<< Back 11/13/02 Literature, drama don’t always share same stage By Gary Carden Well, dear reader, even as you read this column, the theater department at Western Carolina University is gearing up for the production of “The Kentucky Cycle.” There are several reasons why this event could prove to be .... remarkable. I would like to discuss some of them. First of all, this play won the Pulitzer Prize for drama in 1992 — the only play to ever receive that distinction prior to a New York opening. That means that the Pulitzer five-member selection committee considered “The Kentucky Cycle” to be a work of tremendous literary and cultural significance. In addition, the dramatic action spans two centuries and seven generations, with a running time of seven hours! (it is actually composed of nine short plays); the staging is complex and innovative (some critics characterize it as “Brechtian”) and approximately 20 actors (give or take a few) perform multiple roles, including authentic Cherokee-speaking roles in the opening scenes. In other words, the play qualifies as an “historic saga” in scope and purpose. Finally,according to the playwright’s originally stated intent, it is a dramatic (and metaphorical) “history of Appalachia.” However, at this point I feel prompted to qualify some details regarding the somewhat variegated history of this work. When the play opened in Seattle in 1992, initial critical response was lavish and enthusiastic. “Mythic power” announced Time magazine. “Revisionist history” that is better than “Dances With Wolves” enthused USA Today, and a host of urban journalists who followed the tour of “The Kentucky Cycle” across the nation, echoed the same praise. However, within a few months dissenting voices were raised — critical, negative responses that gradually became a vigorous denouncement of the play’s historical accuracy and its “shameless stereotyping” of mountain culture and speech. The protests came from Appalachia. The Kentucky novelist, Gurney Norman, one of the play’s most strident critics, angrily dismissed the play as “only the latest narrative in a century-long stream of narratives that have portrayed the people of this region as mean, quaint, violent, brutish and generally low-down and sorry.” Noted Appalachian writers such as Jim Wayne Miller and Bobbie Ann Mason followed suite. (Before the dust had settled, some of the most eloquent protests would find their way into an anthology, Back Talk From Appalachia, a compilation of essays on stereotyping.) By the time “The Kentucky Cycle” closed in New York on Dec. 12, l993, at a loss of $2.5 million, the dissenting voices had become an angry, unrelenting chorus. Noted author George Ella Lyon expressed dismay at the poor judgment of the Pulitizer committee; Loyal Jones, the former director of the Appalachian Center at Berea College, greeted the news of the play’s final performance with this response: “Good news at last.” Additional performances at major universities were cancelled and the play sank into a kind of literary limbo — becoming, like Eugene O’Neill’s “Mourning Becomes Electra,” a kind of literary “closet drama” that is read more often than performed. In the face of pronounced criticism, the playwright, Robert Schenkkan appeared to be astonished. In an interview with Bobbie Ann Mason, he attempted to defend the play. Unfortunately, his explanations added fuel to the fire — especially when he revealed that his decision to write “The Kentucky Cycle” was prompted by a weekend trip to eastern Kentucky where he visited a strip-mining community and became aware of the disparity between the rich and the poor. In short, he was outraged by the poverty and the environmental destruction he witnessed on this short visit. Schenkkan returned to southern California and began writing “The Kentucky Cycle.” Finally, he said that he was surprised that the very people he sought to help were attacking him. When queried about his research (beyond his weekend trip), Schenkkan promptly identified two noted works: Harry Caudill’s Night Comes to the Cumberlands and Jack Weller’s Yesterday’s People. Indeed, a number of scenes read like dramatizations of Caudill’s observations on the origin of the early settlers into the Cumberlands. Both authors have been under fire for several decades for their negative observations on the “spiritual poverty” in Appalachia which they attribute to either “degenerate genetics” or substandard “cultural development.” Ironically, both authors have made significant positive contributions to their region by revealing the widespread abuses of the coal and timber industries and both have been dedicated workers for change. In general, most Appalachians do not take Caudill’s theories about “genetic inferiority” too seriously, dismissing them as the eccentricities of an honored “native son.” Schenkkan, however, made Caudill’s theories his motivating muse. Further, he wrapped this eclectic blend of Caudill and Weller in some of the more ominous pronouncements of the noted mythologist, Joseph Campbell (quoted out of context) regarding the decline of any culture that lacks the underpinning of “powerful and sustaining myths.” To Schenkkan, Kentucky, Applachia (and in some instances, he expanded his thesis to embody America!) are examples of such a culture. How does this concoction take visible form? Specifically, what is there in the text and action of “The Kentucky Cycle” that offends Appalachia? Well, a major bone of contention is the language. Schenkkan’s characters frequently speak in the illiterate dialect that has been used in pop culture’s worst (and most popular) stereotypes (“Beverly Hillbillies” and “Hee Haw”). However, the most offensive factor is the play’s basic premise: that Appalachia was founded on greed, deception, violence and betrayal. Essentially, “The Kentucky Cycle” depicts the history of the Rowen, Talbert and Biggs families — clans bound by both necessity, avarice and an inherited desire for vengence. In the opening scene, Michael Rowen, a fugitive from justice, murders a companion and strikes a bargain with the Cherokees — he trades guns for land. Later, he admits that he gave the Cherokees blankets contaminated with smallpox — an infection that subsequently destroys a major portion of the tribe. Then, in a series of actions, each motivated by an overwheening desire to acquire land, Rowen rapes and brutalizes a Cherokee woman, acquires slaves, produces mixed-blood children, and repeatedly deceives and abuses his neighbors. Schenkkan has repeatedly defended his portrayal of Appalachia’s earliest settlers, noting that there is historic precedent for every despicable act in the play. He is right. The initial history of this region contains an abundance of immoral, self-serving “founding fathers.” They are, however, a minority. Unfortunately, Schenkkan dedicates himself to searching out and displaying “the worst-case scenerios,” which he presents as ... typical. This distortion is essential to proving the play’s basic theme — that a culture founded on excessive greed and corruption can do nothing but foster more of the same. Finally, we come to a paradox. Can a play based on such flawed logic have any merit? Well, we are talking about two mutually exclusive concepts here: Unfortunately, what is “good theater” does not have to possess historic authenticity. “The Kentucky Cycle” contains beautifully crafted passages that provoke admiration. Unfortunately, this quickening of interest — this emotional response — has nothing to do with objective truth. Anyone who has attended “Unto These Hills” has responded emotionally to the execution of T’sali and the forced exodus of the Cherokees. It is possible to weep at such depictions while knowing full well that what is portrayed is filled with historic inaccuracies — depictions that are “good theater” but poor history — like “The Kentucky Cycle.” The final tragedy, of course, is that “The Kentucky Cycle,” while assuring us that it embodies “authentic facts,” actually presents a misrepresentation of history. For the past century, dedicated Appalachian artists have been working to discredit the hillbilly stereotypes. “The Kentucky Cycle” reaffirms them with a vengeance. It may have artistry, but it lacks illuminating truth. Ah, would that it could have had both — artistry and truth.