Among the theatre companies that have so far survived the crisis of the last few years more or less intact is Barrington Stage, located in the small postindustrial city of Pittsfield, MA. Much of their programming makes some concession to the current mindset, and a recent change in the artistic leadership may portend more of that. But this summer, the company did mount a production of Brian Friel’s The Faith Healer, for which its founder and longtime AD, Julie Boyd, returned to direct. Friel is of course an eloquent writer, and a serious one, by which I mean that he explores the moral implications of his chosen subjects. Faith Healer is not an easy play for either performers or audience—four long monologues for three intertwined characters, grounded and flavored in Irish culture, and while by no means lacking in “entertaining” qualities, “serious” in the sense I have suggested. In the smaller of the company’s two spaces, it sold out its run. On the afternoon we attended, the audience was predominantly elderly—I didn’t spot more than 15 to 20 under-50 faces, and most of us were safely above that. The production was a solid, unrevisionist one that conveyed the play’s essence. The audience was very attentive, very quiet, and very polite. Nothing all that glamorous, but in today’s milieu, a nourishing and encouraging experience. As a friend of ours commented: the elder demographic—they have the interest, they have the money, they haven’t lost the habit. Why wouldn’t you especially cultivate them?

Ah, but a pair of less happy DEI-related incidents of which we have direct personal knowledge and which, since they are so specific, may convey some of our troubles more vividly than more cosmic pronouncements. Both feature representatives of the industry of facilitators, arbitrators, consultants, and instructional coaches, often of mysterious qualifications (enter the camp followers), that has sprung up to re-educate us on the new protocols of our own Cultural Revolution. 1) Of the three days allotted to rehearsal for the reading of a challenging classic play at a prominent regional theatre, for which tickets were sold, the first ninety minutes were given over to DEI class. Grown-up, experienced actors, by all reports perfectly nice people, being treated like grade-school kids in need of remedial training in manners and the avoidance of naughty expressions, like incorrect personal pronouns. 2) During the run of a currently long-running Broadway show, two full days per year must be set aside for more of the same (instead of, for instance, brush-up rehearsals or run-throughs for new cast members. Or an afternoon off). The union’s fine with it. And then there’s opera.

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Due to my long collegial friendship with Will Crutchfield, I have recused myself from reviewing his performances, first in the “Bel Canto at Caramoor” series and, over the last decade, with his own Teatro Nuovo company. And I won’t be reviewing this one, either, in the sense of any detailed evaluations. But when I see something that strikes me as a promising way forward for a surpassingly rich artform whose public presence has contracted shockingly since the ’60s days alluded to above, and whose pursuit of paying customers is increasingly fragmented, I feel it merits some attention. Teatro Nuovo specializes in operas of the early Italian Romantic period. That means that works of Rossini, Donizetti, and Bellini predominate, though occasionally a piece like Simone Mayr’s Medea will sneak in. Another of the latter sort, the Riccis’ Crispino e la comare, found its way to the stage of the Rose Theater this summer, along with Donizetti’s Poliuto. (Performances are also given out in the traditionally culture-friendly town of Montclair, NJ.)