Oakland Hills 15 September 2024

Drive-by Culture Vulturing

On a sunny mid-September Sunday, Rochelle, Sienna and Michael drove to the East Bay to catch CalShakes' production of As You Like It at their Bruns theater in the foothills above Orinda. More about that below . . . but that's the second act stage set on the right, thanks to Sienna.

On the way south, we stopped for brunch at Pezcow in Windsor, an authentic Mexican eatery (as opposed to the Cal-Mex crap we can get near Caspar) that was unfortunately serving a buffet brunch. Great Pozole and Menudo, but I had my mouth set for their awesome Queso Fundido, and $25pp is a little pricey for our modest stomachs. That aside, we had a tasty and filling brunch before heading into the traffic crazies of the extended Bay Area.

We parked the car at Damiana's, plugged in, and then she drove the five of us (adding Rich and herself to the Shakespeare seekers) past our high Montclair AirBnB and over the hills to the theater.

Our main event, As You Like It, was, for me, a complete delight. The theater is up a hill in a grove of Eucalyptus with hawks soaring overhead. Shakespeare, and indeed any drama, seems more playful outdoors, and playfulness was definitely the watchword for this production. From the first moment, when all the players wordlessly introduced themselves by passing a bow along their line, my disbelief was blown away.

Before the play moves to the Forest of Arden, the backdrop was disappointingly drab, so the colorful characters stood out. Here's the two ingenues and the jester Touchstone, whose over-the-top drag acting was as outrageous as 'her' costume.

Rich, our strict constructionist, objected to the off-hand fluidity of role gender assignments, and I'll admit there was uncertainty, but am reminded that in the time of the original productions, all parts were played by men. 

When the action moved to the forest, the players opened the drab backdrop like a clamshell to reveal a brightly colored forest – see Sienna's photo above, taken at intermission despite the introductory warning that no photography was permitted. Why?

By this time, we knew the characters, and I had already fallen in love with the tart Phebe (with her rustic swain, at right.)  She was, of course, in love at first sight with Orlando, the play's noble hero, a state she manifested with her face and shaken bootie, but for me the best business was when she fluttered the frumpy apron she was wearing with her hands to show her excitement.

The staging was spare and inventive, and to my mind the integration with the stage business was superb. The acting, and indeed the whole production, was as satisfying as the best of Ashland, my previous standard of Shakespearean excellence. Our culture vulturing expedition last year, to Marin Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, also outdoors, was for me equally enjoyable – I'm a pushover – but was disturbing for Rich because of the damage done the original by the modernization. Not a problem this time; Rich's primary objection was to costuming that he found lackadaisical, where Sienna and I thought it playful and well inhabited by its wearers.

Otherwise, Rich was as pleased as the rest of us – we all noted the supposed 'carding' performed with a pair of dog brushes, but it didn't really get in the way of our delight.

Worth noting, the play was bookended by appeals to 'Enjoy!' and 'Support' as befits an organization mostly supported by donations. The executive director opened with housekeeping including “If you must smoke, your mother is disappointed in you, but . . .” along with the usual directive to turn phones off and no pictures – and that remains a puzzle. I understand 'no flashing,' but how can we do due praise for a place or production in this image-heavy time without taking our own pictures. I apologize to CalShakes, Craig Isaacs, and the Chronicle for pirating their imagery . . . but isn't Phebe delicious?

A note about the little 'gems' hanging from the players' hairlines: what a great place to put their microphones! The language was and is Shakespeare's flowery Elizabethan and thus not easy for modern ears, but nearly every word in this production was understandable. All in all, a wonderful experience, and I'll be watching to see what they offer us next year. The theater was full, and the audience appreciative. Lots of children, like Ashland in the old days. The walk up (and down) was long and, for those of us with hitches in our get-alongs, difficult. Maybe next time we'll BART and shuttle?

After the fact, I checked the San Francisco Chronicle’s review (to see if there were images to borrow) and discovered that their reviewer was not as enthralled as I was. Makes me wonder: is Shakespeare finally exiting stage right with my generation, and the children that we have infected with love for the Bard?

Another note of import: Rich was able to visit and photograph the plaque on the middle wall of the Bruns theater dedicated to his father by his colleagues, and the source of Rich's informed insistence on strictness in the rendering of Shakespeare's work.

After the show, Damiana drove us through the tunnel and down Broadway to Ohgane, a classic Korean restaurant, noisy with the roar of the ventilation and the babble of happy eaters yet redolent with the odor of searing meat, where we feasted. 

After we fetched our car and navigated to our digs high in the Oakland hills for a good night's sleep.

Monday, 16 September: Going Home

We had a very quiet night far up in the Oakland hills, and awoke to a foggy scene from our deck amid the treetops.

With fond memories of breakfasts past, we headed out along Skyline, Grizzly Peak, and Upper Claremont to La Note for a good Francophilic start to what turned out to be a trying day.

Then up the road to Freeman Toyota in Sata Rosa for the Prime's 45k service. Considering it's a 2017 vehicle, that's a good index of how much we drive: roughly 5,000 miles a year including long trips. We're now at lifetime 76% EV. Think of all those dead dinosaurs we saved!

I could tell right off that there was something amiss at Freeman: lots of helpers roaming around aimlessly looking for something gainful to do, and nary a Service Adviser in sight. I immediately guessed there was a problem with new software, because, as a hammer, all problems look to me like nails. How long? When my advisor, Mario, finally appeared 15 minutes later, I asked when would our service be finished?

“An hour and a half, two at the most. If it's going to be longer, I'll be in touch.”

Two hours later, and no word. 2 hours and 15 minutes, and Rochelle was getting antsy enough to ask one of the girls at the cashier desk. “I'll go find Mario,” she offered, and a little later I saw her looking into offices and around corners. Finally, Mario appeared to apologize: “The Repair Order got locked somehow and nobody could get the air filter onto it.”

“That's a data problem, not a car problem, right?” I asked / stated, making the point that delaying our departure due to their problem wasn't acceptable. He offered us the choice of pulling the car and coming back [No.] or just doing the oil change “the important part”. No, I came for the full service, and would impatiently wait for them to finish. By this time, it was obvious we were going to miss our reservation at Coppola's lovely Rustic restaurant. 

“We're never coming to Freeman again!” asserted Rochelle. Well, no, but they're surely going to have to re-earn our business.

Sienna worked things out with the folks at Rustic. Mario worked things out with the servicing, gave us a nice discount for our trouble, and after nearly three hours we were back on our way north.

Frank knows how to spend money! The Francis Ford Coppola winery and resort complex is a magnificent stage set that enables lucky members of the peasantry to feel like screen stars for a little while. Even our car felt wanted, as it was able to plug into a free fast charge port while we luxuriated.

We were seated on the terrace of the upscale restaurant, Rustic, and presented with salty little bread puffs and a remarkable 6-page menu. 

I ordered a glass of Francis's best Pinot Noir (see below) and Sienna got a glass of his Negroamaro, a grape variety she and Clay first encountered exactly one year ago in Cisternino, Italy.

We were hungry enough by now that we didn't get any pictures of our delicious mushrooms, meatballs, and bucatini cacio e pepe. By the time the Caesar salad came around we had slowed down, and got a picture.

The crowd thinned out. George, our lovely and accomplished server, fussed over us, and took time at the end to talk about why he's a career server – “They always tell you it's about the interactions with people, making them happy, yada yada, but it's really about the money. If that's there, why not have a good time, too?”

We rolled on home with very little traffic, arriving about 6pm. From the food standpoint, an awesome trip. Entertainment value? Five stars. Will we do it again? Maybe, although the City traffic is trying for us rustics.