part of the scenery, in order that we could observe things that others would miss. As we would sit quietly watching the
people moving around us, my father and I would comment on various individuals and speculate who they were, or where they
had come from. Sometimes, when we were like this, the most interesting characteristics would emerge from those who did
not see us watching them. We were witnesses to couples fighting, children using their ploys to get what they desired, and
sometimes, we watched as the lonely walked by surrounded by people, yet yearning for company. This Shakespeare play
brought out similar qualities in the fans.
I watched as the groups broke off into cliques, each person vying for the role of leader in the pack, the person who was
probably a quiet introvert was suddenly brought to life as she paraded on stage, beckoning for the accolades of her
colleagues. The butch dykes, dressed in their fine clothes, strutted around like peacocks as if they were the only ones in the
area. And I watched as those who had even the slightest recognition within the Xena world suddenly become the center of
everyone’s attention as if they were visiting royalty. Through it all, I found it to be more of a typical Xena convention, and less
of a Shakespeare event.
As I sat there watching everyone around me, I began to long for the days from my early twenties when I would attend
Shakespeare in the Park, in San Francisco’s beautiful Golden Gate park. Dressed in period costumes, my friends and I
would attend the events with other people who were in SCA, the Society for Creative Anachronism. The Society for
Creative Anachronism is a group which recreates the middle ages, and in particular, the renaissance era. Often times, I
remember having to answer questions from other audience members who wore street clothes, unaware that we were not part
of the play, but simply part of the audience as they were.
It was around five thirty that I decided to excuse myself, leaving Jessica behind at the seats. To my utter horror, the janitor
had chosen this time to mop out the ladies restroom, so I, and a small handful of other women, were left to stand in line. As I
stood there shifting from foot to foot, praying that the janitor would end his task soon, I began to do what is teasingly called
my pp dance. It was then that I glanced up at and saw a familiar face.
Surrounded by a small entourage of women, Renée O'Connor walked across the grass. She called out to someone who had
already disappeared behind the building. As I stood there doing my pp dance, I marveled at how thin she looked, and
resisted the urge to run up to her and ask her to eat some more because she was too skinny. At that point, she glanced at us,
then took a double take as if she wasn’t certain why we were gathered at the entrance to the restrooms, or perhaps
wondering who the crazy woman was who was dancing in line. Before all of this could register, the janitor finished his task
and I quickly ran inside, grateful that he had finally allowed us entrance.
Once I returned to the benches, Jessica pointed to a distinguished woman. Like Renée O'Connor, the woman was
surrounded by women, each one seeming to vie for her attention. It was then and Jessica explained that the woman was
Sandra Wilson, Renée’s mother. After retelling my own tale, my honey had a good chuckle over the first impressions that I
tend to make on people.
When I sat and watched Mrs. Wilson with the fans, I began to wonder if someone could be as genuinely kind as she seemed
to be. I saw how she shook everyone’s hand, whom she had just met, and how she made a point to ask their names, as if
she were putting their images somewhere in a data bank within her memories. With a soft, yellow baby blanket over her arm,
she made her way to a seat and saved it, but as the night progressed, some fans who had staked out their seats in the front
had pulled her closer to the stage as if they felt that sitting in the back was beneath her. Grateful for their offer, she joined
them and was able to sit near the front of the stage and closer to her daughter.
Thankfully, Jessica managed to refrain from any comments during the entire show. And although there was only one time
when she broke out into a fit a giggles over the bad acting, she quickly pulled herself together in order to sit quietly through the
show. From her occasional sighs, and glossy expression, I could tell that she was not understanding the dialogue, but despite
this, she was able to keep herself entertained with her own thoughts, which I’m sure if asked, would be along the lines of
crazy Englishmen and their plays.
The play began just as I read it would at various list groups. The characters from the play entered the stage and began to
warm up the audience. Half-way through the warm up, Renée O'Connor entered the stage with two of the actors from the
play. It was then that I noticed her scanning the audience, her eyes fell exactly on the spot where her mother would have sat.
When Renée O'Connor did not see her mother, a look of surprise, then a frown crossed her features as she tried to find
where she had gone. For a moment, it seemed as if a panic would set in, but then she mouthed something to a friend in the
audience, then became calm as her eyes fell on the new seat that her mother occupied.
Although I would have liked to say that Renée O'Connor stole the stage, I’m afraid I can’t. I could tell that her lines were
carefully rehearsed, the punch lines dutifully delivered and the dance completed with a stiffness that showed her awkwardness
to the situation. In those few minutes of the pre-show warm up, I was witness to how very shy the actress was in front of
people. So unlike the character of Gabrielle, Reneé O'Connor appeared to be a quiet, introverted young woman who was
doing her best to perform in a venue, which she seemed uncomfortable in. Despite this, the audience was genuinely
appreciative of her delivery of the lines.
When it comes to the actual performance of Shakespeare, there were some actors who were very good, and some who were
very bad. While one actor delivered his entire lines in the style of Sylvester Stallone, another had a distinct Chicano accent
that kept reminding me of Cheech Marin from Up In Smoke. However, if anyone was to ask me who out of the cast has a
bright future, I would offer that the woman who played Lady Macduff, Angela Allen, not only mastered the diction of
Shakespeare, but she demonstrated a beautiful singing voice worthy of Sara Brightman. All three of the characters who
played witches, Martin Dorsla, Shauna Bloom and Betsy Moore, were captivating and always in character. David Osborne
who played Siward and Antonio, was remarkable and I found myself reminiscing about the plays I watched at Golden Gate
park. His diction was perfect, as was his performance and I plan to keeping an eye on him because I’m sure he has a bright
future ahead of him.
As I sit here writing this, I find myself torn as to how to describe Renée O'Connor’s performance. There were times when
her performance knocked my socks off, times when I really felt as if she had the role of Lady Macbeth down. Yet there
were other times when she slipped out of diction, but these few lapses of character are easily forgivable given that she gave
her all during other parts of the play. I found myself looking from the stage to where Renée O'Connor’s mother sat and was
impressed by the woman’s rapt attention. Although I’m sure she had seen the show numerous times, and could probably say
her daughter’s dialogue by heart, Sandra Wilson sat completely engrossed with the performance. The slight smile that
crossed her features each time her daughter delivered a line made me realize how very lucky Renée O'Connor truly is to have
her mother sitting in the audience to offer her support.
When the play was over and the crowd was applauding, I could not help but compare the past performances I’ve seen to this
one. At the Golden Gate festival of many years ago, the actors took their roles seriously enough to allow their hair to grow to
the length of what it would have been during Shakespeare’s time, which included their facial hair. Their delivery and diction
was so well timed as to make the audience forget that it was modern day. Yet as I compare the differences, I can appreciate
all that the San Pedro troupe offered. San Pedro is a small town that resembles South San Francisco, and as such, they are a
not for profit group, which volunteer their time to present Shakespeare to the masses. So for what they had, they did very
well and I hope they continue to offer such performances for their local citizens, hopefully without the over zealous fans of a
little show that made a big hit on the television.
What might have ended up as a nice evening became a bit of a disappointment for me. As I waited in line to finally meet
Renée O'Connor in person, I soon learned that those very same fans who had saved their seat at midnight, were also in the
front of the lines. At the overheard conversations, I discovered that many of them lived in the area and had already seen her
performance as well as received her autograph from those previous performances. With their past experience, they knew
which benches would place them at a strategic advantage for meeting Renée O'Connor again. As I stood in the middle of
the line, I watched as the fans in front of me allowed their friends to cut in line, until I, and many others, were no longer in the
middle, but now pushed to the back of the lines. Although we were upset by this, word had spread With their past
experience, they knew which benches would place them at a strategic advantage for meeting Renée O'Connor again. As I
stood in the middle of the line, I watched as the fans in front of me allowed their friends to cut in line, until I, and many
others, were no longer in the middle, but now pushed to the back of the lines. Although we were upset by this, word had
spread that Renée O'Connor agreed to stay to give everyone a chance at an autograph. Unfortunately, for those of us at the
end, by ten o’clock they had announced that no more autographs would be signed, and Renée O'Connor was whisked away.
With their past experience, they knew which benches would place them at a strategic advantage for meeting Renée O'Connor
again. As I stood in the middle of the line, I watched as the fans in front of me allowed their friends to cut in line, until I, and
many others, were no longer in the middle, but now pushed to the back of the lines. Although we were upset by this, word
had spread that Renée O'Connor agreed to stay to give everyone a chance at an autograph. Unfortunately, for those of us at
the end, by ten o’clock they had announced that no more autographs would be signed, and Renée O'Connor was whisked
away.
