Dramatic effect

It is fair to assume that the Republican producers of "Country First," the four-day theatrical extravaganza that closed last night in St. Paul, drew this up differently on the planning board. These stage shows, after all, are intended as pageants of airy rhetoric ("Little Convention on the Prairie") -- heavy on spectacle, light on drama.

But drama is precisely what broke out in St. Paul, and in a page ripped from "A Star Is Born," the leading man was completely upstaged by his ingenue.

Sarah Palin, the "Thrilla from Wasilla," stole the show from John McCain on Wednesday night and left the GOP's meticulous choreography in shambles. The producers went so far as to change the stage arrangement to a runway that would get McCain closer to the delegates Thursday night. Something -- anything! -- that would create a fresh look for the complex character styled as an antihero maverick yet devoted to law and order.

For all the producers' best scripting, "Country First" demonstrated the importance of a rewrite man. On Monday, an off-stage hurricane blew away the first act; on Tuesday, Hamlet's Ghost (President Bush) showed up in a perfunctory two-dimensional performance and his sidekick, Dick Cheney, missed his entrance altogether.

Meanwhile, as happens in Chekhov, suspense built offstage, as Palin's narrative swirled into its own storm and her handlers kept her hidden like a bride. Her grand entrance Wednesday night suddenly became the unanticipated dramatic acme.

The atmosphere that evening developed slowly. It was impossible not to enjoy the coy surrealism of 30 Texans in black blazers and straw Stetsons swaying to Sly Stone's "Everyday People." Otherwise, the audience largely ignored the early acts -- a steady murmur competing against hapless orators sent out to warm up the crowd.

Mike Huckabee, playing the role of Borscht Belt comic, trotted out his best Catskill laugh lines ("Media reporting that's tackier than the costume changes at a Madonna concert." Mercy!). Mitt Romney showed that a good actor can inhabit a character and get good reactions, even though his lines are nonsensical.

Only Rudy Guiliani -- who did the dirty spade work for Palin -- concluded his speech without the de rigueur tagline, "God Bless America." But "Downtown Rudy" is a character out of Damon Runyon and the religious mantle has never draped comfortably around his cosmopolitan shoulders.

Palin's big entrance

And then came the moment. Like Eliza Doolittle entering the ball, Palin stepped forth to thunderous applause. Appropriately costumed in neutral tones that demurred to Cindy McCain's praying-mantis green, Palin traded on the poise of someone who won "Miss Congeniality" and the confidence of a TV sportscaster to deliver her lines.

Her narrative, with its themes of family and small-town values, was instantly nostalgic. Like the narrator in "Our Town," she walked through her folksy story -- her high-school sweetheart, the simple pleasures of hockey and snowmobiles, the family ups and downs, the tenacity of local politics. With her telegenic smile, spunky style and broad Western accent, Palin perfectly played the role of a gal who rises from obscurity to capture a nation's heart.

Only McCain's carefully timed entrance at the end of the speech seemed at odds -- this old man wobbling among the fresh young faces, grabbing a microphone to reassure the audience and himself that he made the right choice and then awkwardly exiting, stage right.

But it didn't matter, for Palin had usurped McCain's role in this epic theatrical drama. She was the kid fresh off the bus who "Goes out there a chorus girl and comes back a star" -- a real-life take on "42nd Street." Gosh, how swell is that?

The problem for the writers of "Country First" was that this show-stopping moment left little juice for McCain as he leaned into his final-act valedictory Thursday night -- new stage or not. But such is the unruly beauty of live theater. You never know what's going to happen. Even when it's scripted to the last detail.

Graydon Royce • 612-673-7299