Culture

Symphony Hall basks under the glow of the free-fall chandeliers. Couples surge through the lobby, discussing the abilities of the virtuoso.

"Hal," a turquoise-nuggeted lady calls to her companion. "I'm over here." She waves her program high above her head.

He smiles, elbowing his way through the throng. As he walks, his ostrichtipped boots flash discreetly against the red-hued carpet. It's opening night at the opera in Phoenix, and it's Arizona at its most Southwestern.

Until recently, an Arizona-Anglo cultural event was a college football game. Not that tailgate suppers have lost their lure. They are more elaborately deli-cious than ever, what with hibachis glowing alongside well-equipped motor homes and vans. But over the years, arts events have begun to take their place on the social calendar, and increasingly, these are playing to ever-widening audiences.

Old-timers remember when a night out meant a weekend in Las Vegas or Los Angeles. Today that's changed. Scottsdale's 70-plus art galleries, alone, can keep an art lover gazing from opening to opening. Rock concerts? Compton Terrace, with its open-air amphitheatre near the Tempe-Phoenix boundary, draws frantic fans. Chamber music? The Scottsdale Center for the Arts boasts a rare Bösendorfer piano a musician's dream. Art is everywhere, convenient to every city dweller.

When Tom and Mary Rogers moved to Sun City from Davenport, Iowa, 18 months ago, their children sent them off with a curious gift two tiny rocking chairs - teasing, "Enjoy them in the sun." The Rogers would have been better off with opera glasses because like many other Sun Citians, they've taken to spending many of their evenings in the sun at the Sun Dome enjoying top-name entertainment.

National touring companies and big-name stars used to avoid the desert as if it were populated exclusively with Gila monsters. Today, both Phoenix and Tucson book top-flight names continually. But it's not just Broadway that comes to town. San Diego's Old Globe Theatre struts its stuff across the Scottsdale stage at the Center for the Arts each year, bringing the Bard to the Valley.

Community theatres add to the performance roster. The Phoenix Little Theatre has a new producing director, Tom Oldendick, who is quick to pinpoint where PLT is heading. Oldendick gave up managing the Theatre in the Park, in Cincinnati, to join the Phoenix Company.

"Oh, I can give you all the hype that PLT is the country's oldest, ongoing community theatre." (It is. It's 60 years old this year). "And, I can tell you, we have the longest runs of any community theatre company; we do 8 plays for 4 weeks each."

But that doesn't explain the hows and whys of the Phoenix Little Theatre. Oldendick paused, trying to boil the magic down into easy sentences. "So much of what happens onstage is the result of what happens offstage," he began. "I'm really so impressed with the local talent that we have here. What happens is that people want to live here, so when they move, they bring their talent with them. And we benefit - we, being both the audience and the theatre company because we're the prestige place to appear in Phoenix."

Oldendick, who had been a professional child actor, and later a successful set designer, and book author, today is upgrading the PLT, determined to keep the theatre lit with the best productions he can. And he's resurrected the children's theatre.

"This will lead to some low humor," he warned. "We call this 'The Cookie Company', and we serve milk and cookies to the children. The actors call themselves 'The Cookie Crumb Players.'"

Kids pile onto risers and snuggle into spaces on the floor at the PLT. The lights are bright as actors walk onstage, pulling a large wagon loaded with scenery and props. Children point and talk excitedly. One actor steps downstage and asks, "Have you ever seen a play before?"

A chorus of "yeses" and "nos" swell.

"Now this is going to be a tree," he continues, sticking branches into a cardboard trunk. "And soon the sun should come up. ." he gestures offstage and amber lights brighten to pinks and reds. "Not yet," he feigns annoyance. "I haven't finished." The children giggle. If it sounds unusual, listen to Oldendick's theory.

"Television has had a wonderful effect of destroying everyone's sense of propriety when they are out in public. So we are presenting theatre in a comfortable context for children, much like the one they'd experience at home, watching TV."

Community theatre is blooming in Mesa, Scottsdale's Sagebrush, Tucson's Trail Dust Town, Glendale, and Tempe. But professional theatre is discovering that a dual-city approach might be the answer. This year Phoenix welcomed The Arizona Theatre Company (ATC) at an elegant reception. ATC was founded 15 years ago as a Tucson company, but now, a crowd of Phoenix faithfuls gathered to welcome the company's new artistic director, Gary Gisselman.

Gisselman mingles beautifully. He does it with the ease of a polished performer. Dark and brooding, he wears the bulk of his hair low - he's bearded and balding and provides a striking contrast to the preppy, blond good looks of David Hawkanson, ATC's managing director. Both are sure that ATC is on its way, at last, as the state's recognized resident company.

The company has come a long way since Sandy Rosenthal, its founder and first director, presented plays in the basement of the Santa Rita Hotel in Tucson. In the early days, actors were often more enthusiastic than excellent. But, in time, the company grew and the city built a magnificent theatre.

"This theatre should be Arizona," Gisselman said, taking a few minutes out from the cocktail chatter of the reception. "We are now a second generation theatre. Sandy saw a need, and while the company had its ups and downs, it stayed alive, going from a community to a professional theatre. Now it's becoming a regional company - another big change. I want to see this theatre resonate with Arizona."

Gisselman surveyed the crowd, no doubt thinking of similar affairs attended while working with various Minnesota companies. "Theatre is a social institution. It frightens me to think of our idea of entertainment as being one man in one room with a tape machine. I'm very excited about this area. Sure, I've heard that Phoenix isn't a theatre town. But I'm committed to the belief that when people come to the theatre, something should happen. And when we have something to offer as exciting as a football game, then we'll get them out, too."

Within two years he hopes to produce the entire ATC season in Phoenix as well as in Tucson. Flagstaff, in northern Arizona, is on the schedule, too, and he plans to tour outlying communities as well. He's completely committed. "As far as I'm concerned, the

(Far left) The entire cast of the Arizona Theatre Company's production of The Rivals, on stage at the Tucson Community Theatre. Founded 15 years ago, ATC brings the magic of the professional theatre to life both in Phoenix and Tucson. Tim Fuller (Left) Ted DeGrazia's Gallery in the Sun in Tucson is both studio and gallery for hundreds of pieces of the artist's works. Ray Manley (Left, below) Big, bold, and beautiful, the new Tucson Community Center Music Hall brings the performing arts to patrons in the Old Pueblo, from classical music programs with renowned guest soloists to theatrical replays of such old favorites as South Pacific. Ray Manley Theo Alcantara, conductor of the Phoenix Symphony Orchestra, looked anything but "The Maestro" in his sandals, blue jeans, and tennis shirt. He sat comfortably in his Paradise Valley living room, in the middle of the afternoon. When he began to speak about music and the Arizona audience, his lilting English, laced with native Spanish, became passionate.

"The potential is definitely here," he began, choosing his words. "But it needs to be led by a few. I don't sense an aggressive atmosphere as to interest in the arts, but I am impressed by the new breed of younger people who are attempting to take the bull by the horns.

"You see, in Europe, going to the symphony every weekend is part of life. Americans just don't have a tradition of symphony. That takes many years to build, and it's going to take a lot of hard work on all our parts to educate people."

The conductor smiled, sipping his anisette. "Phoenix has a much better symphony than people, here, would give it credit for," he added. "But the Phoenix Symphony is only 32 or 33 years old. Other orchestras are 50 to 70 years ahead of it. I want to emphasize again, that we need to beat the bushes here to analyze from what level this community has come."

He looked pensive for a moment when asked if Phoenix will achieve that "great orchestra" status. "I did not come to Phoenix just to enjoy the sun."

While the visual arts have long collected a loyal cadre of dedicated supporters, the performing arts have been slower to catch on. Yet, Alcantara explained, the Phoenix Symphony has already achieved regional orchestra stature as the finest orchestra in the Southwest. As for becoming a "major" orchestra, the conductor warned that bigger isn't always better. Major orchestras, he said, have bigger budgets, and while quality and cash often go hand in hand, in the music business, that's not necessarily so.

Alcantara has plans for the future: "Put programs together of lighter context. Introduce more American works. Hold festivals. Have in-school programs . . . " Ideas tumbled out. He envisions more tours and recordings, performances in outlying towns. ("Our response to programs played in Prescott, Glendale, and Wickenburg has been excellent"), and an aggressive campaign to bring the orchestra to the people, and the people to the music.

He leaned back on the sofa for a moment. "When you are talking about classical music, you are speaking of the soul being touched by a universal language," he began, using his hands to frame his philosophy. "This is difficult for many people; they are afraid of it. You have to be persistent, and, hopefully, play beautiful concerts, and make people aware that there is a great orchestra in town, and that they have the opportunity to enrich their own souls. I cannot get by without feeling my own soul; unless I have a daily nourishing of my spiritual life, my life is not worth living."

In Mesa, 28 young dancers are treading their own artistic path. Most hold down full-time jobs, but they find the time to attend ballet class 5 or 6 days a week. They are members of the Mesa Civic Ballet, a serious fledgling company of performers who, somehow, are making ballet happen. There's Robin Coates who owns her own landscape design company. And Paul Mandracchia who works in a department store. John Wiley's just 19 and has danced for only 2 years. Melanie Shafer studies dance full-time. The company is young and gifted and gutsy. Florence Maddocks, the troupe's artistic director, says simply, "These are the people who make cultural life worthwhile."

Ballet . . . Bach . . . Contrast this young ballet company with the Phoenix Bach and Madrigal Society, now in its 22nd season. Between 40 and 50 singers, both professional and semiprofessional-sional, audition for a chance to sing under the talented baton of Daniel Durand. Singing 4 to 6 concerts a year, the men in tuxedos and the women in maroon renaissance gowns, the Society is magnificent both vocally and visually. But the biggest thrill is coming March 19th through 22nd, when C. Alexander Peloquin, the foremost choral composer in the country, will conduct the Bach and Madrigal Society in the world premiere of his new work, Canticle of the Sun.

Traditionally, it's been the habit here to lace up hiking boots, throw on a backpack, and cleanse the soul out among the cactus and the canyons. Why bother with a cast and chorus? Hiking boots are still around, but so are ballet slippers, tuxedos, and stage sets. True, in the past with so much sunlight, who worried about footlights?

Choreographer and dancer Agnes De Mille observed in her book, America Dances, that as a nation... "We are, it has been lamentably proven again and again, probably the first people in history who have condescended to art. Other men have used art as magic, have worshipped it, feared it, or forbidden it. We, alone, condescend to it. We neglect it."

Fortunately, Arizona businessmen are beginning to speak out. Arts Advocacy Day, under the direction of The Arizona Bank's chairman, Don Tostenrud, recently brought businessmen and arts leaders face to face in a daylong Phoenix seminar devoted to how to make things happen. Executives like Diamond's department stores' Arthur (Jim) Baumann are becoming civic resources. Baumann now is heading up a small committee working to bring fine theatre to downtown Phoenix. Why would businessmen take time out to work for these community cultural causes?

Baumann didn't bat an eye. "I can't answer for the rest of business, but to me, a city without a strong arts program is a city without a soul."