Mississippi Stagecraft

It's a sight out of a Twain lover's imagined memory: a tiny, homemade Mississippi River raft, buoyant on blue oil-drums, flapping blue canvas greetings from its scanty half deck. On board is a troupe of traveling players who ply their ancient art along the river's muddy banks. But their message has a decidedly new twist. Funded by a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Otrabanda Theatre Company--four actors, one actress, a crew-woman and, until recently, a dog named Sweenie--this summer is bringing frenetic, sometimes avant-garde drama to 30 Mississippi River communities from St. Louis to New Orleans.

The members of Otrabanda--Sweenie excepted--are all in their mid-20s, former drama students at Antioch College under the tutelage of Flemish Playwright and Director Tone Brulin. When Brulin moved from Antioch to the Caribbean island of Curasao, a group of his devoted students joined him, and in 1971 they formed Otrabanda (named for the black residential quarter of Curasao--known as "the other side"). After returning to the U.S., the company employed Brulin's brash, blunt, highly physical and often noisy techniques mainly on tours to colleges and universities. "We played to very elite audiences," says Otrabandist David Dawkins, "which was exactly what we didn't want to get into. We wanted to play to everyone."

Working in the backyard of a retired Antioch drama professor, in Yellow Springs, Ohio, the Otrabandists assembled a raft by strapping flooring and two-by-fours to twelve 50-gallon drums donated by a local company. They added a canoe to trail behind for occasional jaunts to shore, then trucked the whole caboodle to St. Louis and launched The River Raft Revue--"at the world's most popular price: free!!" (The National Endowment grant of $15,000 is enough to cover expenses and possibly provide $25 per week in salary for each actor.)

A green and white Volkswagen van and trailer, carrying props and a gaudily striped circus tent, drives along the highways ahead of the 4-m.p.h. raft. The idea is to pique the curiosity of the local townfolk with the circus tent and catch their interest with oldtime medicine-show acts in the first half of the program--a jerky juggling act, for example, or the wonders of "Miraculo" the Magician, an exotic gentleman "just returned from the remote and distant shores of Long Island."

Then after an announcement that the second half of the show is "not recommended for children," the Otrabandists perform Stump Removal, a raucous satire on the evils of modern society. In the eerie light cast by pie-plate reflectors strung to a pair of Coleman lanterns, a mad scientist creates four human beings who romp about in long underwear of various hues and are taught to be guilty, suspicious, prejudiced and greedy. A second batch of people whipped up by the scientist revolts, however, and imprisons him under an upended grocery cart.

Some spectators object to the play's negativism and strong language. One woman at a recent performance in Cape Girardeau, Mo. (pop. 32,700), was offended by the long underwear. "At least," she bristled, "the girl could have worn a frilly dress." The company has had to modify Stump Removal by chastening its sex scenes and toning down a few lines--"the cheapest whorehouse in town" has become "the cheapest dance hall in town." But Dawkins believes most audiences sympathize with the play's "rejection and overthrow of oppressive authority."

After each performance, the Otrabandists push out into the river again. There, as Huck Finn said, things are "mighty free and easy and comfortable," despite an occasional near collision with a barge. "We like the idea of just being taken by the current," says Actress Diane Brown. "You can take a deep breath and. whew, let it all out."

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