Critics pan the script for too much dialogue, not enough action. Yet, Shoreline Communit y College’s acting students make Milan Stitt’s “The Runner Stumbles” connect. I’m still reacting.
The setting is a courtroom in an out of the way parish in Solon, Michigan, 1911. Father Rivard (Todd Szekely) stands accused of murdering Sister Rita (Emily Mack).
The format is testimony by witnesses and flashbacks.
The gateway to what is going on is judgment. Judgment in the courtroom is the verdict, guilty or not guilty. Judgment in the conscience is guilty or innocent. What is the difference? Is there a difference? You are the judge.
So what do you do?
Szekely is your go-to guy. Rita is dead. Rivard is in love with her but didn’t always know it and didn’t know what to do with it once he did know it. His head told him one thing; his heart, another.
Conflicted hardly describes Rivard. The guy is split down the middle, at war with himself, touchy, intense, intelligent, dedicated and a mess all the way around. God only knows what Szekely had to go through to act him. One thing is for sure. He strays a little here and there, but this actor wins you over if you give him a chance.
Mack, on the other hand, plays the victim, the scapegoat, the Christ figure. Her Rita is innocent in all ways: natural, compassionate, fun-loving, free-spirited, open-hearted, intuitive and anything but intellectually blinded by Church doctrine. It’s easy to like Rita. It’s easy to like Mack. Admit it or not. Mack stirs the self-pity we all suffer when crucified by others.
If looks could kill, Pearl Klein’s would do Father Rivard in every time he sweet talks Sister Rita. Klein is the book-ignorant, rectory housekeeper who doesn’t miss a nuance when it comes to relationships. Klein’s eyes speak volumes.
Annikki Kandoll does a particularly heart-tugging, adult daughter grief-stricken by the death of her mother and wracked by guilt.
Hell hath no fury like that of a woman scorned. But who would guess that the fury would be as funny as Kate Wyatt’s? Wyatt plays the saucy, blonde student whose moves on Father Rivard got a cold reception. Believe her, and you won’t skip a beat convicting Rivard. Wyatt will laugh you into it.
Ever want to be cuffed and have it lorded over you, you’re a prisoner? Angus Vieira is your man. He’s the jailer-handyman in bib overalls on a power trip. You can’t miss it. Vieira likes whereof he acts.
Barry Lovie’s Prosecutor is the heavy you love to hate. Ali Messiah’s Monsignor sends chills up and down your spine, no heart. Matthew St. John plays the least developed character, the Judge.
Director Tony Doupe sees to it actors appear, disappear and move around so that there is always somebody to connect with. Argue if you want. I think the story is paced just right. I had time enough to savor but not so much my mind wandered.
This is intense college drama about a time in America when religions quarreled, prejudices ran rampant, sex was a no-no, and propriety was all; appearances counted. Catholicism comes off callous and unresponsive. Emotional honesty is extolled, perhaps at the expense of reason. You judge.
Reactions? Comments? E-mail Dale Burrows at entopinion@heraldnet.com or grayghost7@comcast.net.
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