This is so appropriate because last evening I was sitting in the meeting room of that very place, a beautifully decorated ten foot tree standing proudly off to one side, doubled in its majesty by its reflection in the window, mesmerized by the storyteller who wove, throughout my imagination, the adventures of a certain Mr. Scrooge, Bob Cratchit, the ghost of Jacob Marley, not one, but three wandering spirits, and an entire cast of characters populating 19th century London.
But this was no mere reciter, sitting in a chair and reading from a book. This was a master thespian, acting out the tale, his face, voice and entire demeanor rapidly shifting from one role to the next. His voice undulated from cries of lamentation that reverberated in the rafters, to whispers that were clearly audible to the back of the room, but seemed as if they were meant for my ears alone. His intonations were punctuated with wild arm gestures grand and subtle, and small movements of his feet that traversed the whole of England.
And did he accomplish his magic with major changes of costume, props and set design? No, he stood before his enraptured audience in black shoes, black slacks, and a black T-shirt, and his only accoutrement was a long red scarf swathed around his neck. In a little over an hour, he brought to life the classic Charles Dickens novella, "A Christmas Carol," literature's most widely adapted work.
We were once again treated to an awe-inspiring performance by our friend Duffy Hudson, who continues to amaze me more with every production. We all know by heart the sequence of events that befall Ebenezer Scrooge, but how many of us can repeat it word for word, and who of us, even after extensive memorization, could get up in front of a room full of strangers and repeat it without stammers, stops and starts, cue cards, or second takes?
As he ended with the immortal words, "God bless us, every one," and drew a breath, the entire room was enveloped in a brief moment of poignant silence, as we all knew that we had partaken together in something special and wonderful, and then the room erupted into thunderous applause.
Upon exiting the room, I shook Duffy's hand and recalling something of Scrooge's nephew Fred, I wished him a Merry Christmas, and pointing my finger at him added, And a Happy New Year!
As we left the library, God, or Mother Nature, or Father Christmas, or the Ghost of Christmas Present, not to be left out of the proceedings, graced us with a gentle snowfall of fat, soft flakes, gray and ethereal in the evening air. The decorated houses enchanted us on our short ride home, by car if not by sleigh, until the holiday lights of our own house beckoned us a warm welcome home.
No comments:
Post a Comment