There’s far more going on than initially meets the eye in Catherine Trieschmann’s How the World Began, staged at the Milwaukee Repertory Theater’s intimate Studio Theater. The Rep’s smaller theater space is ideal for the size of the small cast and the tension they maintain throughout the show’s 80 minutes. This is not an easy play to watch, but it is also impossible to look away once it begins. It’s a thought-provoking work that couldn’t be timelier.
In this tightly controlled drama, a pregnant, unmarried high school biology teacher from New York attempts to start a new life in a small Midwestern town. Susan is bitter about the breakup of her relationship with the child’s father. She wants to get as far away as possible from New York to complete her requirements for a teaching degree. The town to which she is assigned is recovering from an intense natural disaster. A tornado has ripped through this normally quiet Kansas countryside, killing more than a dozen people and destroying everything in its path. This includes the high school building. As a result, Susan’s temporary classroom has been created from an abandoned railroad car, authentically reproduced by set designer Scott Davis. The railroad car is a forlorn, makeshift space that mirrors Susan’s own feelings about her life. Also, Susan finds out that she is ill-equipped to handle the reality of small-town culture. She is, to say the least, prickly. During one fateful biology class, Susan makes a vague, offhand remark that is interpreted by one of her students as offensive to his religious beliefs. It sparks the still-controversial debate between teaching creationism and scientific “facts.” Micah (played by Ben Charles) is a lost, lonely and intelligent boy. After the tornado, he was left orphaned and homeless. He is under the supervision of a kindly neighbor, Gene. Gene and his wife have opened their home to the boy. For a reason not revealed until the play’s final moments, Micah becomes obsessed with his teacher’s personal beliefs. Being an adolescent, he does not see the bigger picture of what might result as a consequence. Susan, however, instantly realizes that this incident might endanger her professional future. She attempts to put the whole thing at rest before it is blown out of proportion. She fails. Interestingly, this situation is eerily similar to a real-life example that this reviewer remembers from her own hometown. In this case, the conflict between teacher and student was based on race, not religion. The veteran teacher was harassed to the point where she retired. One guesses that similar scenarios are no doubt being repeated across the country, making Trieschmann’s play all the more timely. The cast, led by director Brent Hazelton, makes this a chillingly realistic drama. Actor Marty Lodge fits as easily into his character (Gene) as he does into Gene’s well-worn jeans (designed down to the small hole in the rear back pocket where Gene keeps his wallet). Lodge, who has a long list of theatrical credits, makes an impressive appearance in his Milwaukee Rep debut. Gene admits to Susan that he is not as articulate as he would like to be. When they talk, he is prone to apologizing for “putting my foot into my mouth.” Ironically, Gene fails to realize his own offhand remark about gossip that “gets around town as fast as the name of a loose woman” offends Susan and her own predicament. Marty Lodge’s natural ease makes it all the more noticeable that Deborah Staples, as Susan, has a way to go before she is equally comfortable in her character. She comes off as being a bit stiff. However, her character must overcome a wider emotional arc than that of the two male actors, so she faces the greater challenge. As Micah, Ben Charles perfectly evokes a high school boy’s scowl and shuffle. When pressed by Gene for more information, Micah explodes as any high school student would do. All of the characters eventually become trapped in a web of their own making, as the playwright skillfully demonstrates that there are no ideal solutions to dilemmas onstage – or in life.
