Pope hidden behind a smoke screen? An on fire optimist, an over the top cheerleader, Harris gives Azalee fired determination.

They laugh. They dance, a tad off the wall with uncontrolled silliness, all under the machine gun fired hated cynicism from Pope snarling strong truthful statements, clouded by disappointment and anger.

On a set deigned by Tangedal that could be any back alley anywhere, in any metropolitan city, including Denver, Verna loads her shopping cart with bags of trash tempered as treasured goodies. Small appropriate and inappropriate gifts gleaned from church groups by Charley are shared with each other. The set speaks to places most of us don’t see and don’t want to see.

The characters wear a mish mash of costumes for clothes Good Will wouldn’t want. All of the characters, that is, except for Filo.

Stefan Christopher’s lighting design emphasizes with offbeat punctuation the collective isolation these characters find themselves forced to face day after day.

There’s always the “Happy-Ending- Wanting,” especially at this time of year. The onslaught of commercials tells us so. The perfect gift is two brand new cars in the driveway. Dad is always behind Mon with a small velvet box because a “Kiss begins with Kay”. Holiday movies are packed with changes of heart, Christmas miracles happening all over the place. Reconciliation spills freely as water out of a tap. Warm Fuzzies nestle around every household.

That does happen, but it isn’t the entire story. Tiny Tim Is Dead isn’t the entire story either. In the Holiday Season for the Celebration of Life Warm Fuzzies and giant wishes go hand in hand with the ugly reality there are far too many in our society without basic fundamental needs, like a place to call home.

Tiny Tim Is Dead is a vitally important play, under expert direction, executed by a highly talented cast of artistic expertise, and definitely should not be missed. Even in the midst of a magical Holiday, it remains perfect for families with older children, giving opportunity for defining serious education. Bite the bullet and call now for reservations. The performance takes the breath away. The writing knee-deep in honest emotion as passion overflows through the actors into the audience.