Cindy's First Row Center

2009-07-09T19:27:00.001-04:00

RIGHTING THE WRONGS OF WOMEN PLAYWRIGHTS
A few weeks ago, in the art s section of the New York Times, there was an article about how few plays by women playwrights are produced in both Broadway and in off Broadway theatres. The most disturbing part of the story was that it was women producers who dominate the off Broadway scene that were doing the rejecting. This piece of information may have been fresh news for the Times readership, but it was old news to me. In 1995, after I became deeply involved in writing theater reviews, articles and also in writing plays, I noted the dearth of women playwrights. I approached Ms. with the sexism that was running rampant in the theater world and asked if I could write an article about it. They thought it was a good idea so they commissioned me to do take it on.
First I contacted as many distinguished playwrights as I could. A few who had managed to make to Broadway were loath to make any statements. It reminded me of the early 70’s when women artists feared to acknowledge that being a woman artist might limit their chances to be taken seriously. They were playwrights, not women playwrights. Most were forthcoming about the discrimination they had experienced. The real shocker was for me, the haughty treatment I received from the women directors and assistant directors of the off Broadway venues: the Second Stage, Lincoln Center, the Manhattan Theater Company and the Second Stage to name the ones in New York. I remember walking along upper Broadway with tears of frustration staining my cheeks after leaving an interview with one dismissive female director. Even out of town regional theaters many run by women also had the same attitude. Gender had no part in selecting playwrights to produce. They only cared about quality. It would seem that they agreed with Bernie Jacobs who I also contacted—there just weren’t enough first rate women playwrights despite the fact that Wendy Wasserstein had received a Pulitzer Prize for the Heidi Chronicles and Suzanne Lori Parks and Cheryl West had received many distinguished awards. Jacobs just told his secretary tell me to contact Julia Miles, as she was the only one who concentrated on the work of women playwrights. He wouldn’t even come to the telephone. I was so disheartened. It was the 90’s and the theater world still had not caught up with the art world that at least allowed that there was prejudice toward women artists.
I spent a great deal of time on that article calling women playwrights and theatre directors all over the country, but for some reason the Ms editor did not care for my piece. After so much work I decided not to give up and to continue to try to get the word out about how shoddily women playwrights were being treated by both the men and the women in power. I was therefore very pleased when the editor of the Dramatist Guild Quarterly, the organ of the prestigious Dramatist Guild, home of the most distinguished playwrights (mainly men who made up its board and voting membership), accepted the article. Some lesser-known women playwrights with whom I connected even did a panel discussion there. Now I thought I might get somewhere by alerting the playwrights themselves as to the injustice taking place in their midst. I can’t believe, considering how much of a fight it took to get the art world powers that be—dealers, critics, curators and collectors to admit their sexist evaluation of women artists, how naïve I still was. And it was the early 90’s Susan Faludi’ s book about backlash had still not come out. Feminism was this F world, an evil word, a diminishing word, a word to be swept under the rug. We were in a post feminist world were those strident unattractive old feminists were an embarrassment.
Yet despite all this, I thought I had broken through the wall of silence surrounding the disparagement of women playwrights. Was I wrong! The editor, a young man, was the worst kind of editor with whom to work. He kept finding fault with every strong statement I made, but instead of telling me what he wanted me to say, he insisted that I guess what he had in mind for me to say. I did rewrite after rewrite thinking that any piece about discrimination toward women in the theater was better than none. In the end he had made me suck the juice out of the work to the point where all its zing was gone. At the time, there seemed to be no other vehicle for the article so I let him print it his way vowing never again to have anything to do with this sneaky male chauvinist.
When I article finally came out, it was place in the back of the magazine with no mention of it on the cover. It was so brief, so watered down that I could see it would make absolutely no impact. The Guild had thrown the women members the tiniest bone they could find and succeeded back then to silence them completely. I am glad to see the issue of the lack of women playwrights being produced on and off Broadway once again raised. Perhaps this time there will be more women in the theater world willing to fight harder to rectify all this existing gender prejudice.

2009-04-19T19:54:00.001-04:00

Merry Mayhem in Sedate Yuppie Land

The God of Carnage

Reviewed by Cindy Nemser

First Row Center Blog

After a significant dry spell Yasmina Reza, best known for Art, her witty spoof of contemporary doodling, has done it again. However, this time she turns to hectic pantomime, most expertly performed by an amazingly adroit cast of four. She also uses rib-tickling jibes, to rain down hilarious destruction on the exquisitely tasteful digs of Michael (James Gandolfini) a wholesaler and Veronica (Marcia Gay Harden) a writer who is a specialist on African culture and currently writing a book on the genocide in Darfur. Their living room, part of a domicile in gentrified Cobble Hill in Brooklyn, is the height of yuppie understated good design, with a sleek white sofa and low black moderne coffee table. That coffee table, as well as the rest of the room, is overflowing with art books that broadcast the fact that Veronica is a highly cultured woman and to further indicate the civilized code that she and her husband Michael live by. To further express their rational liberal sentiment there are also two elegant vases filled with blooming fresh tulips in water and a home made dessert of clafouti to be served with espresso for the expected guests: Annette (Hope Davis) a wealth manager and Alan (Jeff Daniels) a corporate lawyer. However this charming but spare furniture is set upon blood red carpet and in the background is a mud-colored cracked wall that resembles the traces left by a volcano after a terrible explosion. This scenario, by the gifted Mark Thompson, who also did the costumes, is a brilliant visual warning of the mayhem what the God of Carnage has laying in wait for these disastrously matched people as the expected guests are the parents of an eleven-year-old boy who hit their eleven-year old son with a stick and broke two of his teeth, one a molar.
The quartette begins their interaction with admirably low voltage conversation, neither parents asserting they wish to cast blame or take seriously the antics of their obstreperous offspring. Indeed, Alan (Mr. Daniels), who just wants to forget about the incident, blowing it off as high spirits, immediately sets Veronica’s (Ms. Hardens) teeth on edge. The attorney also begins to infuriate the rest of the group including his seemingly put upon wife Annette (Ms. Davis) by constantly taking cell calls involving salvaging the damages brought about by suits against a major pharmaceutical miracle drug that has proved to be a disaster. Michael (Mr. Grandolfini) big and cuddly, at first appears good-natured, even willing to come to an amicable settlement of some sort but his wife, Ms. Harden isn’t having anything but justice, and after the desert is served, infuriated by Mr. Daniels’s indifference and Ms. Davis’s ineffectuality she demands some sort of reparations.
At that point the God of Carnage really begins to show its hand. Ms. Davis barfs all over Ms. Harden’s highly prized art books, and begs forgiveness with wide, cow-eyed shame. Her husband ignores her sad state and just keeps taking cell phone calls that eventually put her into a state of fury. She snatches the offending machine and tosses it into--guess where. Tulips, water and vases scatter in merry disarray all over the room. Mr. Gandolfini, at this time is frantically trying to dry one of the art books with a hair dryer but to no avail. His useless gesture just makes his wife even more enraged and she insults him. Now he too takes off the velvet gloves. He informs the other parties, especially his wife and Ms. Hope, that he doesn’t give a damn for their bleeding hearts and relates how he put a pet hamster out on the street to fend for itself even if it died because he had a fear of rodents and couldn’t bear even to touch one. Just like the mud cracks on the wall the veneer of civilization begins to crack among these four. Old grievances come to the surface. Ms. Harden and Ms. Hope are fed up, for many different reasons, with their husbands and their spouses mirror their feelings in one way or another.
When rum is exchanged for coffee and clafouti, the boxing gloves come on and physical, slapstick comedy is king. Ms. Hope continues to throw up into a basin she has retrieved from the bathroom; Mr. Gandolfini starts pushing his wife around; she wrestles him for a bottle of booze. Later she climbs on the back of the aggravating Mr. Daniels, in her opinion the minion of the capitalists who are indifferent to the fate of the African people of Darfur. And when it comes to the defense of their boys it is one couple against the other, but the next minute it is a regular boys against the girls show (think of the Lucille Ball show and the Honeymooners and then Punch and Judy.)
Ms. Reza’s play is no “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf,” but though it is basically bereft of an intricate plot, it is much more than just a sit-com. There is a point to this hilarious 90-minute farce. It uses marvelously orchestrated hilarious movement exacted by the brilliant director Mathew Warchus and four stunning actors as a means of completely desiccating the outer appearance of the civilized, morally observant life. Though, by a certain point in our existence, most of us realize that a large portion of the human race lives by the rules of dog eat dog while that same group pretends that “do unto others is their only creed,” it is necessary to be reminded that that is often the way things are and there is often not much a person alone can do about it. We can only try, even if it hurts, to make things better. Bless Yasmina Reza, and a terrific ensemble of performers, especially Ms Harden for making the bitter pill go down with a great deal of laughter. Mary Poplins sang, “a little bit of sugar makes the medicine go down in the most delightful way.” Ms. Reza’ proves that mirth is still one of the best forms of sugar.

Exit the King

2009-04-05T19:05:00.001-04:00

Exit the King

Reviewed by Cindy Nemser

Anyone who is mesmerized by wrenching death scenes such as those in such masterpieces as “Buddenbrooks” by Thomas Mann who depicts the agonizing passing of the matriarch Elizabeth the mother of the puritanical head of the family Thomas Buddenbrooks, or in the excruciating demise of the leading character in “The Death of Ivan ilyich” by Leo Tolstoy will find “Exit the King” by Eugene Ionesco totally irresistible. For two hours and twenty-five minutes Berenger the estimable and amazingly energetic Geoffrey Rush, the king, stretches out the author’s vision of the terrible visitation of the grim reaper as his kingdom rapidly disintegrates. As their world falls apart his lovely young second wife Queen Marie (the hyperactive Lauren Ambrose,) prefers to remain in denial believing that she will save him by an act of will. As these two characters fight the onslaught of death, the cynical doctor and priest both played by William Sadler just wish to get their jobs over, and the overworked servant (Andrea Martin) still trudges across the stage muttering complaints. Only his totally spurned first Queen Marguerite (Susan Sarandon) is resigned but still involved as she waits to play her part. It is she who will coax him by her commanding gestures and the calm yet forceful tone of her voice to take the plunge we all must eventually take. He walks through an invisible but fearful door into nothingness.
This absurdist play is basically a one-note pitch-dark comedy, with no plot to speak of. But it has a single compelling terrifying message. That message is totally abhorrent but it is also totally riveting. The reason why we keep on watching Berenger and his cohorts cavil and cavort as every segment of his kingdom, including his territory, his wealth, his servants and finally his two wives, disintegrate is due to the astute translation by Neil Armfield, and Mr. Rush, the bewitching direction Mr. Armfield himself and the terrifying strobe lit scenario by designer Damien Cooper. We are also completely bewitched by the superb acting of the entire cast. Geoffrey Rush outdoes himself as the king who will perform any kind of lunatic behavior, which includes every type of acrobatic stint in order to postpone the inevitable. Lauren Ambrose, his only beloved, counts on her pale skin and golden red hair to shield the king from his fate. She too is frenetic in her movements and frenzied in her words as she determines that her actions will deprive death of his prey for at least a few hundred of years. William Sadler taking his turn at impersonating a doctor and then a priest, simple goes about his business smugly making a cryptic remarks every so often as he attends to his chores, while Andrea Martin maid of all work just complains about her servitude. Ironically it is the majestic Susan Sarandon, the least loved and appreciated by Berenger who slowly and carefully carries him through until the fearful end.
This play is definitely a masterwork, and to my mind infinitely more absorbing that Becket, Pinter or the other absurdist playwrights, but I would only recommend it to those under sixty. At that stage in life death is still an abstraction, something that happens to people much much further advanced in the act of living and much closer to the act of dying. For those past those youthful years, for those who have seen beloved relatives and friends disappear, and feel their bodies fall apart; “Exit the King” no matter how exhilaratingly it is enacted is too depressing and too scary. At my age, 72, well- past the years of believing that death will never come, I recommend a light comedy, “Blythe Spirit” will do (true they all die at the end but they make it so much fun) and suggest that the younger crowd will find the “Exit the King”: much more to their liking.

Theater Review, April 15, 2008

2008-04-15T12:31:00.000-04:00

South Pacific

Vivian Beaumont Theater

By Cindy Nemser

Take a brilliant heart rending musical drama book that lacks even a moment of tedium. Add melodies that thrill as they travel to every part of your being and then mix in lyrics that on occasion rise to the level of the best of romantic poetry and then you have a magical Broadway show entitled “South Pacific.”

The musical, with a book by Joshua Logan, music by Richard Rogers and lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II was a tremendous success when it first hit the boards in 1949 when the United States, still flush from its World War II victory was oozing generosity and even ready to acknowledge that racism in a far away land was cruel (although sexism and sexual slavery was not even on the mental radar of the American male soldiers or European plantation owners.) “South Pacific” was the first musical to take up these issues since “Show Boat.”
And these problems have not disappeared up to this day. Thus the dark elements of the story are more emphasized in this production, directed astutely by Barlett Sher, than in the original presentation. For example, there is the immediate graphically depicted coupling of Lieutenant Joseph Cable, (Mathew Morrison) with the translucently innocent Liat, (Li Jun Li) the young, teen-aged daughter of the greedy Bloody Mary (Loretta Ables Sayre). Joe barely says “hello” before he is on top of her. Even though he later sings to her that she is “Younger Than Springtime” and behaves an ardent lover, in actuality both he and her mother have treated Liat like a prostitute. And even the noble French planter, fighter for justice and equality, Emile de Becque (Paulo Szot) has lived with a Polynesian woman, had two children with her, but we never hear he married her. Then there is our heroine Ensign Nellie Forbush, an navy nurse from Little Rock, who loves de Becque but can’t at bear the thought that he has slept with a “colored” woman.

But though these troubling elements provide the spine of the show, there is also so much light- hearted banter and fun-filled songs and dancing, (choreographed by Trude Rittmann,) that one forgets most of the time that these issues are lurking in the underbelly of the proceedings. The masterly use of lighting by Donald Holder and the lovely scenery created by Michael Yeargan, with is evocations of the gorgeous tropics a land of mysterious volcanic islands, lush vegetation and lovely glowing brown-skinned women with their long shinning dark hair also draws us into so much loveliness that we forget there are problems in this paradise.
However when the leading personae, clueless as they were beforehand, come face to face with them their efforts to fight their own prejudices and to take a stand against evil and ignorance is totally believable and tremendously moving.

What helps carry the power of this marvelous show to the heights where it belongs is the breath-taking talent of the leading lady Kelli O’hara who is totally believable and adorable as the young naïve Nellie Forbush. O’hara, with her lovely soprano voice and her deliberately gangly but agile dance movements, manages to embody a woman who has little culture and little flat feet but can still capture the heart of a suave, well-educated mature French plantation owner.
O’hara is fine in romantic duets with Szot, such as when they sing the immortal “One Enchanted Evening,” but she is really at her zenith when she belts out sunny songs like “Wonderful Guy,” I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of my Hair and “Honey Bun.” She is truly a phenomena as Nellie and the only actress I ever saw top her was Mary Martin, for whom the show was written, and whose work I was privileged to see at the age of 12.”

And speaking of that truly stunning 1949 production, even though I enjoyed the singing and acting of Szot, he came nowhere near producing the unforgettable achingly beautiful rendition of that most touching of lyrical ballad “This Nearly Was Mine” sung with tremendous power and emotion by the fabulous opera baritone Ezio Pinza. And though Loretta Ables Sayre tries to be sassy and brassy as Mary, she still seemed only “acting” the part, not embodying it. In the original musical Juanita Hall was just enthralling and totally convincing as Bloodly Mary and you believed absolutely that she had spent her lifetime on those islands cheating everyone. Her take on Bali Hi’a hit you right in the heart.

As for the rest of the cast, Danny Burstein is perfect in the role of Luther Billus. He is raucous but not gross and wears his heart on his sleeve for Nellie in a totally charming way. I also appreciate the way he handles singing “Honey Bun” in drag during the Thanksgiving show. Mathew Morrisson has a pleasant voice but not big enough to carry you away. Liat’s handkerchief dance is a delightful slice of choreographic ingenuity.

However if only O’Hara and Burstein are over-the-top memorable, it really doesn’t matter. It is the show itself that captivates, that brings back the thrill of great romantic moments, that makes your youth spring up before your eyes, that also tugs on your patriotic allegiance in an honest inspiring way. At the end of the show as the soldiers in formation get ready to move out, possibly to their doom, ironically singing one of the show’s peppy tunes, tears came to my eyes. I can’t remember the last time I actually cried out of pride in my country and the rightness of fighting for something worthwhile.. I continued to bawl happily right to the last minute as Nellie and Emile and the children are miraculously united.

2008-04-15T12:29:00.000-04:00

Gypsy

St. James Theatre

By Cindy Nemser

From the moment you see Patti Lupone striding up the aisle and hear her blasting “Sing out Louise,” you know you are in for several hours of riveting entertainment. As the quintessential obsessed stage mother Lupone is the first to totally incorporate the mesmerizing qualities of this complex, driven woman since the original Mamma Rose, Ethel Merman, for whom the show was written, brought her to life.

Lupone is in late middle age, somewhat on the stocky side, but she still has a curvy figure, sexy legs, which she uses to seduce men she can use, and most of all she is an inferno of boundless energy that never lets up and never burns out. Determined to put June, her talented singing dancing daughter on the stage, she refuses to admit failure when the girl escapes tyrannical grasp. Instead of mourning her loss, Rose immediately focuses on her other daughter the shy Louise (Laura Benanti) who up until then she has basically seen as a prop for her gifted sister. And Rose accomplishes the miracle with her timid girl; she transforms her into Gypsy Rose Lee, the most celebrated strip tease artist of the period: However her success proves to be hollow. Louise eventually gains confidence, becomes her own person and discards her. And to make matters worse, Herbie the flawlessly astute Boyd Gaines, the man she loves, breaks out of her obit too, driven away by her insatiable need for fame.

There is no question that the story based, on the memoirs of the famous stripper Gypsy, is a grabber--a tale of the ambition gone wild and the eternal conflict between the generations, especially the generations of mothers and daughters. However, without the awesome artistry of the creative team of Arthur Laurents, who wrote the book (and now in his eighties directs this revival), Julie Styne, who composed the haunting melodies; the young Stephen Sondheim, who authored the lyrics for songs that both stand on their own, yet never miss a beat in moving the narrative along; and Jerome Robbins who choreographed, the entrancing dance episodes, this musical masterpiece could never have attained the world wide acclaim it certainly warrants

And, to their credit fabulous the lead performers as well as the supporting cast make excellent use of the stunning material the creators have handed down to them. Lupone, who finally has learned to enunciate impeccably, has the audience totally rooting for her when she belts out “Everything’s Coming Up Roses,” even in the face of disappointment and frustration. She also charms when she displays her softer side in her ballads ”Some People” and “Small World” which she sings with Gaines. But of course it is her cut to the heart rendition of “Rose’s Turn” that gives Lupone her triumph and maybe her Tony as well. As her name flares up across the screen behind her, thanks to the magical skill of lighting designer Howell Binkley, and she sings from the depth of her being her of her suppressed abilities and hungers, the audience for a short time is one with the image of Rose as a star. Then, the lights go off and she is just an abandoned old woman no good to anyone least of all herself our hearts ache for her, even though we know she is self-centered steamroller. Some critics interpret narcissistic, embittered Rose as a symbol of the demise of American’s can-do optimism and also the signal of the end of the great golden age of Broadway musicals 1950’s. With the exception of a the up- beat sentimental shows like those of Jerry Herman, they may be right.“

However there is more to Gypsy than the singing and acting of diva Lupone. There is the incredibly inventive Boyd Gaines who embodies a sly sexy honey of a man who opts for real life when he realizes that the party (in his case vaudeville) is over. There is also the scintillating Laura Benanti (Louise) whose loveliness and feminine appeal shines through even though it is encased in shabby ill-fitting masculine clothes and gawky movements for most of the evening. Even though she is the Cinderella of the story, you know her prince is coming when she imagines herself twirling about in the arms of Tony Yazbeck (Tulsa) an outstanding dancer who has the ability to create enchantment as he performs Robbins’s exquisite piece of choreography to “All I Need Is The Girl. And sure enough, our self-effacing wall flower is transformed in the end into a luscious, super sexy glamour puss with the world at her feet, who can sing out “Let Me Entertain You” with as much confidence as her multi-gifted sister, Dainty June (Leigh Ann Larkin) who is terrific performing the terrible “act” concocted by her clueless mother, but a little bit too much of a one-note surly teen in her off stage sessions.

However, this minor quibble aside, “Gypsy” is a powerhouse of a show in every way. The deliberately tattered curtains of the sleazy third run theaters and shabby boarding houses conjured up by James Youmans and the ingenious and hilarious costumes created by Martin Pakledinaz, included a cow with oodles of charm, are a perfect fit for this disintegrating world.

Though this show spins out a painful story and even leaves a bit of a sour taste in one’s mouth, it is still irresistible. There is certainly no conventional fairy tale happy ending and there is plenty of heartache, resentment and unfulfilled desire. Rose is bitter as happens with people who try to gain their happiness by living through other people. Rose seems fearless, but in actuality she is terrified of standing up for herself and living her own life. But she is by no means worthless. Her force and stubbornness gave us two unforgettable entertainers: June Havoc, a theater and film star and the totally unique Gypsy Rose Lee both of whom chose “Let Me Entertain You” as their manta.

2007-06-03T20:39:00.000-04:00

I went to the Alice Neel movie. The filmmaker actually flashed had our portrait "Cindy Nemser and Chuck" on screen for a second as well as her amazing portrait of John Perreault displaying every inch of himself. There were other paintings of course, but none of the subjects were identified or any connection made of their relation to the artist and Alice, aside from her commissions, was very particular as to whom she painted. She saw herself as a collector of souls depicting the human comedy. The movie was of great interest to me because I could fill in all the facts of her life and art that the film left out. But the friend who came with me to the movie did not know Alice's work or history so she did not find it scintilating and I could see why. The filmmaker, her grandson Andrew Neel had some sort of an ax to grind with his father Hartley Neel and used this film about his great artist grandmother to continue to attack him. The art historians who were brought in to comment on her art were unfortunately dull academcians. If the film had been done by a more objective filmmaker it could gave been galvanizing Alice Neel was one of the most astute and gifted artists that I ever met and her life was made for a great novelist of the nineteenth century like Balzac or Zola.

A Spanish Play Falls Flat

2007-02-27T11:51:00.000-05:00

"A Spanish Play"

By Yasmina Reza at the Classic Stage Company

136 East 13^th Street

Box Office 212 352-3207

Yasmina Reza’s play brilliant play “Art,” appeared on Broadway in 1994, was, on the surface a wry, witty commentary on different attitudes towards contemporary artistic avant garde. However it soon became apparent that the deeper, more meaningful subject of the play was the fragility of human friendship. There was much excitement about this French playwright’s début. It seemed a fresh new talent had made its appearance. Sadly her next work “Life X 3,” 2000, about the lives of rather mundane people was flat, a comedown from the champagne sparkle of her first play. It had a few amusing moments, but it was not much more than trivial.

Now with “A Spanish Lesson,” originally written in 2004, Reza’s talent seems to have evaporated. She has fallen into the pit of imitating the absurd playwrights of the past, most particularly Pirandello and his ever-alluring “Six Characters in Search of an Author.” She has also thrown in a little Brecht and Goddard for good measure. The result is two hours of sheer monotony. It is clear to me that the author is in dire need of fresh exciting new material. Maybe she needs to get out and take a job in Wal Mart or Starbucks. It is a wonder how such commanding talents as the internationally acclaimed director John Turturro, the ultra witty David Ives, who made his name in the brilliant “All in the Timing,” and above all the four time Tony winner Zoe Caldwall get involved with this mess.

What we get in “the Spanish Play ”is a play with in a play. The inside play is a kitchen sink fiasco made up of a long suffering mother Pilar (Zoe Caldwell) her two self-centered, neurotic, ungrateful actress daughters Aurelia (Linda Emond) and Nuria (Katherine Borowitz,) who continually swat at each other, their mother, their mothers much younger fiancé Fernan (Larry Pine) and Mariano, the husband (Denis O’Hare) of Nuria. The mother, the daughters and the husband claw at each other every chance they get. The fiancé tries to keep the piece. Occasionally, but rarely, there are moments of tenderness between the elderly Pilar and her completely devoted Feran as well as between the two fiercely competing sister actresses, one famous, the other unknown. But loving tender relationships are hardly the core of this story.

This is a house of miserable Bickersons where the anger, just palpitating under the surface of each characters collection of neurosis and discontents, is ready to erupt like a firecracker at any moment even to the point of inducing an act of physical violence. In this play dysfunctional family just shrieks out at the audience every chance it gets.

But the tiresome display of ill will constantly enacted by the various characters, which creates no real story line is, by far, the best of this miserable drama. Even the boring discussion of building management between Ferman and Mariano which seemed to go on interminably was more palatable then when the actors stepped out of character to natter on and on about the excruciatingly difficult life they experienced as actors. And this occurred all too frequently in this two-hour play, which heaven help me, had no intermission.

I especially hated the performance of Denis O’Hare, who when he broke the fourth wall and brought his troubles directly to the audience, took on the part of a mad man, gurgling, blathering, stomping about the stage, throwing his arms about helter-skelter like a manipulated puppet, which made him appear to be a man inflicted with a severe muscular disorder. Most of the other performers were not much better. We had to watch Nuria act out a scene from the little play she was doing in an obscure theater. She did it over and over and each time she showed little improvement. And to make it all worse all this activity frequently was projected on a large screen via video at the same time it was occurring so it was like seeing the play in tandem and not knowing where to look from one minute to the next. Of course this was supposed to be savvy, but it only added to the dissonance and confusion. What were these people thinking?

Pity me! I was in the center of the aisle, so I had to endure the whole thing form beginning to end.

However, I have made a promise to myself. If I find myself trapped viewing a play, be it musical or drama that makes me want to tear out my fingernails, I am leaving, even if I have to simulate a heart attack. I too can become part of the play.

A Very Common Procedure that Wrenches the Heart

2007-02-22T13:03:00.000-05:00

“A Very Common Procedure”

Lucille Lortell Theater located at 121 Christopher Street

“A Very Common Procedure,” written by Courtney Baron, is a heart-wrenching play with a theme that is universal, has attention commanding dialogue, and three fine actors who give their characters enough dimension so that we pity and empathize with them. It is directed briskly, with an excellent sense of pace, by Michael Greif

Carolyn and Michael Goldenhersberg, (Lynn Collins) and (Stephen Kunken) have lost a premature baby due to a misstep by Dr. Anil Patel (Amir Arison) an inexperienced pediatrician surgeon who was supervised by during the procedure by a more experienced senior practitioner. . The loss of the baby is devastating to the Goldenhersches. We can see the depth of their despair from contrasting flashbacks where the couple reveled in their anticipation of being parents, announcing their joy to their families and friends.

After the death both mourn, but Carolyn can find no peace. Haunted by the idea that somehow she was responsible for the child’s death, she withdraws from her needy, grieving husband and becomes involved sexually with Dr Patel who is an American born Indian. She has taken up the idea that getting him to tell her about himself and getting emotionally and physically will help her to understand her child’s death. Her need to be with him becomes an obsession. She sets about to seduce him. The doctor is loath to get involved with her, but she throws herself at him and he cannot help but respond to her terrible anguish and her pale blonde good looks so different from the women of his own culture.

Carolyn still loves her husband and doesn’t want to leave him, but she cannot bear to hold him close, comfort him or be intimate with him. She thinks that he too shares in her guilt for not being careful enough of the baby’s well being. Of course, Michael finds out about her affair with the doctor and an achingly painful scene is played out in Patel’s office. For Carolyn there is no solution or resolution even though both men shower her with love and comfort. She is a soul lost in the hell of self-blame and no one can offer her peace. She still loves Michael, but she cannot abide his presence. She is like one of benighted mournful lovers who inhabit the first ring of Dante’s “Inferno” who are forever tossed about by the wind trying to reach the loved one, but with no success.

As I watched this play, I was touched and sad and full of pity for all the characters, even the earnest doctor whose life was so empty and lonely when he was not at work. I did not find this play in the least boring, even when the actors used the device of speaking directly to the audience. Mastering of the breaking of the fourth wall without being tedious or distancing the audience from the drama of the play takes a highly accomplished playwright.

However, though I thoroughly enjoyed the play and found the actors totally convincing, after it was over and I started to think about it, I realized that the story didn’t quite make sense. I put myself in the place of the middle class, well-educated parents, and I couldn’t believe that they would put their baby in the hands of a doctor who had only performed the necessary procedure five times. It was inconceivable that they would not demand the most experienced doctor on the staff and if that he or she were not available they would immediately take the baby by ambulance to another hospital.

That flaw in the plotting of the drama, somewhat eroded my pleasure in seeing it. Plotting is hard work, but for a realist play, which “Procedure” is, to become a completely convincing masterwork, it must be painstakingly thought out. The playwright cannot rely on shortcuts like untenable actions to manufacture his drama.

That being said, I would still recommend a visit to “A Very Common Procedure,” even with its imperfect storyline, because it has excellent writing and right on the money direction, both of which make for a totally enjoyable theatrical experience