Even before the end of the first scene in Flying Anvil's latest presentation, The Love Talker by Deborah Pryor, you know you're watching something really special: a beautifully constructed work that uses the natural poetry and deeply lyrical quality of the Appalachian dialect to call up a haunting, sensual, and riveting tale of madness and desire.
Set in a ramshackle cabin deep in the Clinch Mountains of Virginia, the story follows young Gowdie Blackmun (Emily Cullum) and her older sister Bun Blackmun (Carolyn Corley) as they encounter The Love Talker (JD Sizemore) a malicious spirit in the form of man seeking entry into more than just their home, and The Redhead (Margy Ragsdale) a forest creature of a kind my great grandma would have called a 'fey-one'. Between these four, a battle of determination, longing, magic, and wit plays out to a dramatic and highly satisfying climax.
Director (and Flying Anvil Artistic Director) Jayne Morgan has assembled a superb cast that, at every turn, finds access into the play's most vital and exciting moments; crafting characters that are at once recognizable to anyone familiar with the tales and folk lore of the region, and still entirely unique and human in their own right.
As the younger Blackmun sister Gowdie, Emily Cullum weaves in and out of playful girlish naivete and explosive adolescent impetuousness. Cullum displays keen emotional dexterity as her character careens between extremes of feeling, flirts with darkness, and teeters on madness. Perhaps even more impressive though, is her capacity for emotive restraint: the young actress always permits us to see the storm crackling just below the surface of her character, but reserves the most violent energies for moments when it is most effective. Gowdie is definitely a haunted girl, and Cullum is truly haunting to watch.
Matching Cullum beat for beat is Carolyn Corley's riveting portrayal of Bun. Corley seems to walk onto the stage straight from the mountains of Virginia fully wrapped in the language and rhythms of its people. Her Bun posses the hardened veneer familiar to anyone acquainted with rural poverty, while still imbuing the character with a deep and deeply affecting inner life. It is through Bun’s grim pragmatism in the face of supernatural darkness that we come to fully believe in the mystical realities of the world itself. Corley approaches these moments loaded with such earnest emotional content that the audience is never allowed to doubt for a moment the spirits lurking just outside the door of the Blackmun home are as real as the forest itself, and much more dangerous. This is a truly remarkable performance from a longtime Knoxville artist at the top of her game.