Weeding garden recently, mind idling in low gear, I caught myself feeling I’d met John Lennon last night. I’d liked him, abrasive and troubled though he was. I’d regretted a gun-crazed culture that had shot him, I had shared a glimpse of his vivid, almost charming craziness.

Actually, I never met John Lennon, of course, but I had, the night before, seen Jak Peters’ performance of Lennonism.

I don’t really care for celebrity impersonations, and I like the Beatles the wrong way, with the volume down because loud sound hurts my ears. But Peters’ Lennon is a truly extraordinary feat of acting.

I had that eerie, rare, raw experience the best of theater sometimes offers: The character on stage becoming an actual person,a presence as strong as a friend or an edgy kin. The tireless, sustained energy of Peters’ performance kept coming at us in waves, breakers, roarers, punctuated by moments of a twitch or a shrug and stare loaded with vulnerability — Lennon aware of being himself. Actor and role were fused. As the Brits say, I was gobsmacked!

And it happened up in Madison. The big cities have most of the lights, but not all!

Dick Sewell

Waterville

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