Beginning in early spring and continuing into late autumn, I often see a man walking on Raven Road in my neighborhood with a backpack, a shabby jacket and a smile. He is elderly, lean, with long hair and a beard as gray as my own. He wears dirty boots, a torn shirt and shabby pants. He is always by himself, although when I greet him, he responds with a friendly word and wave.
He is one of the millions we call “homeless,” although he is no such thing, for he has a home. He lives in the forest, on public land, where, of course, he should not be living. By night, he sleeps under the ponderosas. By day, he walks to the highway, where he can find food and water, watch the world pass by and maybe even share a bit of companionship.
When I look carefully at him, I see something about his eyes, in fact in his whole face, that speaks of pain, but not just pain, also of survival, and in his smile I see too an iota of pride. I have always wanted to have a conversation with this man; perhaps, if he returns in the spring this year, I will finally do so.
This man, with all his repulsiveness and attractiveness, is much like the protagonist of Jerusalem, an unusual play, in equal parts entertainment and philosophical statement, that opened last week at the Vortex Theater in Albuquerque.
At the center of “Jerusalem” is Johnny Byron who is called Rooster. He, too, is an aging wreck of a man. He is also a bundle of contradictions, shabby and imposing, magnetic and off-putting, noble and craven, selfish and selfless, faithful and treacherous, criminal and hero.
The tough task for an actor performing the role of Rooster is to balance the good and bad in this man without tilting in either direction, to keep the seesaw level with equal weights at each end. Rooster is a myth maker. “I seen a rainbow hit the ground and set fire to the earth,” he says. He tells a tale of his own virgin birth, of being conceived from a spot of semen at the end of a bullet. He jumped a motorcycle over a string of buses and wanted to do the same at Stonehenge. He is a kind of Pied Piper mesmerizing the despairing and the dissolute. He blends lies and legends and truth into a mystic mirage of which he himself is ultimately the greatest victim.
Charles Fisher in the role of Rooster communicates his duality with deceptive ease. Everyone who comes into contact with Rooster seems to find opportunities to both hate him and love him. He sells drugs, drinks heavily, has sex with adolescent girls (while he protects them from predators), brawls in bars and for the most part ignores his 8-year-old son. Yet Rooster is also a brave man who insists on going his own way, living his own life by his own lights. He is the iconic rebel, sometimes with, sometimes without, a cause.
The scene of the play is the yard outside Rooster’s “home,” a rundown trailer illegally parked on public land in a forest in an ancient and storied rural county in England, an area that traces its history back to the Druids.
The play occurs in a 24-hour period during the festival of St. George, a time when ancient English traditions are prominent. For Rooster and his merry band of nonconformists and followers, it is also a time to remember what Englishmen were, in legend if not in reality, before they became the bland conformists of today. “We drink,” one character toasts, “to St. George and all the lost gods of England.”
The title Jerusalem comes from a poem in which William Blake imagines Jesus visiting England and briefly rescuing it from despair. The poet asks, “And was Jerusalem builded here/Among these dark Satanic Mills?”
Rooster’s home, in its bizarre and criminal way, is such a Jerusalem where the outsized character of Rooster builds an oasis, at least for a while, for himself and his acolytes. There is much humor in this play, sometimes bawdy, often witty, but make no mistake, the story is more tragedy than comedy.
Although Jerusalem is laid in England, it seems to me to speak more clearly of areas like New Mexico, where those who are left out or kicked out of conventional society find a place that passes for “home,” their own Jerusalem. I have met some of those lost souls who found such a “home” in the Manzano Mountains, the villages and forests of Northern New Mexico, even the Rio Grande Bosque in the middle of Albuquerque, and, for all I know, they or their ilk are still there.
This play is beautifully staged and acted, but it is not for everyone. The themes of drugs and sex are clearly adult. The language is coarse. And there is so much British slang that the program even includes a glossary. But for those who have a mind, an eye and an ear for something different, Jerusalem is highly rewarding.
The play was written by the up-and-coming young British playwright Jez Butterworth and performed in London in 2009 and New York in 2011 to critical acclaim.
At the Vortex, director Marty Epstein and stage manager Ludwig Puchmayer have done masterful jobs. In supporting roles, Mark Hisler as Rooster’s friend Ginger is superb as is Colin Morgan as the always discombobulated Professor. However, the entire 16-person cast deserves kudos for a memorable performance with nary a misstep.
Jerusalem continues at the Vortex Theatre, 2004 1/2 Central SE, Fridays, and Saturdays at 7:30 p.m. and Sundays at 2 p.m. through March 2. For reservations and information go to vortexabq.org or call 247-8600.
Responses to “An unlikely Jerusalem and its merry band of misfits”