Clackamas Rep’s production may joke about everything from gerrymandering to Diet Coke, but above all, it is a play about and for people who love theater.
It is a dark time for Popcorn Falls. The town’s famous waterfall has dried up, a destructive squirrel is plaguing the local government, and the diabolical Mr. Doyle (Mark Schwahn) has announced plans to demolish downtown and replace it with a sewage treatment plant.
Enter Mayor Ted Trundle (Tom Walton), a defiant optimist who believes he can save Popcorn Falls by putting on a play. He may not have any theatrical experience—he refers to “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” as “Jacob and His Exciting Multicolor Raincoat”—but he has heart, passion and, most importantly, a willingness to make a fool of himself.
That’s the premise of James Hindman’s “Popcorn Falls,” currently being performed by Clackamas Repertory Theatre. It’s a satire, but there’s sweetness in its silliness. “Popcorn Falls” may joke about everything from gerrymandering to Diet Coke, but above all, it is a play about and for people who love theater—and anyone else in dire need of some belly-convulsing laughs.
“Popcorn Falls,” directed by David Smith-English, was published a year after the election of President Donald Trump, but despite its fascination with political tomfoolery, it isn’t overshadowed by the era’s misery. The play prefers to revel in Ted’s crazed struggle to save Popcorn Falls from Mr. Doyle, who despises the town so intensely he’s willing to redraw its boundaries to eliminate its existence.
Ted’s only hope is to use funds earmarked for a never-built theater to resuscitate Popcorn Falls’ moribund economy. It’s a long shot made even longer by Ted’s cast and crew of eccentrics, including a cat-loving librarian, a rabid Fred Astaire fan, and an executive custodian named Joe who has two sets of twins and another on the way.
While Hindman is a nimble comedy writer, the best reason to see “Popcorn Falls” is the splendid spectacle of Walton and Schwahn embodying every single character in the play. With grace and glee, they simultaneously antagonize and romance each other, forging a combustible bond that recalls the witty verbal foreplay between Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon in “Some Like It Hot.”
The peak of Walton and Schwahn’s collaboration is a scene where Ted tries to persuade the librarian, Ms. Parker (Schwahn), to join his play. In a feat of miraculous anthropomorphizing, Schwahn passes off a crumpled-up sweater as a cat named Mr. Cuddles, who uses his tail to terrorize Ted in a duet of action and reaction so perfectly timed that, like everything else in the play, it feels both meticulously planned and triumphantly out of control.
There are plenty of opportunities to laugh at and with the townspeople, who like to be referred to as “kernels.” Yet like all great comedies, the play is secretly a drama. Starting a theater isn’t just a scheme to rescue Popcorn Falls from oblivion—it’s a way for Ted to cope with the trauma of his divorce and his struggle with alcoholism. Saving the town is a way to save himself.
Ted also finds hope in his burgeoning relationship with Becky, a bartender who used to date Joe. Infuriated by his friend’s interest in his former lover, Joe lashes out, inspiring Ted to lash back.
“You’re scared and full of regret and looking for someone to blame,” Ted tells him.
“Well, join the club.”
It’s one of several serious moments in the play, and Walton and Schwahn give it the sincerity it deserves—which is all the more moving because it emerges in a production packed with exquisite gags.
As Ted and his collaborators develop their play, delightfully insane ideas emerge, like telling the story of a kitten who narrowly escapes being ground up into dog food. As theatrical visionaries, the characters are entertainingly incompetent, but Ted’s enthusiasm is real, especially when he jubilantly exclaims, “Joe! We’re going to put on a play!”
Ted’s theatrical instincts may be questionable, but there’s no doubting the talents of Walton and Schwahn. They don’t just act in the play—they revel in it. “Popcorn Falls” may be a made-up place, but for 90 minutes, the escapism that it offers is blissfully real.
SEE IT: “Popcorn Falls” plays at Clackamas Community College’s Hakanson Amphitheater, 19600 Molalla Ave., Oregon City, 503-594-6047, clackamasrep.org. 7 pm Thursday-Sunday, through Aug. 15. $30.
JULY 27, 2021 // WW’S ASSISTANT ARTS & CULTURE EDITOR // BENNETT CAMPBELL FERGUSON