Part 4 of Random Essays - Picnic’s Christopher Krone-Schmidt (Alan Benson)
There is no one Mr. Krone-Schmidt reminds me so much of as James Caviezel. Perhaps Caviezel is more attractive, a better actor, and a generally worthier object of idolatry, but the resemblance is there.
In my humble opinion, Caviezel usually delivers a solid, moving performance that contributes to the overall quality of the movie. I never notice him, even as the main character, but that fortunately does not change the excellence of his acting.
Krone-Schmidt serves as an effective foil for the smoldering sexuality Not quite the image I was striving for of Hayden Schneider’s Hal Carter. The physical disparities in themselves were successful in conveying the reasons for Madge’s infatuation with Hal and not Alan, but Krone-Schmidt carried the reality further with more subtle indications. His disintegration, from the educated son of the richest man in town who knows he’s the perfect to-be son-in-law to a disillusioned young man who realizes all that he is and has accomplished means nothing to the woman he loves, who prefers a husky ne'er-do-well to him, is riveting to watch.
When Krone-Schmidt first walks into Picnic, swaggering in his quieter way, he has everything in the world. He speaks with filial affection to Annie Fernandez’s Flo Owens, and brotherly fondness to Jennifer Kang’s Millie Owens. But his “eyes lit up,” so to speak, when he saw Chasta Nechvatal’s Madge Owens. The politeness gave way to love and pride, love because that is what he feels for Madge, and pride because she is so beautiful, and completely his. Well, that’s about to change.
As played by Krone-Schmidt, Alan appears to be the most human, the most realistic character. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly how he expresses these qualities to the audience, but he does. The way Krone-Schmidt comported himself with these three women clearly demonstrated his thoughts on each. A straightening of posture and careful attention for Fernandez, bending lower and smiling indulgently for Kang, and a transformation of being for Nechvatal.
If there is such a thing as responsible passion, then Krone-Schmidt has it bad there has to be a better way to say this for Nechvatal. When Schneider interrupts a ... ahem … private moment, the expression of mixed annoyance at Schneider and yearning to continue what he has with Nechvatal is perfect.
When he was first reunited with Schneider, the man-to-man talk was utterly hilarious. He, the sensible, reliable college man, giggling with a shirtless guy about Schneider’s unfortunate robbery by girls, was, I thought, extremely well done. Underneath that suit might be a great bod—I mean—a mischievous boy, adding another facet to Alan’s character other than that of the stable, I-will-probably-be-dumped-even-though-I’m-blond boyfriend.
I wrung my hands in sympathy and my nose in irritation as an abject Krone-Schmidt somberly entered and asked to speak with Nechvatal. His subdued strength as the wronged boyfriend came across superbly. As Kang confesses her illicit passion (actually just a girlish crush) for him in what could have been a silly and awkward scene, Krone-Schmidt takes the news quietly, maintaining the tension and adding to it another component. He was probably thinking, “At least somebody likes me.” I liked him!—his performance, of course. Keep my personal opinions to myself, please.
The audience can experience the conflicting emotions in him: loyal, frustrated love for Nechvatal, and a newfound hatred and jealousy for Schneider—that lasted for five seconds, the duration of the time he first looked at his once-friend after Revelations. Afterwards, it was the good guy who is a great good but not a good bad. That’s not good. Neither are these snapshot sentences.
The weakest part of Krone-Schmidt’s performance came, I felt, when Schneider confronted him about his lying to the police. Again, I’ll protest that I was not in a desirable position as regards to my seating, so I did not receive the maximum benefits of seeing him 3D. I can only surmise that his anger must have been wholly on his face, because the rest of his body did not demonstrate the range of emotion I had become accustomed to. Until he began accusing Schneider of pretty much ruining his life and dreams of happy matrimony with Nechvatal, I couldn’t see or feel that he was angry. This was probably a cheap complaint.
For the first time, the greatest strength of his performance, the natural fluidity of his movements, faltered and even looked faintly contrived as he pushed and shoved at the rock-solid wall that was Schneider. He huffed, and he puffed, and he fell down.
If I sound sarcastic concerning Krone-Schmidt’s considerable dramatic gifts or qualities, I apologize because in truth his performance rent my susceptible heart. The look on his face when Schneider beat him to a grease spot on the floor was painful, especially from my disadvantageous view of the back of his head. (Darn the people in the middle seats and their unhindered sight of the stage!) But what I mean is that his body language, the way he slowly got to his feet, unable to look at Nechvatal after being soundly trounced in front of her, said it all.
Despite the merriment of Keri Werlinch’s Rosemary impromptu marriage to Alex Choi’s Howard Bevans and the resulting titters of the audience, the mirth of the play is tempered by Nechvatal leaving her home to be with Schneider. The Pulitzer-prizewinning play Picnic captured our hopes of what we want, what we never had, and what we never will. I sound like the voice on a movie trailer.
On a lighter note, I’m unsure of who is the bigger loser, Krone-Schmidt’s character of Choi’s, one who lost the girl (such a girl!), the other who got her (what a woman!).
Choi looks lost, in a funny stupefied way, when next to Werlinich, who overwhelms his settled middle-aged state in matrimony. He looks lost when he sees Chasta Nechvatal as beautiful Madge and ruefully accepts that he’s no great catch. And finally, he looks so lost—behind his makeup. What a lot of blush! The effect is sidesplitting.
Keri … must not … mention … Keri …
Werlinich simply glinted with frantic brilliance. The projected image of stuffy schoolteacher quickly surrendered to the reality of an aging woman who is desperate to find meaning in her life and seeks it in marriage. It was nearly impossible to imagine the glowing, lovely Werlinich as such a character, but with her acting I managed, just barely. It was very hard.
It is soon made clear that her high-nosed disapproval of the vigorous Schneider only masks a fear of her own youth slipping away. Unlike Krone-Schmidt, who floors me with a lift of his blond eyebrow, Werlinich favors the dramatic—expansive movements and a voice that runs the gamut from low and despairing to frenzied and high-pitched.
Martin Victorio, who played Bomber the dynamite-throwing newspaper boy, was such a loud, cowardly cartoon that he had me in hysterical tears.
At the moment when the lights dimmed and Nechvatal paused on the steps as she heard the train, I nearly bellowed, “Freeze, for the love of something that’ll freeze!” I sneezed instead, and people around me stared, but my focus was on the exquisite young woman with the face of Kristin Kreuk who wanted more than the town life. What a gorgeous, poignant picture.
In ending, I must extend my most sincere compliments to the talented cast and its superb director, Mrs. Krell-Oishi. Picnic was wonderfully performed, and I have only the greatest respect and admiration for those who had a part in its production. Did I overdo the plum sauce?
In my humble opinion, Caviezel usually delivers a solid, moving performance that contributes to the overall quality of the movie. I never notice him, even as the main character, but that fortunately does not change the excellence of his acting.
Krone-Schmidt serves as an effective foil for the smoldering sexuality Not quite the image I was striving for of Hayden Schneider’s Hal Carter. The physical disparities in themselves were successful in conveying the reasons for Madge’s infatuation with Hal and not Alan, but Krone-Schmidt carried the reality further with more subtle indications. His disintegration, from the educated son of the richest man in town who knows he’s the perfect to-be son-in-law to a disillusioned young man who realizes all that he is and has accomplished means nothing to the woman he loves, who prefers a husky ne'er-do-well to him, is riveting to watch.
When Krone-Schmidt first walks into Picnic, swaggering in his quieter way, he has everything in the world. He speaks with filial affection to Annie Fernandez’s Flo Owens, and brotherly fondness to Jennifer Kang’s Millie Owens. But his “eyes lit up,” so to speak, when he saw Chasta Nechvatal’s Madge Owens. The politeness gave way to love and pride, love because that is what he feels for Madge, and pride because she is so beautiful, and completely his. Well, that’s about to change.
As played by Krone-Schmidt, Alan appears to be the most human, the most realistic character. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly how he expresses these qualities to the audience, but he does. The way Krone-Schmidt comported himself with these three women clearly demonstrated his thoughts on each. A straightening of posture and careful attention for Fernandez, bending lower and smiling indulgently for Kang, and a transformation of being for Nechvatal.
If there is such a thing as responsible passion, then Krone-Schmidt has it bad there has to be a better way to say this for Nechvatal. When Schneider interrupts a ... ahem … private moment, the expression of mixed annoyance at Schneider and yearning to continue what he has with Nechvatal is perfect.
When he was first reunited with Schneider, the man-to-man talk was utterly hilarious. He, the sensible, reliable college man, giggling with a shirtless guy about Schneider’s unfortunate robbery by girls, was, I thought, extremely well done. Underneath that suit might be a great bod—I mean—a mischievous boy, adding another facet to Alan’s character other than that of the stable, I-will-probably-be-dumped-even-though-I’m-blond boyfriend.
I wrung my hands in sympathy and my nose in irritation as an abject Krone-Schmidt somberly entered and asked to speak with Nechvatal. His subdued strength as the wronged boyfriend came across superbly. As Kang confesses her illicit passion (actually just a girlish crush) for him in what could have been a silly and awkward scene, Krone-Schmidt takes the news quietly, maintaining the tension and adding to it another component. He was probably thinking, “At least somebody likes me.” I liked him!—his performance, of course. Keep my personal opinions to myself, please.
The audience can experience the conflicting emotions in him: loyal, frustrated love for Nechvatal, and a newfound hatred and jealousy for Schneider—that lasted for five seconds, the duration of the time he first looked at his once-friend after Revelations. Afterwards, it was the good guy who is a great good but not a good bad. That’s not good. Neither are these snapshot sentences.
The weakest part of Krone-Schmidt’s performance came, I felt, when Schneider confronted him about his lying to the police. Again, I’ll protest that I was not in a desirable position as regards to my seating, so I did not receive the maximum benefits of seeing him 3D. I can only surmise that his anger must have been wholly on his face, because the rest of his body did not demonstrate the range of emotion I had become accustomed to. Until he began accusing Schneider of pretty much ruining his life and dreams of happy matrimony with Nechvatal, I couldn’t see or feel that he was angry. This was probably a cheap complaint.
For the first time, the greatest strength of his performance, the natural fluidity of his movements, faltered and even looked faintly contrived as he pushed and shoved at the rock-solid wall that was Schneider. He huffed, and he puffed, and he fell down.
If I sound sarcastic concerning Krone-Schmidt’s considerable dramatic gifts or qualities, I apologize because in truth his performance rent my susceptible heart. The look on his face when Schneider beat him to a grease spot on the floor was painful, especially from my disadvantageous view of the back of his head. (Darn the people in the middle seats and their unhindered sight of the stage!) But what I mean is that his body language, the way he slowly got to his feet, unable to look at Nechvatal after being soundly trounced in front of her, said it all.
Despite the merriment of Keri Werlinch’s Rosemary impromptu marriage to Alex Choi’s Howard Bevans and the resulting titters of the audience, the mirth of the play is tempered by Nechvatal leaving her home to be with Schneider. The Pulitzer-prizewinning play Picnic captured our hopes of what we want, what we never had, and what we never will. I sound like the voice on a movie trailer.
On a lighter note, I’m unsure of who is the bigger loser, Krone-Schmidt’s character of Choi’s, one who lost the girl (such a girl!), the other who got her (what a woman!).
Choi looks lost, in a funny stupefied way, when next to Werlinich, who overwhelms his settled middle-aged state in matrimony. He looks lost when he sees Chasta Nechvatal as beautiful Madge and ruefully accepts that he’s no great catch. And finally, he looks so lost—behind his makeup. What a lot of blush! The effect is sidesplitting.
Keri … must not … mention … Keri …
Werlinich simply glinted with frantic brilliance. The projected image of stuffy schoolteacher quickly surrendered to the reality of an aging woman who is desperate to find meaning in her life and seeks it in marriage. It was nearly impossible to imagine the glowing, lovely Werlinich as such a character, but with her acting I managed, just barely. It was very hard.
It is soon made clear that her high-nosed disapproval of the vigorous Schneider only masks a fear of her own youth slipping away. Unlike Krone-Schmidt, who floors me with a lift of his blond eyebrow, Werlinich favors the dramatic—expansive movements and a voice that runs the gamut from low and despairing to frenzied and high-pitched.
Martin Victorio, who played Bomber the dynamite-throwing newspaper boy, was such a loud, cowardly cartoon that he had me in hysterical tears.
At the moment when the lights dimmed and Nechvatal paused on the steps as she heard the train, I nearly bellowed, “Freeze, for the love of something that’ll freeze!” I sneezed instead, and people around me stared, but my focus was on the exquisite young woman with the face of Kristin Kreuk who wanted more than the town life. What a gorgeous, poignant picture.
In ending, I must extend my most sincere compliments to the talented cast and its superb director, Mrs. Krell-Oishi. Picnic was wonderfully performed, and I have only the greatest respect and admiration for those who had a part in its production. Did I overdo the plum sauce?
