A mandate of the Provincetown Tennessee Williams Festival is to explore all aspects of the playwright including staging new works inspired by his short stories and poetry. It was in this spirit of invention that we settled in for an evening of cabaret at the Crown and Anchor.
Having endured the amateurish The Liberation of Colette Simple, and by then getting past our normal bed time, we debated leaving. The second performance was to be more song-based on Williams.
To our great delight Canciones de Tennessee Williams with Armando Arrocha and pianist, Mario A. Cabuto was just fabulous. Oh my, what a surprise. It seems that the production team included lighting designer Tristan Dicincenzo, who was, well, spot on. With a face that conveyed all of the levels of Dante’s Inferno simultaneously Arrocha, in formal attire, just gazed out at us for the longest time. He seemed to be conjuring up creative energy as well as seducing us like a Hindu snake charmer luring a cobra out of a straw basket. Every so slowly and softly he began to sing a plaintive, evocative song. While his voice proved to be magnificent, with an operatic range, the material was unfamiliar and sung in Spanish. Although the lyrics were lost on me the mood and emotional rendering transcended all barriers of language. The songs were interspersed with strongly accented, dramatic readings of the poetry of Williams compiled by David Kaplan who directed this compelling performance. As the set progressed, in the manner of the Vegas Rat Pack, he unwound. First the bow tie was abandoned. That was followed by a gradual strip tease down to his undershirt. It is a tradition of conveying to the audience that now I am getting into it and working harder and harder to move you. It was a familiar routine which I have seen first hand over the years from Old Blue Eyes to his satellites, Sammy Davis, Jr. and Dean Martin. Perhaps most in the audience weren’t old enough to remember but in P’Town that night it worked just fine. The poetry was wonderful and deeply felt. Two thirds of the way into the set he had us just where he wanted us. Then the tricks happened which ratcheted it up to yet another level. Having crooned like Russ Columbo, and evoked the range of Pavarotti, he slipped into another mode. He sat on the piano bench and engaged in a four hander with the fluid Mario A. Cabuto. They played very fast with a percussive Latin rhythm. It garnered great applause from the appreciative audience. He exited and we speculated that the show was over. With a glittering dinner jacket thrown on over his undershirt he slipped into Mariachi mode. Behind him there was a blazing, ersatz-tacky, light show. Again it was a genre of music and entertainment that the audience was generally unfamiliar with. It comprised a lesson in the roots of a Mexican tradition of which Arrocha is clearly a master. We were floored to discover a great artist and consummate entertainer. Hopefully, he will become more widely known to American audiences. In addition to the poetry, however, it would have helped to have at least one song in English. Or, perhaps, it is time for Americans to embrace Spanish as our second language.
