STORIES I AIN’T TOLD NOBODY YET
In less skilled hands, a collage can degenerate into a near total disregard for structure. Images–the more disparate the better–are simply strung together in a series, without regard for how they unfold in time or resonate with one another.
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Unfortunately, such is the case with Jo Carson’s Stories I Ain’t Told Nobody Yet, being given its Chicago premiere by Tour de Femme. Carson intends to present myriad facets of life in her native Tennessean Appalachians. Assembled under such broad headings as “Family,” “Environment,” “Life,” and “Death” are stories that range from one-liners to confessional monologues to full dramatic scenes. Each of these forms is used to probe the reality behind mountainlife stereotypes. As one character announces early in the evening, “Mountain people can’t read, can’t write, don’t wear shoes, don’t use soap, and don’t talk plain. . . . Well, let me tell you: I am from here, and I’m not like that, and I am damned tired of being told I am.”
The production is also burdened with hokey, stilted directorial choices that underscore the triteness of the text rather than engender a feeling of simplicity or quaintness. And there’s a lot of phony playacting–scurrying to get out of an imaginary rainstorm and carrying on sotto voce conversations while someone else tells a story on the other side of the stage. All of this not only seems painfully dated, but works against the central dramatic convention of the piece: these are people in a theater telling stories directly to an audience. To have them act as though they’re unaware of what’s happening five feet away simply makes no sense.
