The storytelling in "Time Immemorial" succeeds not as a seamless, full-fledged play but as a willfully gentle caress over the face of Alaska history and a story still being told.
Here, the bells and whistles of Alaska statehood fade into a vaster, more resounding story about what it means to be human, to have hope, to absorb and generate change. Compassion transcends time and reaches through generations.
Written and performed by Jack Dalton and Allison Warden, the play trails Tulu and Miti (Raven and Eagle) as they move through time, reborn over and over again.
The story begins as Miti protects the light and Tulu steals it. His impetuous nature eventually brings forth the world leaving Miti to consider the consequences.
The stolen light threads through the story, taking many forms from that of a crystal ball to a boy's life.
Along the way, the merits of mischief and forethought, humor and somberness recur, like the tumble of questions that go with them: How free are the choices we make and what happens when we're forced to act under conditions we didn't create or don't fully understand?
In one poignant moment in the scene "1918," the time of the Great Death or influenza epidemic, Tulu kneels before the grave of his Little One, Miti, to say the Lord's prayer.
In another, this time "1958," Tulu returns to the village after finishing boarding school and college only to listen as his mother calls him "too white" to make decisions for her people.
Arguably the strongest scene, "1899," shows Tulu burning his raven mask before joining his wife. As the elderly couple mends a net, they talk about how some of the white people have decided to stay over the winter. Don't worry, they will only stay a little while, says Tulu -- and some of their stories are good.
"Why shouldn't we worry about their stories becoming louder than our stories?" Miti replies.
Warden and Dalton know how to tell a story and a joke without avoiding uncomfortable material. At the world premier on Good Friday, they looked relieved and exhilarated as if finally given the chance to let the life blood of the play seep from their hearts and to their limbs. No doubt it took many moments of discomfort to get to that place, for the play touches on everything from religion and resource development to alcoholism and suicide.
Each of the 10 scenes carries its own historic importance. Warden and Dalton argue as preening boarding-school sisters with different opinions about college; as idealistic siblings on either side of the lands-claim issue; as a grandmother and grandson coping with an absent mother; and as a daughter promoting development and a father steadfast against it.
Simple, clever costuming by Lalla Williams makes it easy for the two performers to move through varying roles without losing their essential characters. Director Princess Lucaj keeps movement centered onstage, which goes a long way in helping folks in less desirable seats enjoy the show. Even so it's clear that some of the visual storytelling gets lost to those seated in the side seats.
With so much going on, something has to give, especially in a play so young in conception and long in scope. Some of the dialogue relies on silence to add tautness, for example, while other sections seemed to bog down in heavy pauses. The last scene, "A New Beginning," comes across as slightly overwrought as a result. Other scenes leave the details vague, and it's hard to say if the ambiguity works.
Also the conceptual force of the stolen light doesn't seem to match its visual power. Though light as an idea represents more than one thing here -- say warmth, hope, love, spirit, tradition -- its manifestation seems more thinly and singularly wrought than the musculature held within.
Therein lies its beauty, for "Time Immemorial" seems as prescient and exquisite as a flower just moments before blooming.
Dawnell Smith lives and writes in Anchorage.
By DAWNELL SMITH
Daily News correspondent