Necessary Rivalry

David Selby as Abraham Lincoln and Craig Wallace as Frederick Douglass in the Ford’s Theatre world premiere production of “Necessary Sacrifices,” directed by Jennifer L. Nelson. Photo by T. Charles Erickson.

Back from my traditional Sunday Matinee in February at Ford's trip, this year to see Necessary Sacrifices, starring David Selby (reprising his Lincoln from Ford's acclaimed Heavens Are Hung in Black) and Craig Wallace as Frederick Douglass (last seen at Ford's in Sabrina Fair).

I loved the familiarity of these two actors, even though Wallace had evidently been a last minute replacement. There's something special about seeing an artist try new things. In this case, Selby was honing the characterization he'd earlier applied in Heavens, playing Lincoln as increasingly contorted by pain and struggling for physical strength to match his moral strength.

With so much physicality going on in Selby's performance, it was a good thing that Wallace was probably more focused on his lines--it would have been too distracting if he'd been doing the same kind of dance that Selby's Lincoln was.

The language is complicated because the ideas are complex. I had the same feeling about The Rivalry, Ford's 2010 staging of the legendary debates between Lincoln and the other Douglas, Stephen. The staging in that case was very similar to that of Frayn's Copenhagen, as the characters orbited and echoed and challenged each other with gestures minimized.

The complexity of the issues that our Lincoln and Douglass were struggling with required them to challenge each other, and to admit that they are both human, both subject to heartbreak and humiliation, pride and blind spots. Though they would agree that the Civil War was ultimately about abolition, the actual execution of that goal was never so simple as saying "you're free." (Freedom without security was as much a threat to the black man as the loss of "property" that this freedom meant was to the confederates.)

There were a couple of times when I thought I saw the actors glimpse up at the President's box to catch a nod or grimace from that lingering, tormented soul. Maybe it was just me.

Even though Ford's is abandoning some of its past theatrical choices (no more Hot Mikado, I gather), I always feel the presence of my "Jeeves" in this very special space. Edward Duke told me that Sunday matinees were always the "worst houses." So when I say there was a rousing standing ovation for Selby and Wallace, I like to think Lincoln wasn't the only ghost smiling.

Tall Men Never Slouch

So I kept checking the Kennedy Center schedule to find out when Daniil Simkin would be dancing and finally got a ticket for tonight. Because it's Daniil, and of course I want to see his cute face, I went ahead and got orchestra, as close to the front as I could still get, having delayed ticket buying.

Bum gouge.

So row H turned out to be the second row (the orchestra having called dibs on rows A-F). Yay for being close to Daniil! But oopsie: Row G had an occupant in front of me. A tall one. A very tall one with big curly hair.

I considered hopping over the aisle to the front row in the center section, as those two people didn't show up for the first act. But lo, they ambled in for the second act (the one with Daniil). So I settled in to squirm back and forth around tall bushy guy for Act II and Daniil's performance in the pas de deux from Swan Lake.

But wait a second. Who the hell is that? It wasn't Daniil. It was Marcelo Gomes. Who's a perfectly handsome and wonderful dancer and all that, but I wanted Daniil. Now I need to go find out what happened to him. He is too well trained to just not feel like dancing.

As for the rest of the program, I will say I thoroughly enjoyed the 80% of the first and third acts that I could actually see: "Black Tuesday" by Paul Taylor (with recorded songs of the Great Depression including "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" performed by Simone Messmer and "Brother Can You Spare a Dime" performed by Jared Matthews) and "Thirteen Diversions" by Christopher Wheeldon (to Benjamin Britten's "Diversions for Piano and Orchestra").

These two pieces were fresh additions to the "typical" ABT mixed rep of twirling glitterpops. The Wednesday night audience was tepid, though. The only standing-ovationers were along the sides and back of the house. Not even tall bushy-haired man stood--which enabled me to actually see the company when I did.