It has oft been inferred that Timon of Athens may be the runt in the Bard's great canon of 38 plays, but I've always been quite keen-on-it...for I admire an underdog. Granted, the poor old text has crooked teeth and a wandering eye and yet, there it sits, squeak-snarling from forth the Folio page; never even tossed the bone of a proper "re-write".   It barks out its story, and simply will not agree to be caged or shelved. When colleagues roll their eyes and claim the play is terminal, I howl to the moon that it possesses a Lear-like majesty, even as it scratches at bothersome fleas.

There are two worlds at work in this stubborn text. Timon splits emotionally from wealth and bankruptcy, isolates in a cave by the sea, and tries to keep the tide of visitors away. In the orginal play, unfinished though it may have been, this rich Athenian simply dies there by the sea in his isolation, and leaves behind nothing more than an epitaph. Perhaps that is what happens to us all anyhow, but since this literary haunting began, I see the mangy hero in every 'bag person' I encounter, thinking "From whence came she? No doubt a mighty fall."

In the 1970's I was awe-struck by a dynamic production directed by Jerry Turner at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival and then in the 1980's I was commissioned to adapt the play for an all female company, Women In Theatre based in Seattle, Washington - who wanted to make a big point about their lack of Classical casting, while training a modern eye onto the play itself. It's been a score of years since that experiment, and I have long wished to return to the misanthropic tale - to delve into the text and unlock some of its mystery. In 2003, I did just that in a production at Mills College in Oakland, and in 2008 we revisited the text again with a stellar cast of 17 in a staged reading in Portland, Oregon.

Stepping back into both of Timon's worlds (lush and unlucky), I am at once reminded of the riveting news coverage of the WTO Riots in Seattle a decade ago, and even of today's reports of corruption and greed in the governments and businesses workdwide. Then toss in that it's a time of war again - that damnable trade - and Timon peers from her trash heap and pleads for us to get our acts together.

Theatrically speaking, our developmental progress in rehearsal has been informed by studying various resources: the myths of Hanuman, as well as the Hanged Man. As a director, I'm endeavoring to bring to theatrical life the Poet's description of Lady Fortune, as well as the character called Fool (usually a minor and whimsical scene in which Fool is brought in by Apemantus during a bill-collecting scene.) What if these two slim characters could say or do more? Would they help us understand more deeply the Great Fool Fortune (Timon) and the Philosopher Cynic (Apemantus)? Quite possibly. So, it's proceeding from that premise, and with the aid of grand puppet & mask work, that we have created a sub-plot which simmers under the surface. It is an adapters' conceit, granted, but it has informed the subtext for us in rehearsal and performance.

Great literature has many layers. "What's under the dog?", the beastly cynic inquires. This Timon has a full journey and a transformative death. This Lady does us the favor of scratching our social itch. This beauty growls.

- Randall Stuart, 2008

In July of 2008 a cast assembled for a staged reading in Portland...and I must thank them for the gift of their time and talent:  Kathleen Turco-Lyon, Joyce Harris Wood, Paul Susi, JoAnn Johnson, Gretchen Rumbaugh, Dawn Lisell, Margie Boule, Ernie Casciato, Phil Stockton, Pat Patton, Kevin Michael Moore, Tyler Caffall, Alexandra Kuechler, James Sullivan, Michele Brouse Peoples, Allison Tigard & Jeffrey Gilpin.