Random Notes on This and That: 12/1/04

Today, some brief comments on the season's non-musical Broadway shows. The 2004-2005 semester commenced with Sight Unseen, which was widely viewed as the Manhattan Theatre Club's first success at the Biltmore, following the disappointments of The Violet Hour and Drowning Crow the previous season.

I had very much enjoyed the original off-Broadway production of Sight Unseen, and was glad to see that Donald Margulies' play held up well. Many critics felt that the production was let down by leading man Ben Shenkman's lacking the requisite charisma. I didn't have a problem with Shenkman, even if director Daniel Sullivan's production was fortunate to have him playing opposite as strong a performer as Laura Linney. Also notable was Byron Jennings Dinner at Eight, Henry IV, The Foreigner, who has become one of our more reliable character men. From the looks of this revival, Sight Unseen would appear to be assured of a long life as a regional perennial.

One had to feel sorry this summer for Peter Krause. He could have spent his hiatus from "Six Feet Under" relaxing on a beach somewhere. Instead, he committed himself to the taxing central role of Quentin in the Roundabout's revival of Arthur Miller's After the Fall, and, for his efforts, received one of the worst critical drubbings in recent memory.

I wish I could say he didn't deserve it, but for the problematic After the Fall to work at all, it requires someone with the gravitas of a Jason Robards or Frank Langella, New York's previous Quentins. Without a gripping central performance, the play becomes more irritating than powerful. It was difficult to determine whether Krause simply chose the wrong vehicle, or if he's one of those actors more comfortable in close-up on television than he is on a stage. Nor was I as taken by Carla Gugino's Maggie as many seem to have been.

Like Sight Unseen, I had seen the original off-Broadway production of Craig Lucas's Reckless and brought fond memories to the Broadway premiere, Manhattan Theatre Club's first Broadway entry of the season. In this case, I felt that the play was better served at Circle Rep's intimate Sheridan Square space than in a sizable Broadway house, where its wispy whimsy was harder to evoke.

Not that this was a washout, though. Without erasing memories of Robin Bartlett in the central role of Rachel in the original, Mary-Louise Parker's trademark manner and appeal were a fine match for the lead part. And there were no weak links in a company that also includes Michael O'Keefe, Rosie Perez, and a lavishly cast Debra Monk. Reckless still has its charms, even if it doesn't register as enchantingly as it once did.

I found Mario Cantone's solo evening of stand-up comedy, Laugh Whore, to be somewhat hit-and-miss, with the star's over-the-top, ribald antics not always as hilarious as they are occasionally are. In general, though, it's an entertaining, if slightly exhausting, evening. And with its extended riffs on Judy and Liza, it's an overtly gay occasion that may limit its appeal. Indeed, one can't imagine critics of yore like Brooks Atkinson or Walter Kerr sitting comfortably through Laugh Whore. But today's reviewers seemed to have no problem with it, which only serves to demonstrate that times have changed and that gay humor has become more mainstream. Laugh Whore will live on when it becomes a Showtime cable-TV special following its Broadway engagement.

The sleeper of the season thus far must be the Roundabout's Twelve Angry Men. As one who used to teach Reginald Rose's play in its original television-script form to high school students, I anticipated a creaky evening. As Michael Riedel noted in his New York Post column by way of demonstrating the difference between theatre in London and New York, while London was enjoying the wildly au courant Stuff Happens, about the war in Iraq, New York was stuck with Twelve Angry Men, about some imaginary jury deliberations in 1954. Then too, one wondered why Twelve Angry Men was being revived when it had never been an important stage piece in the first place; surely it had been well enough served by its television and theatrical film versions.

But never underestimate the power of the old-fashioned, well-made play, at least when it's performed as well as it is here. If Twelve Angry Men is inevitably schematic and of its time, it crackles in Scott Ellis's production, which is acted for keeps by one of the strongest ensembles seen in a recent Broadway drama. Boyd Gaines and Philip Bosco will probably be the ones who get the most Tony-time consideration, but just about everyone including Larry Bryggman, Tom Aldredge, John Pankow, Mark Blum, and Michael Mastro shines here. Ellis smartly embraces the '50s atmosphere and ideology, making Twelve Angry Men look like some sort of minor classic.

Meanwhile, at its off-Broadway Laura Pels space, Roundabout is offering The Foreigner. Just as one wondered what the Roundabout was doing reviving Twelve Angry Men, one can question the company doing a piece that seems more like a community-theatre/summer-stock/dinner-theatre classic than a play worthy of New York revival with a Broadway-level cast. One also wonders if the play might have been trimmed to more manageable length; for something this silly, it goes on too long.

It also takes too long to build up a head of comic steam, but when it comes, in a scene between Matthew Broderick's visiting Englishman and Kevin Cahoon's Georgia local, the play takes off, with numerous amusing episodes thereafter. True, there's a sit-com feel to some of it, and the more serious elements involving Ku Klux Klansmen and the Christian right that take over late in the evening seem almost to come from another play.

But The Foreigner is something of a guilty pleasure, and the audience I saw it with clearly had a good time. Personally, I was glad to have the opportunity to collect the play, as I'd somehow managed to miss the original, long-running off-Broadway production of the '80s. Matthew Broderick is just right for the shy hero, even if he continues to have a tendency to smile at his own jokes. Cahoon makes a strong impression, as does Mary Catherine Garrison as a local heiress. Frances Sternhagen is overqualified for the role of the owner of the fishing-lodge resort, but she brings a welcome note of warmth to the proceedings.

Two other entries had significant casting problems. Having been bowled over by the first Broadway production of 'Night Mother, I doubt that any team of actors in the play could equal originals Kathy Bates and Anne Pitoniak. Bates made completely believable the desperation that leads daughter Jessie to announce to her mother that she intends to end her life.

Edie Falco is a superb actress, but, even completely drabbed down, there's something innately strong about her, which makes it harder for her to convey Jessie's hopelessness. Brenda Blethyn offers a somewhat fussy performance that misses Pitoniak's movingly bewildered helplessness. That said, though, Marsha Norman's play holds up so well that the revival's final half-hour still packs a punch.

Some critics were so eager to welcome a play as intelligent as Michael Frayn's Democracy that they were willing to let the star performance --James Naughton as Willy Brandt-- off the hook. I found Naughton's work an insurmountable obstacle here, with the actor failing to convey the fascination that everyone else on stage seems to have for the character. Without a charismatic Brandt, Democracy can't have maximum impact.

As the East German spy, Richard Thomas does considerably better, but the evening left me wishing that they had brought over the London leads, especially Roger Allam's Brandt. Allam, who has been mentioned as a possible future Max in the London Producers, played Naughton's City of Angels role in the West End. Allam also created the role of Javert in the RSC/West End Les Miserables.

There's excellent work from Michael Cumpsty as the East German controller of Thomas's mole. But too much of the time, I found myself at a distance from the play's Cold War German politics, and suspecting that Democracy played better in London. As it is here, Democracy ranks as a disappointment.

Finally, two solo, or almost solo, shows. As Whoopi had been advertised as merely an updated version of Whoopi Goldberg's star-making '80s Broadway solo show, I was pleased to find that at least half the material and two of the five character sketches in the current evening were new.

But Goldberg does make some odd decisions. While the show's first half hour has her supposedly impersonating one of her old characters, the drug-addled street-cat Fontaine, the section devolves into commentary on the current political scene, and the character fades away as Goldberg herself takes over. The second character, the menopausal Lurleen, overstays her welcome. And the closing characterization --a New Age inspirational speaker obsessed with "Law and Order"-sees the show taper off to conclude with a whimper.

Whoopi remains her sassy self, and Whoopi still manages to be fitfully amusing. But like 'Night Mother, it was better in the '80s.

Then there's Dame Edna: Back with a Vengeance. For about twenty-five years, I've adored this self-appointed "gigastar"'s appearances on stage and television, and the latest installment is yet another treat. Unlike Whoopi and a number of other solo shows, this one which includes four giddy hoofers backing up the star, not to mention those audience members brought on to the stage isn't meant to have any redeeming social value. Yet Dame Edna somehow manages to make more of a comment on the ways of our society, particular its celebrity culture, than most of the others. And she does it without ever turning serious, as those others are occasionally wont to do. Back with a Vengeance is more sublime fun from a brilliant artist.