Feeling the pain

>> The Carpenter brings Vittorio Rossi’s
trilogy to a drawn-out conclusion

FAMILY TIES: Richard Zeppieri and Anita La Selva

by AMY BARRATT

The plays in Vittorio Rossi’s Carpenter trilogy form a monument to his late father. Audiences who attended the first two installments over the last two years at Gordon McCall’s Centaur had high expectations of part three, The Carpenter, which premiered last week under McCall’s direction. They had tolerated a certain amount of over-writing in Hellfire Pass and Carmela’s Table, a certain inconclusiveness excusable by the fact that there was a final chapter yet to come. Sadly, the final play is by far the most rambling and self-indulgent in the trilogy.

From the 1950s settings of the first two plays, The Carpenter springs forward 40-odd years to find Silvio (David Calderisi) and Carmela (Patricia Yeatman) growing old in their Ville Émard home. For those who had grown attached to Richard Zeppieri and Anita La Selva in these roles, not to worry: there are flashback scenes featuring these actors.

But the main action takes place—of course—around the kitchen table that Silvio made for Carmela last fall …I mean back in ’57. Rosato offspring Maria (Ellen David), Liliana (Giovanna Carrubba) and Luciano (Andreas Apergis)—last seen as a rubber babe in arms—must come to terms with their parents’ aging. Silvio cannot walk without a cane and his WWII flashbacks seem to be getting worse; Carmela is wearing herself out caring for him. Luciano is furious at his father, believing his erratic behaviour is caused by alcoholism.

The audience can see instantly that there’s more to it than that, but Rossi insists on building to a “surprise” that is one to Luciano alone.

Rossi doesn’t shy away from putting himself into the story: Luciano is a playwright whose latest stretch of writer’s block causes him to mope and brood like an adolescent, though he’s well into his 40s. The Carpenter becomes a play about the writing of the trilogy as Luciano realizes he must write down his father’s stories before it’s too late. But Luciano/Vittorio is such a faithful scribe that he never questions anything he’s told. For instance, Rossi may have read extensively about the North African campaign in World War II, but there’s nothing in the plays to suggest he consulted any source but Silvio. To create a truly three-dimensional portrait of the man, he would have needed to consult sources outside the family.

The first act goes on too long, and the second, essentially a deathwatch lived out in what feels like real time, becomes excruciating (although the actual moment of death—this is not a spoiler, you see it coming hours ahead of time—is beautifully handled by the actors and director). The Carpenter becomes about a son not wanting to let go of his father, so he keeps writing and writing to put off the inevitable.

In spite of all this, the opening night audience seemed genuinely moved by the dramatization of what is, after all, a universal experience. No family escapes illness and death and, judging by the sniffling going on in the dark, many could feel the Rosatos’ pain. Others may have sprung to their feet more in appreciation of the actors’ stamina and powers of memorization. Diehard fans of the first two plays will naturally want to see the conclusion. They should be warned however, that it won’t be reached for a full three hours. An ornate monument indeed.

until Oct. 28 at the Centaur
(453 st-franÇois xavier),
(514) 288-3161.