The Ogunquit Playhouse:
‘AMERICA’S FOREMOST SUMMER THEATER.’
Whoa.
That’s a statement.
Bold, unapologetic —
Don’t get it twisted.
Anchored on Route 1, The Ogunquit Playhouse ’delivers world-class Broadway entertainment and unforgettable experiences for more than 100,000 guests every season.’
Nearly a century old, this legendary theater ornaments the white sand belt of southern Maine.
Ogunquit is a quaint, seaside village located forty minutes south of Portland. Known for sun and surf, this small town has a national reputation as the perfect summer escape.
But when I arrived in early October, dark clouds hung overhead, swollen with the promise of rain.
Green letters rang out, stamped across the front of the debonaire building:
OGUNQUIT PLAYHOUSE.
This venue is a museum, preserving tradition and time.
Founded by Walter and Maude Hartwig in 1933 inside a humble garage — construction soon began on a formal theater — and the official playhouse was completed in 1937, where it remains to this day.
Built from Maine stock and a legacy of love, this community has stood the test of time, ’[helping] shape the future of American theatre.’
Executive Artistic Director Bradford T. Kenney just entered his 20th season, cementing his own chapter in this legendary story.
I walked over the manicured lawn and entered the building, showered by warm greetings from the many well-dressed ushers.
Inside was a posh, colonial foyer, blending the antique and ostentatious.
Patrons milled about, enjoying warm, buttery popcorn from an old machine that chattered in the corner.
Attendees appeared to be a healthy mix of young and old – the young bothering the old, middle-aged pulling the young, entreating them to behave and be quiet…
Older patrons shuffled to their seats, hugging corners and dragging down the aisles.
My family and I had come to see Titanic: The Broadway Musical — drawn by our patriotic love for James Cameron’s epic tale.
Much to my surprise, there was no Rose, no Jack, no spitting contest, nor mysterious ‘French girls…’
But rather a sobering dose of history –
Real people, real tragedy:
2,200 people trapped in a floating coffin, nailed shut by jealousy and pride.
The play is a musical, of course — a titanic production that demands both captain and crew:
40 actors and actresses, half as many understudies, a cast of musicians, directors, stagehands…
A Trojan horse of talented creatives, sneaking what was once the ‘world’s largest moving object’ into a performance hall in southern Maine…
Finding my seat, the set towered in front of me, brutal and black – only to be broken by gilded scenes of fine dining and 1st Class indulgence.
Audience members enjoyed a view of the ship’s innards — gridlock steel and claustrophobia, running from bilge to crow’s nest; ironclad doom — veiled in luxury, powered by pride.
The story unfolded across three floors, winding stairs used to full effect in delivery and dance.
Every line of dialogue was a declaration, bursting forth with musical gusto.
Tall male bodies, boots, hats – banging and clanging the metal frame…
Booming tenors and engine baritones shaking the hall… suits and mustaches picture-perfect – down to the crease.
Elegant woman, flowing dresses and feathered hats – married, single, young, alone, escaping…
These dazzling actresses sang with crystal altos and soaring sopranos, belting across the room.
This veteran company of performers was technical, talented – projecting across the theater, voices clear and true.
But the realistic construction of the set seemed to hamper their performance…
The music was loud, almost overbearing – voices echoed, trapped in the steel frame; washed out, absorbed like blood on gauze, making it difficult to understand names, places, dates, and plot…
The emotion was palpable, but the details often escaped me.
Offset by a single intermission, this sprawling two hour tale starred hopeful immigrants, industrious oligarchs…
Pride and pain – scored by the poignant, expressive pit band – the spine of this theatrical body.
Hidden from view, this small chamber ensemble featured:
Two woodwinds, two violins, trumpet, trombone, and drums.
A delicate spread, a charcuterie of tasteful instrumentation; an undercurrent of tension, winding along with the unfolding story.
The tragedy of The Titanic is quite linear:
an endless crescendo of tension, chain-lightning across the plot – hair-raising sound, musical exclamation!
Cue the fantastic scene of the excitable, young radio operator – tapping his restless staccato on his long-wave radio, desperate to signal a nearby ship…
Singing and clicking away, face tight with panic as he called over the bitter sea for any hint of help…
Beyond the musical score, the sound design itself was exceptional –
Violent, bellacose… emotional and sudden, meant to shock you out of your seat.
None more than the strident crash of steel grinding against the iceberg, an agonizing metallic wail.
But my takeaway from the true story of The Titanic is the selfless display of compassion, humanity, and serene bravery by the eight working musicians aboard the ship – all in the face of death.
Those esteemed musicians who played on as the ship sank, soothing the passengers, soothing themselves…
Playing for angels, preparing to meet them soon…
Haunting, beautiful.
Like so many involved, what was meant to be a grand affair of travel and employment became a death sentence… an end… a hard stop in a dark, suffocating locker of ice and hell at the edge of the world… far away from light and love… stars the only witness, burning with cold injustice in the deep violet of night.
Those musicians were heroes…
For the duration of the trip, the company performed in a variety of 1st Class settings, complimenting meals and entertaining passengers.
But when the lights went out, these brave men played until the very end, ensuring the comfort and grace of the stranded passengers (and themselves) as the ship sank and the black vault closed in.
These selfless souls also left behind families, hopes, and dreams…
Some so young, just twenty years of age, full of talent and hope… their dreams frozen in time:
William Brailey – English pianist (b. 1887 – d. 1912)
Roger Bricoux – French cellist (b. 1891 – d. 1912)
John Clarke – English bassist (b. ? – d. 1912)
Wallace Hartley – English violinist and bandmaster (b. 1878 – d. 1912)
John ‘Jock’ Hume – Scottish violinist (b. 1890 – d. 1912)
George Krins – Belgian violinist (b. 1889 – d. 1912)
Percy Taylor – English cellist (b. ? – d. 1912)
John Wesley Woodward, English cellist (b. 1879 – d. 1912)
Each and every one of these talented young musicians were members of the Amalgamated British Musicians Union, and were employed by the Liverpool-based music agency, C. W. & F. N. Black – a wellspring of talent often used by the White Star Line (the parent company of The Titanic) for contracted entertainment.
After the tragedy of April 15th, 1912 – a memorial concert was held at London’s Royal Albert Hall, recognizing the heroics of these eight musicians and raising funds to support their grieving families. An all star orchestra, featuring members from the prestigious London Philharmonic, London Symphony Orchestra, London Opera House, and more – assembled 500 strong just a month later, performing on May 24th, 1912 – ensuring their legacy would endure.
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