Ever since the palace of The King opened to the public in June 1982, the Memphis mansion of Elvis Presley has been the epicenter for the most outrageous celebrity worship that our outrageous nation can produce. So it's no wonder an American playwright would seek to probe the depth of the mania of two women vying for the honor of being the first to set foot on newly hallowed ground. What is somewhat surprising in Ellen Byron's Graceland, then, is the decorous modesty of the playwright's characterizations. Yes, young Rootie Mallard and her more seasoned antagonist Bev Davies are both steeped in the most arcane Elvis trivia.
Yes, they're vulgar enough to go after each other in a brief catfight over which fanatic is truly first in line. But you'd think Rootie and Bev would make their pilgrimages when the King of Rock & Roll was still cooling in his grave. Here they begin their vigils at the shrine a mere three days before the official opening. They do not kiss the ground or brandish any Elvis relics. Worst of all, though Bev is cantankerous and Rootie somewhat dopey, neither woman ever verges on the wild, squealing frontiers of insanity.
As staged by innerVoices Theater Company, the struggle for Number-One Elvis fan supremacy becomes downright idyllic in the end, with pastoral flavorings that wouldn't be discordant in a Christmas fable. Something smells fishy here.
If you remember the tribulations of Charlotte Rep when they attempted to produce the world premiere of Dorothy Velasco's Miracle at Graceland a decade ago, you may understand Byron's diffidence. Elvis Presley Enterprises protects the trademarks of Elvis and Graceland with a fervid religious zeal, and woe betide any theater company that presumes to blithely include The King's hit singles in their sound design. As a Waterbury, Connecticut, theater company recently learned, even a tribute to Elvis can be quashed by the zealots in charge of his estate.
Under Jason Looney's fine direction, innerVoices' Graceland ran a mere 84 minutes. Looney actually stretched the production to that length by skillfully fusing another Byron one-act, Asleep on the Wind, into the show. Near the end of the sparring between Bev and Rootie, we flash back to a dialogue between Rootie and the true Elvis believer in her family, her elder brother Beau. The farewell in that companion script, as Beau leaves his hometown in the Louisiana Bayou to enlist -- and die -- in the Vietnam War, has the flowery aroma of Faulknerian folk tragedy. Including it, with Carver Johns so excellently Cajun as Beau, makes Serena Ruden's claims as Rootie all the more persuasive.
Therese St. Germain puts up stout resistance as Bev. Nudged along by the power of the flashback -- and an aptly chosen Presley ballad -- I could almost believe Bev's gracious surrender.
