Another Overnight Train: Kyiv to Warsawby Randi / May 14, 2018
It’s Theatre Thursday! Today we are talking about “Red” on the West End, playing until the end of July.
Although giving props to white men right about now is the last thing we should be doing, I have to give some (is it a mass noun?) to white male playwright John Logan for being the first person to depict serious art and the modern art world without making me scream from the cringe. (“Sunday in the Park with George” is not about modern art and it is still the best depiction of the artist and the creative process ever to exist in the history of the world.) Whenever I’ve watched stories about self-important artists, fictional or not, or even just gone to a modern art museum (ew and oh no) my main thoughts have been ‘oh my gooooood get over yourself’. The whole ‘I have something to say and this splash of paint thrown against a singed canvas represents that but also progress and our birth’ charade makes my blood boil. Maybe it’s just because artists are so often portrayed in pop culture as pretentious wankers who really believe they have something urgent to say but they really really don’t, like Sky in “Red Oaks” (great under-the-radar show, go watch it). And all of her insufferable artist friends man alive they are the perfect example of this. You just want to Cher in Moonstruck all of them. Anyway before I start ranting even more about all the various portrayals of arrogant, affected artists in movies and TV, let’s talk about this representation of a modern artist that I actually bought into and understood, the play “Red”, about Mark Rothko’s tortured creative process.
Although giving props to white men right about now is the last thing we should be doing, I have to give some (is it a mass noun?) to white male playwright John Logan for being the first person to depict serious art and the modern art world without making me scream from the cringe. (“Sunday in the Park with George” is not about modern art and it is still the best depiction of the artist and the creative process ever to exist in the history of the world.) Whenever I’ve watched stories about self-important artists, fictional or not, or even just gone to a modern art museum (ew and oh no) my main thoughts have been ‘oh my gooooood get over yourself’. The whole ‘I have something to say and this splash of paint thrown against a singed canvas represents that but also progress and our birth’ charade makes my blood boil. Maybe it’s just because artists are so often portrayed in pop culture as pretentious wankers who really believe they have something urgent to say but they really really don’t, like Sky in “Red Oaks” (great under-the-radar show, go watch it). And all of her insufferable artist friends man alive they are the perfect example of this. You just want to Cher in Moonstruck all of them. Anyway before I start ranting even more about all the various portrayals of arrogant, affected artists in movies and TV, let’s talk about this representation of a modern artist that I actually bought into and understood, the play “Red”, about Mark Rothko’s tortured creative process.
It’s quite surprising that the subject of a play that made me more sympathetic to the strife and struggles of tormented artists is Mark Rothko, whose famous canvases are exactly the sort that would normally make me comment ‘well I made that same thing when I was five um what’ so yes this play is an achievement. It’s easy to recognize a Rothko work because it’s the one with a smudged rectangle of one color painted on it and if you’re lucky you get a second smudged rectangle of a different color. It’s the epitome of art that I simply don’t understand. It’s not that I like or dislike it but there’s only so much you can ‘feel’ from looking at a smudged rectangle, you know? How do people pay millions of dollars for big canvases with just a messy red square on it? Happily, these are questions that Logan addresses in his play “Red”, which originally premiered in London and now is back on the West End with original star Alfred Molina as Rothko.
Molina’s Rothko is the kind of performance that makes you forget that you are watching one. It quickly lets you dive in and accept that you’re watching Rothko the artist work, without ever thinking about his acting. It’s a rare performer that can so completely inhabit the character like that, erasing any trace of the actor or his well-known past performances and just presenting Rothko on that stage so fully. I didn’t get to see Fred (as his friends call him) perform this role on Broadway after its premiere but I understand now how he could have won that year’s Distinguished Performance Award from the Drama League, the best acting award there is really. I get how this performance could have defined what acting is and should be for a whole season. Fred’s costar in this production fares well but not nearly as expertly. Alfred Enoch plays Rothko’s assistant, and so we have probably the first play in the history of the theatre/the world where 100% of the cast is named Alfred. So, Enoch’s playing the role that won Eddie Redmayne a Tony. I imagine Redmayne, a stellar actor, probably also disappeared into the role, while Enoch, though he does a great job, still showed me that he was Acting quite often, mainly when using props – opening jars, mixing paint. It was often a little too stagey. Honestly, I kept thinking of the part in “Oh, Hello” when they talk about using props and John Mulaney says, “Please, do WAY too much business with the phone. Really show the audience you’ve been working with the prop all week” and Nick Kroll says “Really make a meal out of it.” So that’s what his performance, while commendable, kept reminding me of. A little too unnatural, maybe because most of his career has been onscreen (although that’s over right now #wesforever).
The play begins with the new (fictionalized) assistant arriving for his first day of work. I just looked up what the assistant’s name is and it’s Ken and I’ve never been so surprised by a fact in my life. I don’t think they ever say it but also like who is named Ken anymore. I guess this was supposed to take place more than 50 years ago but were there even Kens then? Ken (I mean) arrives in a suit for his first day of work and that’s cute but his work is in Rothko’s messy, splattered art studio so Rothko’s like “that’s cute, go change” and I like that he was a no bullshit kind of guy like that but at the same time sooooo full of bullshit like when he talks about how his red glop of paint represents everything anyone has ever felt and all that. But wait, like I said I don’t actually think that’s all utter bullshit anymore, actually, because of this play. Watching the creative process and hearing the artist debate what his work means with another artist, kind of in their own Socratic method to get to the heart of the matter, was enlightening for me, a renowned modern art truther.
Mark and Ken work together to produce Mark’s famous four murals for the new Four Seasons restaurant in the Seagram building in Midtown Manhattan. Ken is shocked that Mark accepted such a commission, creating art for a dining room full of rich obnoxious people that he despises. But Mark’s hope is to destroy their appetite, ostensibly by making them confront their inner demons and fears and passions and maybe realize how terrible they are by forcing them to confront what they feel the red means. And that question, what the red means to the individual, is mainly what Ken and Mark discuss in between mixing the paint and prepping the canvas – the latter of which is the most fun bit of the play, and from the looks of the Alfreds afterward, the most exhausting cardio. The question of what the red means, and how different and complex it can be for each individual, and all that talk talk they make in my earholes about it, is honestly what got me to come around on the whole modern art thing. Well at least Rothko’s. Well at least his red series. There is meaning and such depth of emotion and personal history and tragedy and fear and hope behind those colors, even though it looks like a simple square of paint that could have been done by a child. There really is more to it than that. And while I don’t think it should be necessary for a play to make you appreciate art, I’m grateful that this one makes me a little less hateful towards that gallery across the river from me (cough *Tate Modern* cough).
Despite being far from warm, the relationship between the two men is the provocative aspect of the show. I love how time passes for these men – two years at least – and it doesn’t seem like it. Ken seems just as unsettled at the end as he did at the beginning, and Rothko is just as detached, despite their heated discussions. I bet that Ken never showed him any of his own work. Mark wasn’t that kind of guy, the one you show your work to and ask for his ‘honest’ opinion. It would be too honest. Yet it’s clear they care for each other; you just have to understand how the artist’s mind works, as I do now (laugh). Even in his final act towards Ken, Mark doesn’t seem affectionate or caring, but his actions speak much more than his words or demeanor. There’s so much more to them than whether or not Rothko can be a nurturing father figure (he can’t) or whether that’s even what Ken wants. And there’s more than meets the eye with how the action is staged too, like how Ken finds a superdrunk Mark with his hands in his paint bucket one night, an undeniable reference to his real-life suicide. This kind of subtle direction plus the way the characters communicate with each other all feel connected to the issue of the colors and how sensitive the interpretation of them can be to each person, how just the color red can reference an entire lifetime of emotion. “Red” isn’t a big important political play or anything; it feels like a pleasant but small exploration of personalities more than anything. But if it can say so much about art and moreover get you to consider art more thoughtfully and genuinely than you had before, then that seems pretty important.
INFORMATION
The toilets at the Wyndham’s are atrocious. There are TWO ladies toilets for the entire stalls/orchestra section. The line was insane. They need to refurbish and until they do, sit on an aisle upstairs.
Also in need of a redo is their box office. For people picking up tickets at will call (literally everyone), there was ONE person at a makeshift podium handling collection. It was so inefficient I wanted to scream. I can’t with this incompetence all over the West End.
STAGE DOOR
The Alfreds are probably the nicest people who have ever come out of a stage door. Not the most efficient – there’s no Zachs Braff or Levi-style assured handling of the crowd (they would line everyone up for easy photo-taking or just take your phone and do it themselves, pros) but they were just so freaking nice, not turning anyone’s request down, even when they clearly wanted to leave and some old biddy was asking for them to sign her receipts after they already signed her ticket stubs. I wanted to be like ‘you don’t have to do this you can leave now!’ but they were just the sweetest.
Molina’s Rothko is the kind of performance that makes you forget that you are watching one. It quickly lets you dive in and accept that you’re watching Rothko the artist work, without ever thinking about his acting. It’s a rare performer that can so completely inhabit the character like that, erasing any trace of the actor or his well-known past performances and just presenting Rothko on that stage so fully. I didn’t get to see Fred (as his friends call him) perform this role on Broadway after its premiere but I understand now how he could have won that year’s Distinguished Performance Award from the Drama League, the best acting award there is really. I get how this performance could have defined what acting is and should be for a whole season. Fred’s costar in this production fares well but not nearly as expertly. Alfred Enoch plays Rothko’s assistant, and so we have probably the first play in the history of the theatre/the world where 100% of the cast is named Alfred. So, Enoch’s playing the role that won Eddie Redmayne a Tony. I imagine Redmayne, a stellar actor, probably also disappeared into the role, while Enoch, though he does a great job, still showed me that he was Acting quite often, mainly when using props – opening jars, mixing paint. It was often a little too stagey. Honestly, I kept thinking of the part in “Oh, Hello” when they talk about using props and John Mulaney says, “Please, do WAY too much business with the phone. Really show the audience you’ve been working with the prop all week” and Nick Kroll says “Really make a meal out of it.” So that’s what his performance, while commendable, kept reminding me of. A little too unnatural, maybe because most of his career has been onscreen (although that’s over right now #wesforever).
The play begins with the new (fictionalized) assistant arriving for his first day of work. I just looked up what the assistant’s name is and it’s Ken and I’ve never been so surprised by a fact in my life. I don’t think they ever say it but also like who is named Ken anymore. I guess this was supposed to take place more than 50 years ago but were there even Kens then? Ken (I mean) arrives in a suit for his first day of work and that’s cute but his work is in Rothko’s messy, splattered art studio so Rothko’s like “that’s cute, go change” and I like that he was a no bullshit kind of guy like that but at the same time sooooo full of bullshit like when he talks about how his red glop of paint represents everything anyone has ever felt and all that. But wait, like I said I don’t actually think that’s all utter bullshit anymore, actually, because of this play. Watching the creative process and hearing the artist debate what his work means with another artist, kind of in their own Socratic method to get to the heart of the matter, was enlightening for me, a renowned modern art truther.
Mark and Ken work together to produce Mark’s famous four murals for the new Four Seasons restaurant in the Seagram building in Midtown Manhattan. Ken is shocked that Mark accepted such a commission, creating art for a dining room full of rich obnoxious people that he despises. But Mark’s hope is to destroy their appetite, ostensibly by making them confront their inner demons and fears and passions and maybe realize how terrible they are by forcing them to confront what they feel the red means. And that question, what the red means to the individual, is mainly what Ken and Mark discuss in between mixing the paint and prepping the canvas – the latter of which is the most fun bit of the play, and from the looks of the Alfreds afterward, the most exhausting cardio. The question of what the red means, and how different and complex it can be for each individual, and all that talk talk they make in my earholes about it, is honestly what got me to come around on the whole modern art thing. Well at least Rothko’s. Well at least his red series. There is meaning and such depth of emotion and personal history and tragedy and fear and hope behind those colors, even though it looks like a simple square of paint that could have been done by a child. There really is more to it than that. And while I don’t think it should be necessary for a play to make you appreciate art, I’m grateful that this one makes me a little less hateful towards that gallery across the river from me (cough *Tate Modern* cough).
Despite being far from warm, the relationship between the two men is the provocative aspect of the show. I love how time passes for these men – two years at least – and it doesn’t seem like it. Ken seems just as unsettled at the end as he did at the beginning, and Rothko is just as detached, despite their heated discussions. I bet that Ken never showed him any of his own work. Mark wasn’t that kind of guy, the one you show your work to and ask for his ‘honest’ opinion. It would be too honest. Yet it’s clear they care for each other; you just have to understand how the artist’s mind works, as I do now (laugh). Even in his final act towards Ken, Mark doesn’t seem affectionate or caring, but his actions speak much more than his words or demeanor. There’s so much more to them than whether or not Rothko can be a nurturing father figure (he can’t) or whether that’s even what Ken wants. And there’s more than meets the eye with how the action is staged too, like how Ken finds a superdrunk Mark with his hands in his paint bucket one night, an undeniable reference to his real-life suicide. This kind of subtle direction plus the way the characters communicate with each other all feel connected to the issue of the colors and how sensitive the interpretation of them can be to each person, how just the color red can reference an entire lifetime of emotion. “Red” isn’t a big important political play or anything; it feels like a pleasant but small exploration of personalities more than anything. But if it can say so much about art and moreover get you to consider art more thoughtfully and genuinely than you had before, then that seems pretty important.
INFORMATION
The toilets at the Wyndham’s are atrocious. There are TWO ladies toilets for the entire stalls/orchestra section. The line was insane. They need to refurbish and until they do, sit on an aisle upstairs.
Also in need of a redo is their box office. For people picking up tickets at will call (literally everyone), there was ONE person at a makeshift podium handling collection. It was so inefficient I wanted to scream. I can’t with this incompetence all over the West End.
STAGE DOOR
The Alfreds are probably the nicest people who have ever come out of a stage door. Not the most efficient – there’s no Zachs Braff or Levi-style assured handling of the crowd (they would line everyone up for easy photo-taking or just take your phone and do it themselves, pros) but they were just so freaking nice, not turning anyone’s request down, even when they clearly wanted to leave and some old biddy was asking for them to sign her receipts after they already signed her ticket stubs. I wanted to be like ‘you don’t have to do this you can leave now!’ but they were just the sweetest.
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Glengarry Glen Ross on the West End: Salesmen Can Be Pathetic and Also Monsters
It’s Theatre Thursday y’all! Today we are talking about Glengarry Glen Ross at London’s Playhouse Theatre, which runs until February 3.
I don’t really like David Mamet. Don’t get me wrong, I like him more than I like Pinter, but still, he’s not my cup of playwright tea. (I don’t really like any tea!). But I went to see the new London production of his eminent work “Glengarry Glen Ross” because Christian Slater was in it. I mean also because I like to see all the theatre but mainly because Christian Slater was in it and I thought if I got to meet him then I could be friends with Cher Horowitz in both of their primes. Also he’s a good actor. I am familiar with the movie, and I don’t love it but I understand that it’s important and worthy of others’ adoration. I was skeptical of how such an American play would do with British audiences, but fun fact, “Glengarry Glen Ross” (GGGR) had its world premiere in London! Who knew! (Another fun fact, Mamet dedicated the play to Pinter, because he helped make that OG production happen. What a small world of playwrights I don’t enjoy!)
I don’t really like David Mamet. Don’t get me wrong, I like him more than I like Pinter, but still, he’s not my cup of playwright tea. (I don’t really like any tea!). But I went to see the new London production of his eminent work “Glengarry Glen Ross” because Christian Slater was in it. I mean also because I like to see all the theatre but mainly because Christian Slater was in it and I thought if I got to meet him then I could be friends with Cher Horowitz in both of their primes. Also he’s a good actor. I am familiar with the movie, and I don’t love it but I understand that it’s important and worthy of others’ adoration. I was skeptical of how such an American play would do with British audiences, but fun fact, “Glengarry Glen Ross” (GGGR) had its world premiere in London! Who knew! (Another fun fact, Mamet dedicated the play to Pinter, because he helped make that OG production happen. What a small world of playwrights I don’t enjoy!)
If you haven’t seen the movie or weren’t in NYC in the ‘80s to see the Broadway production (which oddly won the Pulitzer Prize but lost the Tony Award, which happens a lot but still come on that’s like winning the Oscar and not winning the Golden Globe (I know I just compared my fave Tonys to the ridiculous Globes and that is heresy but even I can admit that awards mean nothing (except the Pulitzer, you want to believe that that means something))) (also omg the 1984 Tonys were LUDICROUS; GGGR lost Best Play to Tom Stoppard’s The Real Thing, which I don’t know too well, but I’m sure it was deserved, but more importantly Ian McKellen was nominated for a show literally called “Ian McKellen Acting Shakespeare” which like okay I know I wasn’t born yet but how did I miss that?? and worst part omg Mandy Patinkin lost for Sunday in the Park with George, which Sondheim didn’t win best score for? how is that possible? I know “I Am What I Am” is a seminal wonderful song but so is “Finishing the Hat” and omg “Move On” come onnnn and it lost Best Musical to La Cage Aux Folles too and I don’t know how I feel about that because La Cage is a great show too and it was probably super meaningful at that time to honor a story about gay men and I really could talk about that for a while but I will try to get back on topic), GGGR is about desperate real estate men in Chicago who want so badly to sell shitty real estate to support their meaningless, humdrum lives that they are willing to do terrible things to make it happen. The ones who aren’t willing to burgle and steal are still willing to lie to and cheat buyers and commit all sorts of shenanigans that prove their lack of moral compass. So, none of them are very sympathetic characters, and it’s hard to connect fully when that’s the case, and it’s even harder when it’s yet another story about how hard regular men’s lives are in America I mean I know it’s from the ‘80s but I’m tired of it. Ain’t you tired Miss Hilly?
The play opens with two characters sitting in a Chinese restaurant. The whole first act (an incredibly short 35 minutes, I mean what) takes place in the Chinese restaurant, which really made me want fried tofu but I’m not sure if that was the intention. First we see poor sad sack Shelley Levine (Jack Lemmon in the movie, who really can’t be beat he was the best) begging the office manager John Williamson for better leads (the Glengarry leads) so he can actually make a good sale. He’s older than the other salesmen and past his prime and you do feel a bit bad for him. Williamson, on the other hand, is cold and unfeeling but as played by Kris Marshall, kind of bland instead. You’ll know Kris as the British idiot who went to America to find girls in “Love Actually” and sang ditties about his knob and somehow managed to find hot girls because of his accent. That accent is missing here as he tries to do an American accent, which is fine, but it seemed like all his focus was on the accent instead of acting so he was very stiff and wooden.
The focus on keeping up their fake American accents was apparent with the rest of the British cast too. Scene two of the Chinese restaurant duos featured Dave Moss, the brash and aggressive jerk who plans to rob the office of its best leads and sell them to a competitor. He tries to convince George Aaronow, the least memorable character in this production, to join him, and threatens to incriminate him if he doesn’t. Playing George, Don Warrington was fine but I don’t know if the accent was tripping him up or if he just wasn’t good with stuttered interjections. His character has a lot of repeated words like ‘I – I – I’ that get interrupted, but it was clear he was waiting to be interrupted and that threw everything off kilter a little. It always bothers me when actors don’t have more planned in case their costars wait a half second too long to interrupt. You gotta keep going or else it’s so obvious that the timing is off. I remember in “Once Upon a Mattress”, which we did in middle school and it was horrible because you need more sophisticated actors to make that show not terrible, there’s a line the princess says: “But that’s my huckle—“ and then the queen or something interrupts her. Okay people, it’s clear she’s going to say huckleberry so just make like you’re going to say huckleberry and let her actually interrupt you. Don’t say huckle and then let there be open air. You get what I’m saying. Don didn’t have his berry ready.
So all of this was kind of boring and hard to get into because most of the characters sucked so far, but then in Scene 3, Christian finally shows up, as Ricky Roma, and it’s the first (maybe only?) truly enjoyable, spirited bit of the play. Everyone perked up not just because he’s more electrifying to watch, but because his character is much more fun. An ass, but fun. He’s talking in the restaurant booth to maybe a good friend – you assume from the conversation – and he’s just going on and on about his life and women and sex and it’s kind of wacky but entertaining, and then after this monologue he pauses, and asks his companion what his name is. It’s the one great laugh in the show and it really effectively establishes Roma’s character. Great scene, Mamet.
In Act two, we lose the Chinese restaurant for their burgled office, all grey and mediocre with crap and papers everywhere. A cop is there questioning everyone separately. This whole act mainly just featured a lot of yelling and cursing and I wasn’t really invested. Then our only likable character, Roma, proves that he is also a terrible lying liar when his new client from the night before comes by and says he has to cancel the deal, he can’t afford it. Roma tells him that his check hasn’t been sent to the bank yet so there is still time for him to think it over. But then the office manager comes out and says stiffly and woodenly that the check was deposited at the bank. He was misreading the conversation, but I hang on to the very improbably hope that maybe he was trying to help this poor sad sack cancel it with the authorities before the allotted time ran out and he lost all his money, so maybe there would be one decent person in this office, or at least one person who does one decent thing. Roma, clearly a dick, is so pissed that Williamson ruined his deal and, ya know, saved that poor man’s life with his accidental reveal, and you’re just like, dude, you are doing fine, you’re the best salesman in the office and pretty soon you will only have to share the business with one other guy, chill the f and realize how much of a dick you are to be mad that that guy won’t become destitute because of your lies!
This is the point at which I was checked out. Bunch of dicks on that stage trying to keep demonstrating how dickish they are or something? I understand that it’s like such an honest look at desperation in the middle class and men feeling bad about their small penii but I am so done with white male stories. I think we’ve passed this kind of thing as a society. At least I have. The acting, aside from the accent focus, was fine, and if you like the play and/or the movie it’s worth seeing. While it’s a decent play I guess, that is decently performed, it’s not very compelling, and I’ll admit that this is one case where the movie is just better. Also, I can’t help but think how much better it would be to have new exciting diverse stories being told in this theatre.
INFORMATION
The lobby at the Playhouse is the worst and you will be crammed in like sardines waiting for the house to open. I had to stand in front of a mirror and then I forgot and someone was looking in it and I was like DUDE what are you doing and she was like what, it’s a mirror.
AUDIENCE
I’m not going to talk specifics about what happened with our super awful audience, but I will implore you, everyone, to stop using your phone in the theatre. Even just to peek at. At the movie theatre too. Any dark space with other people, turn off your f-ing phone. There is no valid reason to use it in the theatre. Truly, there isn’t. I dare you to think of one. Please, by all means, comment below with anything you think is a valid reason and I will tell you why it’s not. If you are a doctor on call, you shouldn’t be at the theatre. If you have little kids and you don’t trust whoever is watching them, you should not be at the theatre and you should never leave children with people you don’t trust to take care of them I mean wtf is wrong with humans are we worth saving??
STAGE DOOR
This was THE BEST stage door experience ever. Every actor came out very quickly, like within minutes, and signed and took pictures if requested. It was so efficient and quick and lovely.
The play opens with two characters sitting in a Chinese restaurant. The whole first act (an incredibly short 35 minutes, I mean what) takes place in the Chinese restaurant, which really made me want fried tofu but I’m not sure if that was the intention. First we see poor sad sack Shelley Levine (Jack Lemmon in the movie, who really can’t be beat he was the best) begging the office manager John Williamson for better leads (the Glengarry leads) so he can actually make a good sale. He’s older than the other salesmen and past his prime and you do feel a bit bad for him. Williamson, on the other hand, is cold and unfeeling but as played by Kris Marshall, kind of bland instead. You’ll know Kris as the British idiot who went to America to find girls in “Love Actually” and sang ditties about his knob and somehow managed to find hot girls because of his accent. That accent is missing here as he tries to do an American accent, which is fine, but it seemed like all his focus was on the accent instead of acting so he was very stiff and wooden.
The focus on keeping up their fake American accents was apparent with the rest of the British cast too. Scene two of the Chinese restaurant duos featured Dave Moss, the brash and aggressive jerk who plans to rob the office of its best leads and sell them to a competitor. He tries to convince George Aaronow, the least memorable character in this production, to join him, and threatens to incriminate him if he doesn’t. Playing George, Don Warrington was fine but I don’t know if the accent was tripping him up or if he just wasn’t good with stuttered interjections. His character has a lot of repeated words like ‘I – I – I’ that get interrupted, but it was clear he was waiting to be interrupted and that threw everything off kilter a little. It always bothers me when actors don’t have more planned in case their costars wait a half second too long to interrupt. You gotta keep going or else it’s so obvious that the timing is off. I remember in “Once Upon a Mattress”, which we did in middle school and it was horrible because you need more sophisticated actors to make that show not terrible, there’s a line the princess says: “But that’s my huckle—“ and then the queen or something interrupts her. Okay people, it’s clear she’s going to say huckleberry so just make like you’re going to say huckleberry and let her actually interrupt you. Don’t say huckle and then let there be open air. You get what I’m saying. Don didn’t have his berry ready.
So all of this was kind of boring and hard to get into because most of the characters sucked so far, but then in Scene 3, Christian finally shows up, as Ricky Roma, and it’s the first (maybe only?) truly enjoyable, spirited bit of the play. Everyone perked up not just because he’s more electrifying to watch, but because his character is much more fun. An ass, but fun. He’s talking in the restaurant booth to maybe a good friend – you assume from the conversation – and he’s just going on and on about his life and women and sex and it’s kind of wacky but entertaining, and then after this monologue he pauses, and asks his companion what his name is. It’s the one great laugh in the show and it really effectively establishes Roma’s character. Great scene, Mamet.
In Act two, we lose the Chinese restaurant for their burgled office, all grey and mediocre with crap and papers everywhere. A cop is there questioning everyone separately. This whole act mainly just featured a lot of yelling and cursing and I wasn’t really invested. Then our only likable character, Roma, proves that he is also a terrible lying liar when his new client from the night before comes by and says he has to cancel the deal, he can’t afford it. Roma tells him that his check hasn’t been sent to the bank yet so there is still time for him to think it over. But then the office manager comes out and says stiffly and woodenly that the check was deposited at the bank. He was misreading the conversation, but I hang on to the very improbably hope that maybe he was trying to help this poor sad sack cancel it with the authorities before the allotted time ran out and he lost all his money, so maybe there would be one decent person in this office, or at least one person who does one decent thing. Roma, clearly a dick, is so pissed that Williamson ruined his deal and, ya know, saved that poor man’s life with his accidental reveal, and you’re just like, dude, you are doing fine, you’re the best salesman in the office and pretty soon you will only have to share the business with one other guy, chill the f and realize how much of a dick you are to be mad that that guy won’t become destitute because of your lies!
This is the point at which I was checked out. Bunch of dicks on that stage trying to keep demonstrating how dickish they are or something? I understand that it’s like such an honest look at desperation in the middle class and men feeling bad about their small penii but I am so done with white male stories. I think we’ve passed this kind of thing as a society. At least I have. The acting, aside from the accent focus, was fine, and if you like the play and/or the movie it’s worth seeing. While it’s a decent play I guess, that is decently performed, it’s not very compelling, and I’ll admit that this is one case where the movie is just better. Also, I can’t help but think how much better it would be to have new exciting diverse stories being told in this theatre.
INFORMATION
The lobby at the Playhouse is the worst and you will be crammed in like sardines waiting for the house to open. I had to stand in front of a mirror and then I forgot and someone was looking in it and I was like DUDE what are you doing and she was like what, it’s a mirror.
AUDIENCE
I’m not going to talk specifics about what happened with our super awful audience, but I will implore you, everyone, to stop using your phone in the theatre. Even just to peek at. At the movie theatre too. Any dark space with other people, turn off your f-ing phone. There is no valid reason to use it in the theatre. Truly, there isn’t. I dare you to think of one. Please, by all means, comment below with anything you think is a valid reason and I will tell you why it’s not. If you are a doctor on call, you shouldn’t be at the theatre. If you have little kids and you don’t trust whoever is watching them, you should not be at the theatre and you should never leave children with people you don’t trust to take care of them I mean wtf is wrong with humans are we worth saving??
STAGE DOOR
This was THE BEST stage door experience ever. Every actor came out very quickly, like within minutes, and signed and took pictures if requested. It was so efficient and quick and lovely.
The Light in the Piazza: My Fave Show is SUPES Problematic
It’s Theatre Thursday! Today we are talking about the debut London production of The Light in the Piazza, which ended its run last weekend AND which was announced by a staffer at Southbank Centre as “The Light in the Pizza will begin in 3 minutes” I kid you not.
The year before I studied abroad in Florence (“in Firenze in Firenze in Firenze in Firenze the painting of the world! it started then and there, and here we are!” if you don’t know all the words to this show you got some work to do), I saw the new Broadway musical The Light in the Piazza, and I was blown away by how gorgeous it was. I screamed and danced in my seat (in my head! not a monster) at the golden age-adjacent score, the poignancy of the emotional beats, and the breakout performance from the person who would become my ATQ (all-time queen), Kelli O’Hara. I loved the show so much I saw it again and I screamed in my seat “YUP DEFINITELY STUDYING IN FIRENZE AND DEFINITELY GONNA FIND FABRIZIO AND BE LIKE SELL TOO MANY TIES FOR ME FABBY!” (but in my head). So when they announced that the show was finally coming to London (only took 14 years) and not only that, but starring RENEE FORKING FLEMING?? Again, screaming in the seat, in my head. If ever I was overexcited for a show, boy howdy was this one it (it’s okay to talk like that because the characters are southern). And if ever I was going to be disappointed…well, dammit.
The problem is, well there are several. Overall, the book is problematic as all get-out, and the perfection of the Broadway production distracted me from noticing OH SHIT THIS IS MR. F GOES TO ITALY. (If you don’t get that joke you should watch “Arrested Development”.) This was also Z’s very first exposure to the show, so being cognizant of that meant I was thinking of how this production of this show worked as a representative for the material, and it wasn’t great. This show is PROBlematic as fuuuuuuck! (Z’s the one that pointed out the Mr. F thing.) (He was pretty much Lindy West for Love Actually about this show.)
So why is this show so cringey? Let’s share the plot. (NB the show is based on a 1960 novella and subsequent 1962 film so we can’t blame book writer Craig Lucas for everything.) The Light in the Piazza takes place in the 1950s, when a well-to-do southern belle named Margaret Johnson takes her daughter Clara to Italy. Clara is carefree and child-like, but looks to be in her 20s – except not in this production, because as played by Dove Cameron (which is a great name for a very Italian show, because it’s like ‘where is Cameron?’), Clara looks 14 AT MOST, which makes everything much worse. Clara meets a young man named Fabrizio (“Fabriiiiiiizioooooo”) and they fall in love and want to get married, even though they literally have had half of one conversation total because Clara does not speak Italian and Fabrizio only speaks THE MOST ADORABLE VERSION OF BROKEN ENGLISH EVER DOCUMENTED IN AN ART. He sings to her about her milky-white skin (“milky-hwite…milky-hwite…” that’s from A League of their Own not this) without knowing the word for ‘skin’ so he keeps saying milk and it’s the best part when done right and so ANYWAY, the kids want to get married even though they just met and don’t know each other and Margaret is like ‘that’s a bad idea, no’ even though Fabby’s family is like ‘This is great idea! Everyone marry now! we eatah the pasta!’ Clara meets Fabrizio’s family which includes his (hilarious) brother and the brother’s wife Franca who is the GODDAMN WORST. Franca is mad at her husband because he cheated on her (which is painted over as not a big deal by everyone but especially by the Italian mother who is like ‘you have no real romance or love if there is no deception and suspicion!’ weird take) so instead of having a conversation with her husband, she flirts with Fabrizio and keeps trying to kiss him, which rightly drives Clara into a fury, and instead of everyone being like Clara is forking right, they make her apologize for getting angry which made ME fly into a fury. And all the meanwhile Franca is this devil whispering bad things into Clara’s ear and it’s very troubling and wrong and Franca sucks.
You’d think a mother not wanting her young dumb daughter to marry literally a STRANGER in a foreign country would be enough of a reason, but this is the 1950s when all you want for a girl is to marry her off so Margaret needs a better, bigger reason to not want to SELL HER DAUGHTER PERMANENTLY TO ITALIANS. And boy howdy, she has one. Margaret keeps hinting and hinting at Clara being not what she seems and this is my favorite part of this experience, because at intermission Z said to me excitedly “I think I know what the secret is! Clara has been lobotomized! It’s like your other favorite show Next to Normal! It’s Next to the Piazza!” Even though Next to the Piazza is the best thing ever and I’m definitely going to write that mashup, I had to warn him that the real reason was not as interesting as that. No, we find out that Clara not only looks 12 but she acts 12 as well for good reason: because at age 12 she was kicked in the head by a pony and stopped developing mentally. She is mentally and cognitively disabled and so her mother, rightly so, doesn’t want to leave her in a foreign country for the rest of her life with strangers who a) don’t know that and b) don’t know how to take care of her.
Oh but she does! They get married! Happy ending! Such romance!
And this brings us to the most annoying parts of this show. For Problem A) HOLY FORKING SHIRT that should be an easy fix: Forking TELL FABRIZIO. This is not a secret you can or should hide! This is supposed to be her husband! What the fork is wrong with you people! Ughhhh. Isn’t this a CRIME?! Like can she legally consent? We need more information on that front and her future husband um DEFINITELY needs more information. And for Problem B), this makes me sad, because in the original production it was made clearer that the bond between Fabrizio and Clara was special, so special that Fabby instinctively knew how to take care of her. It’s shown through all his little actions, but only spoken of once. In this production, that one spoken moment was all we got, so it seemed insufficient. Rob Houchen as Fabrizio was absolutely the high point of this production, but I think the direction failed him in this regard because the whole show should have been constantly showing how perfectly matched they were so that this disturbing story was ameliorated the tiniest bit.
The direction failed in a lot of ways, actually, which made the book problems strikingly obvious instead of something I previously could semi-dismiss. There’s a big climactic scene when Fabrizio’s father announces the wedding is off because he sees Clara’s handwritten form. Margaret thinks it’s because the father thinks her handwriting is too childish (which is not a good reason?), but it’s because he finally saw her age and she’s too old for his son – she’s 26 and he’s 20. (I could have sworn that in the original production she was 29 but whatever.) Margaret’s reaction here was of relief: he didn’t find out our secret! That’s a TERRIBLE reaction – it shouldn’t BE A SECRET IF THEY ARE GETTING MARRIED. She laughs it off in her relief and the audience laughs and it made me angry again because it wasn’t funny and shouldn’t have been brushed aside. On Broadway it was still tense and more sophisticatedly handled; here it was like ‘oh it’s just that you think she’s too old haha! No she is mentally 12 is that better for you?’
Anyway they get married and Margaret reprises the most moving line to me, the title of the show. When Clara sings it first, she’s talking about the light being her love, for Fabrizio. At the end, on Broadway, it was the incandescent Victoria Clark watching her daughter get married and sharing that she, Clara, is her light. And it’s forking heartbreaking and wonderful (even though you are like BUT WAIT A SECOND MARGARET you still handled this situation like a real Mr. F). But here, Renee’s Margaret was like…trying to get Clara to actually look at the actual light in the piazza during the wedding ceremony? It was so awkward and not emotional. I mean I still cried because it’s the BEST SHOW but still.
Renee Forking Fleming (official middle name) may be the best soprano in the world, like literally that’s what the world calls her, but her foray into musical theatre has been less than tops for me. I mean, her track record so far is this and last season’s Carousel on Broadway, which is ALSO INCREDIBLY PROBLEMATIC. And with a classic gorgeous AF score! Why is Renee’s jam doing beautiful musicals with forked up books?? Why can’t her jam be feminist musicals, modern works, or strawberry??!! It’s always a treat to see her live, because yes ‘best soprano in the world’, but she kind of goes into Kermit-mode when she’s not at the Met so maybe it’s best she sticks to operaaa I know I’m literally melting into my desk chair saying this because SACRILEGE but it wasn’t…the…best. The rest of the cast was strong, especially Houchen and Dove Cameron as Clara, but I’m let down by Margaret’s storyline. She ‘s the lead role, Clara is featured. But it seemed like the opposite here, and that’s a directional problem. At least the gorgeous, classic, epic, romantic score still sounded pretty darn great. I love that they gave the score the full orchestra (courtesy of Opera North) it deserved — even though everything sounded a full beat too slow. (Fabrizio’s “Love to Me” was a goddamn dirge. Again, director (plus conductor.))
Regardless of how forked up I realized this show is, I still love it so much and it’s still one of my favorites so what are we even doing here, go listen to the original Broadway cast album and enjoy.
INFORMATION
Even though this production closed last week, I have to discuss how badly the Southbank Centre is managed. First of all, whoever was in charge of pricing this show royally forked up, because it was way too expensive and thus criminally undersold. We bought cheap seats in the balcony boxes (‘cheap’ compared to how much they were gouging for even super rear stalls, which in this enormous barn of a theatre is too far back to pay so much for). Because the show was so undersold, they moved us from the balcony to those overpriced stalls. Win for us! But, they didn’t tell us till we went to go to our seats about 10 minutes before showtime. We had LITERALLY JUST picked up our tickets at the main floor box office, but they didn’t say anything there. Why didn’t they say anything there? But the lady waiting at the door upstairs was the one with the info? SO STUPID. Then, when we went to the stalls, the show started probably 10 minutes late because we noticed at least half the patrons were being turned away and told to exchange their computer print-outs for Southbank-issued tickets downstairs. Everyone was saying that the ticket agency they bought their tickets from (likely discounted) said these print-outs were their tickets! So why didn’t Southbank communicate with the agencies to tell their customers this info?? Infuriating incompetence. But that’s all on management; the actual staffers working the doors here were incredible (and just the messengers). Southbank needs to get its shit together! And more importantly, it needs to fire or not work with whoever priced this show – it was the final weekend and I don’t even think the mezzanine was open. Regardless of how fucked up the book is (SEE ABOVE), that’s a huge shame for such a big gorgeous show and for this cast and orchestra. FOR SHAME! SHAAAAAME.
