THE BALLAD OF JESSE JAMES

Throughout the summer of 1998, David and Joe planned their first full season of theatrical offerings for the year ahead. January of 99 would bring PRIVATE EYES, a new script David had found, and in the spring of that year, the Company would present Beckett’s classic, WAITING FOR GODOT. But for their first show of the season, they would present another new script by Joe.

Years before at Orthwein, after Joe had performed GIVE ‘EM HELL, HARRY! as a special election year presentation, he’d been approached by John Sant’Ambrogio, cellist for the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra. John managed and presented an annual summer chamber music festival in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, and he wanted to add theatre – specifically, easy-to-present one person theatre – to his offerings. He liked Joe’s Truman show, but wound up bringing in veteran screen actor Kevin McCarthy in his version of the play. John wanted to know if Joe had any other appropriate one person shows handy, and Joe blurted out (without a script or much of an idea, really), “How ‘bout Jesse James?” Nothing came of that (the usual case of “show me the script – make me an offer” standoff) and the idea was shelved.

But the idea stuck, and as Joe began researching Jesse’s life, a structure for telling the true story of the legendary Missouri outlaw came into focus. Again, the show would be simple, easy to produce. Again, the cast would include trusted and talented friends. Larry Dell would portray Cole Younger and Joe would be Frank James (the play would be structured around the late-in-life meeting of these two old outlaws at a failed Wild West show), and David would appear as Jesse.

Larry would also be counted on for narration, guitar and song, and an additional character, John Newman Edwards, a sympathetic newspaperman. Joe would direct from his own script.

Again, the Forum For Contemporary Art was approached to be a theatrical space, and again, they graciously welcomed the Company. Plus, the art exhibit behind the production would be precisely appropriate – a display of art inspired by signage that appeared on trains in the 19th century (trains being one of the James Gang’s favorite holdup targets.)

The first night of rehearsal for the play was noteworthy – Joe presented the first third of the script for reading; their non-firing replica Civil War era guns and holsters had arrived (to be worn, appropriately, on the left hip for a crossover draw); and a bottle of Rebel Yell whisky had been secured and became the official cast drink.

In the midst of the rehearsal period, the boys took a road trip to Kearney, MO, to visit the restored Jesse James Farm and Museum. It was an invaluable trip, educational and inspirational, seeing and laying hands on the home where their family was attacked by Union troops and Pinkerton detectives and where Frank died and Jesse was at one time buried, and on the bank in Liberty, MO, where they pulled their first robbery.

As Joe researched and wrote, the cast worked together to refine the script and the presentation. Larry researched period Civil War hymns and ballads which were incorporated into the play. Betsy Krausnick designed spot-on period costumes.

And the play made a significant impact. A few critics picked at it, but others saw its immediate relevance (Jesse as an Insurgent.) Not many, however, noted that, like LIFE AFTER DEATH, it was a rare, serious attempt at a full production of an original play by a local writer.

Audiences were very enthusiastic, and part of that audience was a contingent from Kearney. They were members of the Friends of Jesse James, and they invited the group to present the play in June of the following year for their convention. So, Jesse would ride again!

In the spring of 99, in order to not only keep the play fresh but also to continue to refine it, the group presented THE BALLAD OF JESSE JAMES at several locations – the Grizzly Bear bar in the Soulard neighborhood of St. Louis, a resort called Governor’s Run in Central Illinois, and at Innsbrook Estates outside of St. Louis. (Again, unusual spaces for theatre, business as usual for Midnight.)

Also, with the help of Roy St. John, they produced a radio version of the play, which was broadcast on KDHX public radio in St. Louis in March, 99.

The weekend at the James Farm in June of 99 was a great time. The play was presented on Saturday evening before a large contingent of Jesse fans, including his oldest living relatives who had gathered from around the nation. Everyone appreciated the show, and the cast was told, sincerely and soberly, by Jesse’s relatives that among all the tv and stage versions they’d seen, this one came the closest to the real story. That was probably the best review the group ever received.

The show had become a favorite of the cast, and it was little more than a year later that they decided to revive it. The Missouri History Museum recognized the appropriateness of the show to their offerings, and the group was eager to work on their beautiful stage. For the first time, stage lighting and recorded audio was added to the production, and the result was the finest staging of the show to date. (Aided by Mary Schnitzler, who took over from Joe as the show’s director, and added an objective and perceptive eye to the process.)

The Ballad of Jesse James
Midnight Productions
Reviewed by Brian McCary
KDHX Radio

It is a shame that the memory of Jesse James has been relegated to tourist bait for Meremac Caverns. As the Midnight Theater Company's current production of The Ballad of Jesse James shows, it is a tale of family ties, loyalty, misdirected anger, even class conflict and public relations. The consequences of growing up amidst irregular warfare without mercy are as relevant in Ireland, Bosnia, the Middle East, and perhaps even modern American cities today as they were in post-bellum Missouri during the reconstruction. The same politicization of individual acts which resonates currently in the Bill and Ken show worked the same way over a century ago as editors railed against either the James Gang or the Pinkerton detectives.

I could practically imagine the whole evening as soon as I saw that David Wassilak was to be Jesse James. He was all that I pictured: intense, slightly moody, never using five words when four would do. Joe Hanrahan took the role of the theatrical Frank James, a Shakespeare quoting older brother with more caution - or perhaps less initiative - than his notorious younger brother. For me, the real treat of the evening was Larry Dell, whose portrayal of Cole Younger was quite fluid, switching back and forth between youth and old age at the tip of a hat. Cole's sympathies are clearly divided. His friendship with Frank is deeply rooted in their shared wartime experiences, and riding with Jesse and Frank brought far more excitement, money, and fame than farming ever could have. Still, he seems to have resented the brash arrogance of the young gang leader, and certainly faults him for disloyalty and perhaps cowardice.

Jesse James's childhood was riddled with border conflict, guerrilla warfare, family tragedy and wartime atrocities, but also included a surprising foundation of literacy and piety. The robberies were not done out of pure greed, and they served as an outlet for a righteous rage at the federal government, it's soldiers, agents, and capital institutions. Although Jesse was clearly in it for the money, he could not have not have survived without the willing support of many strangers who shared his dim view of the legitimacy of the banking institutions.

The main pivot point for the story, to which we return three times, is Minnesota, the scene of the James gang's final failure after a string of spectacular successes. Each return is from the perspective of a different character, and each paints a progressively less flattering picture of Jesse. This triptych is set before a thorough and engaging biography of both of the James brothers. In turn, this biography is framed, to an extent, in the minds of two old men, long time friends Frank James and Cole Younger, reminiscing fondly about the golden days of their youth, when they just happened to be bush raiders and outlaws. Joe Hanrahan's script is well researched and it flows smoothly, with a viewpoint which lies somewhere between objective and sympathetic.

In addition to playing Cole Younger, Larry Dell chipped in with narration duties and musical arrangements, which had a nicely understated feeling. When the three outlaws gather around to sing "What a Friend We Have in Jesus" over the grave of a dead child, it is in the flat, short tones of life-long country Christians with the absolute conviction that life is hard but God is on their side. The set - three chairs in a modern art gallery - is a little unsettling, but it serves to focus our attention on the story at hand, which is a powerful one. Although this is a long one act with no intermission, I never felt my attention wavering.

The Ballad of Jesse James is original, thought provoking, intelligent, and timely, precisely the kind of theater that St. Louis is capable of creating. If there is a danger in the story, it lies in getting caught up in the romance of the outlaw. Move Jesse from the safety of the nineteenth century to the contemporary militia movement, and the implications become much darker. Some may have thought of him as Robin Hood, but to others, he was a violent southern sympathizer, a liar and a thief, too lazy to farm, too willing to apply his scriptural vision selectively. In accepting that danger, the Midnight Theater Company has broken open a vault to creative riches.

The Ballad of Jesse James
By Joe Hanrahan (Midnight Productions)
By Sally Cragin
Riverfront Times

Not only now but in their day, the 19th-century James Gang were models of moral ambiguity. They robbed banks but supported their families; honored the practice of fraternal love, yet manipulated and were betrayed by those nearest, if not dearest. These paradoxes are artfully and enthrallingly explored in Joe Hanrahan's The Ballad of Jesse James. This three-man show presents native Missourians Jesse and Frank, with cohort Cole Younger, as inevitable offspring of the most riven period of American history, the Civil War. Playwright/performer Hanrahan has written a cinema-style narrative, which begins with an extended flashback. He plays Frank as an old man, reliving his wild past in a touring medicine show with equally ancient Cole (Larry Dell, who plays other characters and provides guitar accompaniment). Describing their fantastic exploits, Frank explains, "We all lost brothers," and he's talking about the war as much as the desperado days of the gang.

For these men, geography was destiny, and there was no "compromise." A Union state, Missouri harbored myriad Southern sympathizers who joined rebel bands in groups called irregulars. Frank left home to fight with Quantrill's Raiders at the start of the war and was joined by Jesse, who found a sponsor in "Bloody" Bill Anderson. With a motto ("Lay waste") and a cheer (the chilling rebel yell), the irregulars invaded Lawrence, Kan., in a bitter border war. "He was a natural at this work," comments Frank about Jesse, who takes special relish in quoting from Proverbs while slaying a chaplain.

Barely two years after Lee's surrender, the nascent gang begins a string of robberies to retrieve "carpetbagger money" lodged in local banks. "I never thought of myself as an inventor," Jesse marvels. "Guess everybody's got one good idea." These guerrillas are motivated by justifiable anger about the Union's lingering hostility toward Missourians who'd served on the other side -- and by an appetite for mayhem whetted by wartime. How you gonna keep 'em down on the farm after they've looted Paree?

The skill of Hanrahan's script is that he explores the social and economic conditions that produced the James Gang and manages to seat his argument in a recognizable -- even appealing -- historical moment. There are names and dates in this narrative, but there are also remarkable pieces of stagecraft. Most notable is a scene in which the gang robs its first train (west of the Mississippi, that is -- the Reno brothers get the nod for originating the crime). The cast steps off the stage, and Younger displays a raffish charm as he tells the audience, "We'll not be relieving the lovely ladies." Meanwhile, Jesse terrorizes the engineers and later begins writing press releases, in part as alibis for crimes the gang is unjustly accused of. "Jesse didn't invent the train robbery, but he sure did perfect it," notes Frank.

But trouble looms -- the Pinkerton Detective Agency, guided by the "eye that never sleeps." One pivotal scene is enacted three times (and explained more coherently with each retelling). This portrays the gang's last expedition -- an ill-fated mission to Minnesota (Jesse's idea), where a bank robbery goes awry and the fraternal gang is shot up. Jesse had enlisted Cole's younger brother, much to Younger's displeasure. Scattering to the four winds, the James boys escape; the Youngers surrender. At the weekend's performances at the Missouri History Museum, the dim lighting underscored the shadowy unfolding tragedy, as Cole decides to stay with his injured brother (who miraculously survives long enough to serve prison time).

Jesse James should be required viewing at schools because of its unflinching vision of complexly criminal characters, as well as a believable historical context. This gang is literally a family, depending on others at their risk. (Jesse was eventually murdered by the younger brother of a new recruit, after the Younger men were in jail.) There's no glamour in the bloodshed but plenty of understanding, thanks to a superb cast. David Wassilak plays Jesse as a sternly self-righteous killer who never asks for pity. As Frank, Hanrahan has a curmudgeonly dignity, yet there's a dramatic frisson every time the character slays. Larry Dell imbues Younger with an insouciance -- this is just a job, not a mission -- that's just right. Between vignettes, he provides wistful period balladry on guitar. Director Mary Schnitzler has an agreeably light hand -- one can imagine this story being screamed from the stage, with plenty of gunshot f/x -- but subtlety pays off here. And her skill and the actors' care cut larger-than-life legends down to size.

JESSE JAMES' NEEDS WORK TO REACH FULL POTENTIAL
Judith Newmark
Post-Dispatch Theater Critic
St. Louis Post-Dispatch

The legend of the outlaw Jesse James still has a lot of appeal today, more than 100 years after his violent life ended with a shot in the back. It inspired Joe Hanrahan to write "The Ballad of Jesse James," which Midnight Productions (the troupe he founded last season with David Wassilak) has mounted. The bare-bones, energy-packed performance evokes the allure of outlaw life in the aftermath of the Civil War, but needs more work to reach its full potential.

Like an obscure musical about James called "Diamond Studs," Hanrahan's play offers a political basis for James' criminal career. The men in his gang were all Confederate irregulars. Jayhawkers conducted a violent raid on the James' family farm; Jesse James and his brother, Frank, rode with Quantrill in the "bloody Kansas" battles.

This, the play makes clear, had little to do with feelings about slavery but a lot to do with political and familial ties to the South. After the war, former irregulars couldn't vote, run for office ("Were you planning to run for office?" Frank asks his brother wryly) or make a living. They felt estranged from a government they no longer acknowledged as theirs. Of course they didn't live within the law, Hanrahan argues; they saw themselves as outlaws in a literal sense.

Hanrahan - who also directs and plays Frank James - doesn't push his argument further (for example, to its implications for modern America, where people like Timothy McVeigh might claim to be outlaws along the same lines). But he does capture the romance of outlaw life.

Wassilak plays Jesse James with an understated manner that hints at oceans of self-confidence, something the man who invented bank robbery must have had. He speaks quietly but his gaze is steady; he gives the rebel yell with the passion of a rock star at the microphone. Hanrahan, as the older brother, makes a good balance; he's smaller and more solid that the lanky Wassilak, providing a physical counterpoint that suggests the gang's strength. (Wassilak has the nerve.) Larry Dell gives a strong performance in all the other parts - outlaw Cole Younger, Kansas City newspaperman John Newman Edwards and the narrator. He also plays guitar and sings folk music to help establish the mood.

This is an extremely stripped-down production. Costumer Betsy Krausnick evokes an era with the simplest period pieces - band-collar shirts, duster coats. The set is a couple of chairs, but that's OK; there's also a terrific "backdrop" at the Forum for Contemporary Art, an installation by artist Margaret Kilgallen. It frames the performers with the apt words, "Let It Ride."

But why is the cast itself stripped down so far? Good as Dell is, there is something miserly about using him in so many roles. It makes no sense to have Younger and Edwards played by one actor, and the other duties could be divided between them logically (music to Younger, narrative to Edwards). The play looks too much like boys playing outlaw, especially when they're waving their pistols; one more actor would truly flesh things out.

Also, too much of the story is left to narration, an easy out that breaks the mood. For example, the narration of the James gang's disastrous Minnesota bank robbery slows a high-action scene to a crawl. But it does not break the mood as much as forgotten lines do. All the actors (including the author) need to get their lines down cold. Every stumble pushes the audience away, into "real life." Why go to the theater for that?