“Big Fish” on Broadway: So Much Promise, Not Enough Spark

    You know how you hate going to stuffy smoky bars because it makes you uncomfortable and you hate making forced small talk and you just want to go home and watch TV but sometimes you go because you feel obligated or you just forget how much you dislike it and how little you’ll enjoy it? that’s how I feel about David Mamet plays. 

While I recognize that Mamet captures well the kind of unsettling dialogue and awful relationships that awful people have…who cares about those awful characters that I don’t care about? They give me agita and they’re always unbelievably unsympathetic and hateful and whoa sexist (I continually feel cringely bad for Zosia and not just because she is still on “Girls”). So, his plays aren’t for me because I don’t like being made to feel nervous and agitated and unsatisfied that bad people don’t learn lessons or get punished, so I extra don’t want to pay for these feelings when at my happy place, the theatre. It gives me the terribles.

But. I had to see “American Buffalo”, now on the West End at the Wyndham theatre for a limited engagement, because it stars Damian Lewis and John Goodman, one actor I love for how convincingly he can do an American accent (so far we are 2/98 this season on the West End, I’m keeping track) and one I love for being in nearly every cultural touchstone during my life and usually playing the dad, like “Coyote Ugly”. Such a great cast surely could assuage my tremblesads at the play itself.

Well. That’s a lot of pressure to put on them. Joined by Tony-nominee Tom Sturridge, they’re fine actors but they’re not miracle workers. Literally nothing happens. Yet it’s enough to show us how vile everyone is and how gross life is, especially when you wear a purple leisure suit.

Okay, let’s backtrack. John Goodman plays Don, who runs a junk shop, not a pawn shop, I think there’s a difference, but anyway it’s a shop full of funk. The overly busy, junk-filled, crazy crammed set is quite remarkable and effective, like as soon as the lights hit it, I got nauseous because ugly things make me nauseous, like how I get when I watch sitcoms that don’t star beautiful people. (That’s a joke that’s the Mamet residue talking.) That’s some good set design. Don talks to his clearly-formerly-drug-ridden and bedraggled young friend, or protégé perhaps, named Bobby (Tom Sturridge). We learn that they’re thieves, con men of sorts, even though Goodman is wearing old man glasses on a chain like a nice boy and a Mr. Rogers cardigan.

Then a past-his-prime ginger pervert in the aforementioned purple leisure suit waltzes in (like really I think he waltzed) to show off his enormous side burns (real) and his hella pornstache and the audience got visibly excited because it was Damian Lewis. I was so excited to finally hear an English actor do a completely perfect American accent for the first time since I saw Andy Nyman in “Assassins”. But he opened his mouth, and shooting out like keg-stand-fueled projectile vomit by a skinny little teenager at his first frat party came a Chicago accent. A pretty perfect Chicago accent that he obviously trained seriously for, but a freaking strong as hell Chicago accent. It was insane. Most people in the audience I am sure don’t know that Chicagoans have a very very particular accent and probably just thought he was having a stroke. But the strongest accent in the history of Chicago was coupled with over-the-top shtick and hamming and it was too much, super distracting from the shitty character and the shitty play. They should hang him in Iran for that.

Sturridge, meanwhile, adopted the very accurate lazy drawl and rubbery physique of a former addict trying to stay clean minute by minute. He also had a teardrop tattoo on his face so he wasn’t the most sympathetic person, even though he was the most sympathetic person on stage.

Damian played “Teach”, a professional “businessman” as they say repeatedly to convince themselves they aren’t criminals. But you could tell he was professional and real business-like because he was wearing that suit. The three characters discuss how a well-dressed guy came in the day before and paid $90 for a Buffalo head nickel, which is why it’s called American Buffalo. Wow, $90 for a coin, he’s probably a collector, they say. So they decide to rob his house. Naturally.

So the whole two-act play is Teach and Don planning this robbery and trying to get rid of poor messed-up not-all-there Bobby, because Teach doesn’t trust him. That distrust warps Don’s formerly fatherly view of Bobby and he turns on him as well, even though Bobby didn’t do anything wrong. Except I mean probably kill a guy in prison or whatever the teardrop means. They plan this robbery based on absolutely zero facts and they decide they need an unseen player named Fletcher to help them. Fletcher is apparently the ‘businessman’ to end all ‘businessmen’ (like literally probably end them), and if even Teach admits that freely, hoo boy, he must be wearing f-ing neon tails or something. But as Teach and Don wait for Fletcher to arrive at the appointed time for the burgling, Bobby arrives at the junk shop to tell them that Fletcher is in the hospital! Oh no! PS OMG, this is where I think the director changed Mamet’s words, because every single time any character referred to Fletcher being in the hospital in this scene, which is  A LOT, they said ‘in hospital’, which is a British thing. Americans don’t say ‘in hospital’, we say ‘in THE hospital’. Fletcher would have been in the hospital, not in hospital. And  Mamet is American so that was REALLY weird to keep hearing. 

ANYWAY, Teach obviously thinks Bobby is lying because he suspects him of spying on Don for this scary Chinese lady down the street who makes their bacon sandwiches every morning and gives them coffee and is suuuuper scary, apparently, sounds it. So based on this unfounded suspicion, Teach beats the shit out of Bobby for lying to them and trying to mess up their burgling, and Don just lets it happen. Bobby goes unresponsive, and Don finally is like, “Oh Teach…um…hey…sorry to bother you dude…bro…hey…maybe go get your car, maybe let’s take him to the hospital? I mean to hospital? This is really serious.” But of course they go on talking about nothing and doing nothing instead, resulting probably in further brain damage to Bobby. And then they find out that Fletcher really WAS in the hospital, I mean in hospital, and so they beat up poor Bobby for absolutely no reason. So after learning this information, Don again says quarter-heartedly, “Oh hey Teach…oh did I compliment your suit yet? it goes real nice with your sideburns…anyway…um…hey maybe go get your car?” THIS GOES ON FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES AND THE POOR BOY IS DYING. I have NEVER been SO CLOSE to breaking the fourth wall as an audience member and yelling GO GET YOUR F-ING CAR, TEACH! GET THE F-ING CAR! I was literally squirming in my seat trying not to flip my shit. It was INSANE. Finally Bobby wakes a little, bleeding from his head wound, and I think Teach left to get his car and I think they drive him to the hospital but at this point my surroundings were all glittery shooting stars produced as a result of my blinding furytrembles and agitation.

So I think that’s how it ended, they don’t do the robbery and stuff but I’m sure they go on to do something equally bad the next night. And that’s all. DAMMIT MAMET.

AUDIENCE: Pretty decent! I didn’t notice any phones, and I only heard a little whispering. I’m very impressed, London! BUT, I must warn you if you see this show (haha are you going to???) or if you see any subsequent show at the Wyndham: The Upper Circle is AWFUL. Do not sit up there, you won’t be able to see down to the stage. I don’t know what pissed off the architect so much when he designed this building, but you do not want to sit up top, period. We were in the first row of the upper circle, so that was good, but that’s because no one was in front of us and we could lean forward to look down. I don’t think the people behind us could see anything except the 100 old bicycles hanging from the ceiling. So crazy! Don’t do it!  

Last night, a show that defied all odds closed on Broadway, or really we should pronounce it “Br’dway”, as I and others lucky enough to see this show will forever do. “Oh, Hello”, a ‘play’ that makes you laugh even if you just repeat the title like an old kvetcher and fry that last syllable, should never had gone to Br’dway, should never have been the recommended pick of the most esteemed critics, and should never have been one of the funniest things its audiences ever saw. But it was! I still don’t know how to explain this show to people who didn’t see it, because it’s impossible. So I guess it’s kind of stupid that that’s exactly what I’m going to do now. Mostly I just want to document the jokes I remember for posterity, while bidding farewell to some of the most glorious hours I’ve experienced in the theatre, and in 2016 in general. It was a bright spot on an otherwise dark and gloomy year. Or, as we say now, “brit spot”. 

My uncontrollable laughter started from outside the theatre, because the jovial and game man checking tickets at the door greeted everyone by saying – you guessed it – “Oh, hello!” Adorable! The actual show begins (long interjection: it did close yesterday and so I should be talking about it in the past tense, but there is news that a recent performance was taped and will be br’dcast for a televisorial viewing!! Unlike with “Falsettos”, I’m beyond thrilled that I can see it again and don’t mind that I paid a godforsaken amount of money for our Christmas-week tickets when I can see it again for free) with Gil and George introducing themselves in front of the drawn red curtain, looking like a regular stand-up special except with two old geezers instead of the typically young white male comedians who dominate standup. (Of course, they are two youngish white male comedians underneath all that makeup and old-man hair and costumes of the insane, but they are so immersed in these beloved characters of theirs that I quickly forgot). Immediately we learn their schtick. Gil and George are goofy, they clip the first syllable of most of their words and stress the second one (“Br’dway”), which doesn’t seem like anything but it keeps getting funnier and funnier somehow, and they walk funny like old men. There’s not much more to it than that. Like Luke though, I was all in from the start. I’m obsessed with John Mulaney’s flawless standup (two on Netflix you must watch) and if Amy Poehler can love Nick Kroll, so can and do I, so I was primed to enjoy myself. But it was so much better than I thought it would be.

First, the two men introduce themselves to the audience in front of the closed curtain in a prologue of sorts. Nick Kroll plays Gil Faizon, “charmed I’m sure”, a down on his luck actor who didn’t book an important gig as the CBS mascot, and John Mulaney is George St. Geegland, a writer of tenuous ability who wrote the play within a play that the two will perform later in the show – about two old men who live together on the Upper West side, named George and Gil. The ‘real’ George and Gil are, of course, also Upper West Siders – “the coffee breath of neighborhoods.” George introduces himself by saying “for someone who is so frequently mistaken for a Jew and a woman, I am neither.” George and Gil traipse about the front of the stage just as you would imagine two elderly men with shoddy hips would. They proclaim their love for the theatre and their intentions to pay “homepage” to the great theatrical traditions. George mentions that it will be a treat “for anyone familiar with our oeuvre, which means ‘egg.’” They go on to boast about their Br’dway home, the Lyceum theatre, which has housed works by such greats as Tennessee Williams and his sister, Serena.
 
As they move about the stage, you notice more detail about their costumes. George goes for a musty professor look, with corduroys, a turtleneck, an old man sweater vest, and a heavy tweed jacket from which you can almost smell the mothballs and b.o. no doubt emanating. Gil is more casual in dark green pants of unknown origin, a brown leather jacket that looks older than he is, a pink shirt that screams Miami circa 1982 coming through the zipper of his pants, and sandals with white socks. I would have been hysterical even if they were silent. Every single movement Nick Kroll made was perfection. Just the way his resting face would subtly resemble a main drooler in a nursing home was fantastic. Mulaney was less developed in all the depth of detail that Kroll had, but still great. If this wasn’t a ridiculous comedy spoof Kroll’s character preparation would be award-worthy. So unnecessary.
 
Then the curtain rises to reveal an intricate set, with an exterior of an apartment building on one side of the stage and the detailed interior of an apartment on the other, plus a salon in the back. Gil notes to the audibly surprised audience, not expecting such a set for such a show, “This is the first time an audience’s expectations were exceeded by having a set.” They explain that they retrieved all the various set pieces from past shows that had been on Br’dway. Some came from an August Wilson play that they can’t remember the name of; that’s why the picture of ‘their family’ hanging on the wall is of a black family. The salon was courtesy of Steel Magnolias, of course, with its chairs with the hair dryer helmets attached and the wall of products. The trapdoor, from the Diary of Anne Frank. (There’s a lot of humor that is awful like that so you have to be along for the ride.) The geezers get the audience used to the serious theatre they’re about to throw at us (not) by going over some of their favorite theatrical traditions. George talks about how obvious it is when someone is going to die by the end of a play because they’ll cough in their handkerchief and then open it very conspicuously and it’ll have red blood on it. True! He of course demonstrates how this plays out, and as the dying cougher he holds up a blood-stained handkerchief for all to see. Gil demonstrates another way overused theatre trick, and one of my favorite parts of the show, the ‘one-sided phone call’, or as he says it, “the win-sided phin call.” Asking their (unseen/not real) Indian lighting intern Ravi, “one of those new kinds of Indians”, for melodramatic lighting, Gil performs this theatrical ploy of repeating information from an offstage source so the audience knows what you’re learning. First, you get a phone that no one would ever have; Gil produces an old-fashioned rotary phone. Then, you fiddle with it way too much ‘to show the audience that you’ve been working with it all week’. Then the conversation occurs as such:
 
*Ring ring*
Gil: Oh, hello.
*Pause*
Gil: Charmed I’m sure.
*Pause*
Gil: The police?
*Pause*
Gil: Oh, you’re the police.
 
I’m still laughing at that. It’s so stupid! Yet it was hilarious! That’s what most of the show is like, really. They share a lot of their backstory as friends and roommates and all their misfortunes and misadventures, and then they perform George’s play for us. It’s hard to tell where the play ends and the play-within-the-play begins, because nothing really changes. It’s still the two of them being preposterous. They talk about past successes and failures, and they give us a rundown of their goings-on from various decades, all of which seemed to involve Steely Dan music and, their favorite thing in the world, “c’caine.” They talk about c’caine a lot, and against all odds their repeated pronunciation of that word gets funnier and funnier.
 
The play versions of George and Gil resurrect a radio show they once had called “Too Much Tuna”, where they chat with celebrities at a dirty local diner where even the coffee is gray, and feed them freaking enormous tunafish sandwiches. At least I think that was in the play; like I said, it’s hard to discern what was written by George and what was the main show, especially because the gimmick of that radio show – on station WOLO (say it out loud) – is exactly what they performed for real every day. George and Gil sit down at their diner table and start their radio show, and glory over the greatness of tunafish. “It really is the queen of the sandwich meats,” they say. SANDWICH MEATS. Then they bring out their special guest for the show, to the audience’s delight. So every performance, a random person from the audience or, more commonly, the biggest celebrity in the audience would be brought up on stage to try to make sense of what was going on and what George and Gil are saying and try not to just sit there laughing hysterically while they ask if you do cuhcaine. At my show, our celebrity guest was Hank Azaria, which was a fantastic surprise. He talked about how he part-owns a horse, a ridiculous fact that George and Gil brought up later in the show. Hank also talked about how his brother was once asked to join the Ramones, when they were first starting. Gil responded, “I was asked to join Simon and Garfunkel, because I was equal parts Simon and Garfunkel.” The improv throughout the show but particularly at this segment is beyond impressive.
 
In the play-within-the play, or maybe in real life, Gil had a problem with raccoons. (Rickoons.) He somehow always found himself having relationships with them, and was currently embroiled in a tumultuous affair with a r’ccoon named Lisa (who runs the Twitter for the show’s surprise guests, for real). Somehow this led to them talking about Shakespeare in the Park – maybe that’s where they met, I can’t remember the logic of this show, I was crying the entire time. “Did you ever go to Sh’kspeare in the Park?”, they ask. They discuss “Sh’kspeare” and how overrated he is. “Sh’kspeare is such a hack. Romeo sees the girl and just does a quick take – ‘Oh, ya dead? I’m not gonna check if you’re just sleeping I’ll just kill myself.’ Hack.”
 
Who on earth knows or remembers how, but the performance of George’s play leads into another unexpected yet familiar theatre trope – the nightmare ballet. As crazy as it sounds, it looked even crazier. There was all kinds of crap happening with the lights and ghosts and set pieces and all of it was like an LSD-trip — which they touched on at one point, referring to an “LSD cult now known as SoulCycle”. They wake up from this insanity laying down on the floor, unable to move after what they’ve just been through given their advanced age. Prostrate (a word I imagine they would love saying and confusing with something close to it), they take turns yelling up to Ravi, the lighting intern, for help. It’s one of those jokes that is funny but somehow gets funnier the longer it goes on, once it reaches and then passes the point at which you go, annoyed, ‘oh it has to stop now, right?’ noooope. “RAVI! IT’S GEORGE. FROM THE FLOOR.”  “RAVI! It’s Gil. Charmed I’m sure.”
 
I have a vague memory of “Too Much Tuna” getting picked up for more episodes and so they celebrate their success with new outfits. Mulaney comes out in a very slimly tailored beige belted expedition ensemble which he perfectly terms “Pussy Safari”. Gil shares that all he aspires to own one day is a ‘thundercoat.’ “A what?”, George asks. “A thundercoat,” Gil responds. “For a dog. When there’s a thunderstorm, and they get scared…it helps them not be scared….Well they still get scared.”
 
This show had no right being as hysterical as it was. I’ll remember things every so often, like how Gil found himself out in the audience at one point and saw a young boy sitting on the aisle, and asked him in his normal voice, “Are you enjoying ANY of this?” Or how Gil once worked as a stand-in for mashed potatoes ‘so they could get the lighting right for photo shoots’. How do they think of this stuff?! I can’t wait to see the taped performance (details for the airing have not yet been announced) and I hope all of you watch it too, but really there was nothing like seeing this absurdity live onstage. Whatever’s in the Lyceum next has, somehow, astonishingly, inexplicably, big shoes to fill.
 
 Theatre:
The Lyceum Theatre gets my vote for Br’dway theatre most in need of a serious refurbishment. The only bathroom is down a staircase only reached from inside the orchestra, which is insane to begin with. But there are maybe 4 really old stalls in a bathroom lingering from the 1970s. Because of this, the theatre boasts the longest bathroom lines of any theatre. Be warned. You’d think the Shuberts could afford a little upgrade. Eye roll emoji.