THEATER REVIEW: A Prairie Home Companion

By Clarence Fanto

GREAT BARRINGTON, Mass. (February 6, 2010) — Few national broadcasters possess the staying power, the longevity and enduring appeal of Garrison Keillor, the small-town Minnesota lad who parlayed superb observational skills, storytelling and writing prowess into a cottage industry of nostalgia. In recent years, branching out from public radio, he has test-driven several video projects, including a superb behind-the-scenes documentary, "The Man on the Radio in the Red Shoes," first shown at the Berkshire International Film Festival in 2008, subsequently televised on PBS and released as a DVD.

Last Thursday evening, in keeping with the increasing prominence of live, high-definition telecasts in theaters pioneered by the Metropolitan Opera, Keillor hosted a two-hour performance from the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul — a condensed version of the program is on public radio this weekend and on the show's Web site (www.prairiehome.org.). In fact, Keillor has told interviewers that a Met telecast of Tchaikovsky's "Eugene Onegin" inspired him to do his own HD event.

Putting his best red shoes forward, Keillor delivered a top-of-his-game show, stuffed with music by the quirky yet lovable Englishman Elvis Costello, the powerful gospel duo Jearlyn and Jevetta Steele, the multi-genre singer Heather Masse, and  two of his regulars, folkies Robin and Linda Williams. Both of his sound-effects gurus plied their magic — seeing Tom Keith and Fred Newman together was a special treat. The Guy's All-Star Shoe Band was augmented by brass players and, as usual, the pacing of show was tight yet informal and seemingly spontaneous.

"Prairie" devotees hereabouts have flocked to the show's annual late-June broadcasts from Tanglewood, but the opportunity to witness an up-close and personal HD transmission was a unique, perhaps one-off pleasure.

The Mahaiwe Performing Arts Center is the ideal setting for these telecasts, as fans of the Met Opera know, and early arrivals were treated to a pre-broadcast video tour of St. Paul, hosted by Keillor with a Steadicam following him as he traipsed around the heart of the picturesque city. Clearly enchanted with his home base (he owns a grand Victorian mansion on the outskirts), he was at his most charming as he beckoned viewers into the Candyland store as he purchased popcorn and chocolates for himself and his staff.

He ventured into the venerable Mickey's Dining Car — built in 1937 and listed on the National Register of Historic Places — for apple pie a la mode. Keillor even stopped at Heimie's Haberdashery for a solid red tie and a scarf. Clearly in his comfort zone, he casually chatted with the local folks and seemed to be most thoroughly in his element. As he gently brushed the snow off the statue of F. Scott Fitzgerald across from the Fitzgerald Theatre, he seemed to identify with the  city's favorite-son author.

But on with the show — as has been his wont, Keillor took part in most of the musical performances (Costello, of course, was accorded several solo turns) and his singing has improved noticeably from past years — still not his strongest suit, but he can be forgiven since he's so dedicated to presenting a highly diverse musical palette of famous as well as less-heralded performers. Even classical artists get their turn on "PHC," though not on this broadcast.

Costello is an obvious standout, of course, and Masse is a master (or mistress, if you prefer) of vintage ballads as well as up-tempo pop. The Williams duo is over-exposed on "PHC," and while the Steele sisters also appear frequently, their into-the-rafters soulful gospel is irresistible.

The playlets that showcased not only veteran stalwarts Tim Russell and Sue Scott but also Costello (whose comedic and mock-dramatic prowess came as a surprise to this viewer) were the standard "Guy Noir, Private Eye" and "Life of the Cowboys" routines — predictably entertaining, skillfully written and performed, but territory that perhaps has become too well-trodden, even for Keillor devotees.

As for the host, it was a relief to see him in fine fettle following his minor stroke last September — a bit gaunt with sunken, hollow cheeks, but he is 67. His energy remains remarkable — not only does Keillor tour widely, write and host 33 first-run radio broadcasts each year that attract some 4 million weekly listeners, and publish a weekly column on Salon.com, but he's also working on a Christmas play, his memoirs and a screenplay (it's no secret that he had some issues with Robert Altman's cinematic swan song, Prairie Home Companion, despite his intense admiration for the director).

The highlight for legion of fans is the "News from Lake Wobegon" segment — an unscripted, stream-of-consciousness monologue based on notes Keillor has written earlier in the day but not memorized. He draws on his own boyhood in Anoka, Minn., when he was Gary Edward Keillor and a geekish yet perceptive observer of the townsfolk's foibles and peccadilloes. As he delivers his semi-fictional tale — this one centered on his favorite theme, the redemptive power of faith, hope and love — it's hard to avoid concluding that the man is a genius in his field.

The rest of the show is scripted and is pre-rehearsed, but a viewer notices that Keillor rarely even looks at the printed-out pages. Instead, he's in a trance of sorts, weaving aural magic, taking his audience to a better place filled with long-ago recollections when life was simpler, eternal truths, virtues and myths were valued, and "where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking and all the children are above average."

Critics may mutter that Keillor wallows in nostalgia, stuck in a four-decade groove. But they miss the point. His imaginative evocation of middle America out on the prairie, in the best sense of traditional American values, endures and he tweaks his approach just enough to keep it fresh and vibrant.

Keillor recently told a Chicago Tribune interviewer who asked the too-obvious question of what he'd most like to be remembered for: "I don't want to be remembered. I want to still be here. I want to be busy, and I want to be on tour. I want to be writing a show, and I want to be thinking in the back of my mind about a column I could do next week … I'm in the midst of things. I don't need to be remembered."

More power to him, and long may he carry on. As for me, I'll always most treasure what Keillor wrote soon after the birth of his daughter Maia, now 11:  “Nothing you do for children is ever wasted. They seem not to notice us, hovering, averting our eyes, and they seldom offer thanks, but what we do for them is never wasted.”

Clarence Fanto reviews music and is a critic-at-large for Berkshire Living.