Avalon

If nothing else, one must admire Glory Sims Bowen's ambition. Adapting Marion Zimmer Bradley's Arthurian epic The Mists of Avalon for the stage is a daunting task by any standards– the book, after all, is nearly a thousand pages long, and encompasses three generations of King Arthur's family as well as his famous court at Camelot. It also has a legion of devout fans who appreciate its feminist slant on a famously misogynistic legend, and its fanciful depictions of love and war. Bowen's adaptation of Bradley's novel keeps the feminism, the love and the war, but somehow loses the drama.

Bradley's re-imagining of the legend told Arthur's story through the eyes of the women in his life; particularly, those of his half-sister (and unwitting lover) Morgaine. England/>/> is in a state of flux: the Old Religion is giving way to Christianity, and the noble families are under pressure to give up their traditional associations with the magic isle of Avalon. Families are torn apart in these winds of change. Morgaine is a Druid priestess while King Arthur is ostensibly Christian, and each wields considerable power in their own realms. As the classic elements of the legend play themselves out with some new kinks and twists, the battle between the siblings becomes the battle between religions, with the future of England/>/> in the balance.

There is certainly enough to create plenty of dramatic conflict and tension. There's magic, there's incest, there's deception, there's war, there's sex, there's love, and best of all, there's a new way of looking at a classic. But in opening a new window onto the famous legend, Bradley– and Bowen– have closed a door. The fascinating characters from mythology are given new life as mere two-dimensional caricatures. All of the Christians are cruel and closed-minded, while all of the Druids are noble and free-thinking. All of the men are gullible while all of the women are manipulative. It is difficult to build tension when the very stereotypes tell us how every conflict will end: Druids always triumph over Christians (moral victories, anyway) while women always outwit men.

If her adaptation from page to stage is somewhat lacking, Ms. Bowen's direction shows signs of an emerging talent worth following. Blessed with a photographer's sense of sight, she can create vivid tableaux and images that silently convey emotion, and make the small Looking Glass Theatre stage look like a massive castle or a sprawling battlefield. On the flip side, she also drags scene changes out unnecessarily, sacrificing what little tension exists for some nice, but ultimately unimportant, visuals. Carolyn Mraz's versatile set compliments Ms. Bowen's style nicely, easily becoming a narrow castle corridor or a misty lake as need be. Amanda Woodward's atmospheric lighting design contributes nicely to each effect.

The cast of 24 acquits themselves of the script as best they can, but are mostly pigeonholed into the cliches of their characters. Despite the overwhelming theme of love and passion (and some rather lengthy love scenes), few strike any sparks, much less raise the temperature. The two standouts in the cast are Yvonne Roen and Jesse May as Arthur's aunt Morgause and his son Gwydion (traditionally called Mordred), respectively. Playing up to the campier nature of their villainous roles, Roen and May sink their teeth into their parts with much gusto, gnawing cheerfully on Mraz's scenery. The rest of the actors, focusing more on drama, pale slightly in comparison. As Morgaine, Jordana Oberman is appropriately beautiful and mysterious, but rarely conveys the wisdom and spirituality that would make her a natural leader, nor the rage and power that would propel her through history into mythology. As Arthur, Matthew Sholler brings the legendary king down from the pedestal on which history has placed him, making him much more human and identifiable, but alas, somewhat less interesting. Matthieu Cornillon is a handsome and broody Lancelet, pining for a love he knows he cannot have (hint—it isn't Gwenhwyfar). Cameron Peterson makes Arthur's queen obnoxiously shrill and sneaky, but also finds the pathos beneath the character's cruelty. Her cage's bars might be golden, but she is still encaged, and nicely conveys Gwenhwyfar's frustration at seeing heathen women enjoying the freedom she so desperately wants, but is denied by faith and station.

Avalon should be a breath of fresh air into a legend that has become stagnant. Instead, while the breeze may be coming from a different direction, it brings precious little new or noteworthy with it.

Avalon runs through Saturday at the Looking Glass Theatre, 422 West 57th Street. Call 212-352-3101 for tickets.

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