'Cat On A Hot Tin Roof': Another Tepid Revival

If you want to get a sense of why Cat On A Hot Tin Roof is considered to be one of Tennessee Williams’s great accomplishments as a playwright, you might be better served by bypassing the current Broadway production and reading a copy of the script instead. 

This is a play that needs a deft hand at the helm, someone who can guide the actors into making subtle and unexpected changes in tone and mannerisms. Despite the grand themes the play wrestles with, at its heart this is a domestic drama.  As members of the audience, we must feel we are eavesdropping on some very painful and personal conversations between husband and wife and between father and son.  These moments of rare honesty occur in short outbursts, a sudden dropping of masks while playing out expected and well-practiced roles. It’s not for nothing that “mendacity” is one of the recurrent themes.      

A current example of how this kind of directing can be seen to powerful effect is in Ruben Santiago-Hudson’s handling of August Wilson’s The Piano Lesson at Signature Theatre.  There the audience is privy to some very private and deeply moving conversations that occur unexpectedly and with little fuss. It is because they are unexpected that we feel their power. 

 

But the director of Cat On A Hot Tin Roof, Rob Ashford, is best known for his work as a choreographer and director of musicals—big numbers, big moves, lots of bombast.  There is no subtlety to this overly busy and noisy production, and the shadings and shifts in tone are completely lost. 

In addition, it is essential to have the right actors in the key roles of Margaret (“Maggie the Cat”) and of Big Daddy.  Each of these characters dominates a complete section of the play. 

Act I belongs to Maggie, who has dragged herself up from poverty and has married into a very wealthy family, lorded over by her father-in-law, Big Daddy.  Maggie’s husband Brick has fallen into a state of alcoholism and self-loathing, and blames Maggie for most of his problems.  The two have not shared a civil conversation or a bed for some time, but are now staying at the family manse to honor Big Daddy on his 65^th birthday.

Maggie is in their bedroom getting changed and trying to make conversation with her taciturn husband, who has broken a leg and has been holing himself in the room the whole evening, trying to drink himself into a stupor, the “click” that will bring him peace.

In the script of the play, Williams describes Maggie as “a pretty young woman, with anxious lines in her face…[with a] voice [that] is both rapid and drawling.  In her long speeches, she has the vocal tricks of a priest delivering a liturgical chant…”

As played by Scarlett Johansson, unfortunately, the best we can say about her is the opening phrase; she is a pretty young woman.  Now, Ms. Johansson really can act; she did splendidly in the brilliant production of Arthur Miller’s A View From The Bridge a couple of years back and walked away with a Tony Award for her efforts.  But she is unable to pull off the role of Maggie the Cat, in whom we need to see the mix of sultriness, intelligence, hunger, and ambition that Vivien Leigh gave to Ms. Johansson’s namesake, that other Scarlett in Gone With The Wind. 

By design—and because the only other person in the room has precious little to say—Maggie has to own Act I.  Her speeches need to encompass twittery filling-in-the-silent-spaces chit-chat and then shift, with just the right timing and tone, for what should be gaspingly stunning lines, like this one:  “I’m not living with you.  We occupy the same cage.” 

She also has one of the great exit lines of all time, in response to Brick’s sarcasm:

Brick:  How on hell on earth do you imagine that you’re going to have a child by a man who can’t stand you?

Maggie:  That’s a problem that I will have to work out.

Unfortunately, while the lines may be stunning, Ms. Johansson’s performance isn’t. Indeed, I was rather sympathetic to Benjamin Walker’s exasperated, passive aggressive portrayal of Brick, as his wife rattled on and on like a chattering magpie.

Things liven up somewhat in Act II, which is dominated by Ciarán Hinds, the Irish actor who has taken on the larger-than-life role of Big Daddy.  Mr. Hinds, whose theater work has been confined mostly to Ireland and England, seems to be the one cast member who is comfortable in the rather cavernous Richard Rodgers Theater.  (Everyone else, including Ms. Johansson, seems to be shouting in order to be heard in the upper reaches of the rear mezzanine.)  I love Act II, with its portrayal of a father and son trying to get at some semblance of truth in a world dominated by falsehoods and subterfuge.  Thanks to Mr. Hinds’s skillful performance, we can see in Big Daddy both the surface crudeness for which he is known, and the (nearly) unconditional love he has for his lost son. 

Much has been made of the relationship between Brick and his dead friend Skipper.  Both Maggie and Big Daddy assume there had been a sexual relationship, and that Brick is in a state of perpetual and unmitigated mourning over the loss of his lover. Mr. Ashford, the director, fed into this interpretation during some previews by having Skipper (Jordan Dean) appear on stage, visible only to Brick.

By opening night, Skipper, I’m told, thankfully disappeared. Which is as it should be.  Brick’s descent into darkness and self-destruction was forged not in sexual longing but in an act of betrayal.  This is a significant theme that Tennessee Williams had previously raised in A Streetcar Named Desire in the character of Blanche, forever haunted by what she views as an unforgivable act of betrayal that led to the death of her young husband many years before.  When this core revelation about Brick occurs in Cat On A Hot Tin Roof, it should be a gut-wrenching, but, again, Mr. Ashford has imbued the production with so little variation in tone, that the moment passes and our attention shifts to Big Daddy’s realization of his own impending fate.

Ms. Johansson and Mr. Hinds are required to carry the bulk of the play on their shoulders, while Mr. Walker is there mostly to be talked about and fussed over.  The other roles—notably those of Big Mama (Debra Monk) and Brick’s brother (Michael Park) and sister-in-law (Emily Bergl), parents of the brood of “no-neck monsters,” who are in sycophantic attendance in order to establish their inheritance—are presented as exaggerated stereotypes, and the actors do what they can within the constraints that have been placed upon them.

Regrettably, this production of Cat On A Hot Tin Roof neither enlightens nor truly entertains, and a theater season that has been dominated by lackluster revivals continues in that vein.

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ProfMiller's Top 10 of 2012

As I begin writing this, we are 90 minutes shy of saying farewell to 2012 and another year of theatergoing, my fifty-third as a devoted audience member. 

I thought this might be a good time to review the year and highlight the plays and musicals I have enjoyed the most in the past twelve months, both on and off Broadway. 

If my handy-dandy pocket calendar is to be believed, I‘ve seen 70 productions, starting with Look Back In Anger on January 15 and rounding out the year with Cat On A Hot Tin Roof on December 21. 

The first thing I noticed when going through the calendar is that, frankly, there were not a lot of shows that got my heart pounding. There was much solid work, to be sure, and an occasional astonishing performance (e. g. Tracie Bennett’s explosive turn as Judy Garland in the otherwise insipid End of the Rainbow), but few truly compelling evenings of theater. 

The next thing I noticed is that all ten on my “best of the year” list were revivals, eight plays and two musicals.  I do not know what this might mean, if anything, but I do long for something new that I can get excited about. There are many very good young playwrights producing excellent work, but nothing that I saw during 2012 was able to push its way past the revivals.

Lastly, only two on the list were presented in Broadway houses. This does not surprise me. Broadway is not much for risk-taking or ground-breaking plays these days, and movie star-powered productions abound—not always to the greatest advantage, except financially.  Don’t get me wrong; as Charley Kringas would say, “I like money a lot.”  But still…

Anyway, here’s the list, offered in alphabetical rather than preferential order:

PLAYS

Athol Fugard season at Signature Theatre, featuring Blood Knot; My Children! My Africa!; and The Train Driver.  Signature Theatre, currently in its second year at its new home, the Pershing Square Signature Center on 42^nd Street, is not entirely clear as to its revised mission or how to put its three theater spaces to best use.  But its inaugural year allowed it to do what it has always done best—lovingly showcase a selection of works by a single playwright.  Each of these productions was a riveting powerhouse about the devastating toll of South African apartheid laws and their aftermath, and all make it to this list on both their individual and collective merits. I was fortunate enough to have met the playwright outside of the theater one afternoon, so that I was able to express my appreciation for his amazing body of work.  

Lost In Yonkers. This Neil Simon Pulitzer Prize winner was given a loving and thoroughly engaging revival by the Actors Company Theatre (TACT).  A pleasure from start to finish.

Serious Money.  I wasn’t sure what to expect from this revival of Caryl Churchill’s over-the-top satirical play about the shenanigans of Britain’s financial industry—written in rhyming couplets no less—yet  it knocked my socks off and erased all memory of that smoke-and-mirrors snoozefest, Enron, that covered much of the same ground on Broadway a couple of years back.  Kudos to the Potomac Theater Project that always brings interesting works to New York during the dog days of summer.

The Best Man.  Another happy surprise, thanks to top-notch directing (Michael Wilson) and a strong ensemble cast.  This was a fitting bow for Gore Vidal, the playwright, who passed away during the run.  I attended the moving and entertaining tribute by some of his friends and colleagues (among them Dick Cavett, Elaine May, Alan Cumming, Anjelica Huston, and Michael Moore) that was held on the set towards the end of the run and concluded with a short scene from the play performed by the production’s stars James Earl Jones and John Larroquette. 

The Lady From Dubuque.  Another hit for Signature Theatre Company.  Often dismissed as second-rate fare from the pen of Edward Albee, this production found the play’s deeply personal and emotional center and made it a revelation. 

The Piano Lesson.  This is a masterwork by August Wilson, and it couldn't be in finer hands than those of director Ruben Santiago-Hudson and its stellar cast.  And, yes, yet another triumph for Signature Theatre Company.  Closes all too soon on January 13.   

MUSICALS

The Most Happy Fella.  The Dicapo Opera Theater’s production of this glorious Frank Loesser gem, with a brilliant performance by Michael Corvino in the title role, was the musical theater highlight of the year. I look forward to the company's presentation of Kismet, coming in the spring. 

The Mystery of Edwin Drood. The cast is having a blast, and, I daresay, so will you. You’ve got until March 10 to catch it at Roundabout’s Studio 54.

And so we move into 2013 with great hopes and expectations.  

Have a safe, healthy, and happy new year!

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'Picnic': Sparks But No Fireworks in Tame Revival

Where is James Dean when you need him?

That’s what I was thinking as I watched the workmanlike if uninspired production of William Inge’s 1953 Pulitzer Prize-winning play, Picnic, now in previews at the American Airlines Theater. 

Inge’s domestic drama centers on a circle of family and neighbors in a small town in Kansas, where predictable lives are shaken up by the intrusion of an outsider, Hal. Hal is a combo pack of earthy masculinity, wild unpredictability, and  vulnerability that raises the temperature for the repressed women, already sweltering in the late summer’s heat. 

Before Hal (Sebastian Stan) shows up looking for work as a handyman, plans are underway for the annual Labor Day picnic, a final fling before the start of the new school year. 

We meet Flo Owens (Mare Winningham) and her daughters, the younger Millie (Madeleine Martin),“the smart one,” and her older sister Madge (Maggie Grace), 18, “the pretty one” whom Flo hopes to marry off to Alan (Ben Rappaport), a pleasant enough well-to-do college student with a bright future ahead of him. Madge and Alan do seem to be a well suited, albeit “safe” match, until Hal comes along.

As a dramatic character, Hal is the kind of young man who would have been portrayed in the movies by James Dean or Marlon Brando (though, as it happens, it was William Holden—arguably too old for the part—who famously took on the role in the 1955 film version of the play).

Hal has been hired to do chores for the Owens’ neighbor Mrs. Potts (Ellen Burstyn). He reminds her of her own rebellious days, and his frequently-on-view shirtless hubba-hubba torso clinches the deal.

As evening descends, it isn’t long before pretty girl Madge and pretty boy Hal get together, and sparks begin to fly.  Let’s just say, in appropriately 1950s euphemistic terms, they never do make it to the picnic.   

The story of Hal and Madge has its counterpart with that of an older couple, Rosemary (Elizabeth Marvel), a spinster school teacher who boards with the Owens family, and her beau Howard (Reed Birney), whom she is determined to marry before she has to face one more day in the classroom. 

The production, efficiently directed by Sam Gold, boasts solid performances by most of the cast.  Ms. Marvel and Ms. Burstyn are particularly compelling, despite the fact that their characters are built on clichés.

Unfortunately, in the central role of Hal, Sebastian Stan—best known for television and movie work (e. g. Captain America)—simply does not have the acting chops to pull this off. While his abs are certainly ogle-worthy, Stan provides precious little of Hal’s wild streak, and the heat between him and Ms. Grace wouldn't boil a pot of tea.  

Theatergoers have an interesting opportunity to compare Inge’s work with that of Clifford Odets, whose Golden Boy is currently receiving a solid production a few blocks away at the Belasco. Where Odets contextualizes his play in broader social themes, Inge narrows his focus to life’s everyday dramas. 

In the right hands, domestic dramas can be quite potent. Think of Inge’s contemporary, Arthur Miller, or imagine what Tennessee Williams might have done with a character like Hal.  But in Picnic—at least as evidenced in this production—there is precious little at stake and not nearly enough combustion to trigger a drama-worthy flameout.  In the end, when Madge decides to chase after the departed Hal, the strongest sentiment she can muster is “he needs me,” and the best we can say to Madge is, “good luck."

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'Golden Boy': No Knockout, Perhaps, But A Real Contender

Who knows what motivates any of us to want the things we want, to do the things we do?  And, in the end, does it really matter—or is it only the trajectory of our lives that is important?

These are real questions to ponder while watching the well-acted but not quite three-dimensional revival of Clifford Odets’s Golden Boy (first produced in 1937), now on view at the Belasco Theater. 

Odets is not a subtle playwright. He has big things to say about working class families, the transformative influences that shape first generation Americans, the pull of ambition, and the struggle to find one’s place in life. He paints with a broad brush, the theatrical equivalent of his art world contemporaries like Thomas Hart Benton or Diego Rivera.  As a playwright, Odets, a strong proponent of method acting, leaves it up to the director and the actors to breathe life into the characters—something that had not quite come to pass during the preview performance I attended.    

In Golden Boy, we are presented with two lost souls:  Joe Bonaparte (Seth Numrich) and Lorna Moon (Yvonne Strahovski), whose lives become entangled when Joe, a gifted young violinist, abandons his path—one that has been shaped by his immigrant father (Tony Shalhoub, giving the most grounded performance of the large and talented cast)—in order to pursue fame and fortune. 

One gets the sense that Joe might have gone in any number of directions to feed his itch of ambition and his desire to prove himself in a world where being a sensitive young violinist brands you as something of an outcast and less than a man.

As it happens, the particular escape hatch he has gone through leads him into the world of professional boxing, and we watch him transfer himself from his father’s loving hands into the less loving ones of the hard-scrabble boxing promoter Tom Moody (Danny Mastrogiorgio), the kind-hearted trainer Tokio (Danny Burstein), and the mobster Eddie Fuseli (Anthony Crivello), who buys a piece of the action and wants to own Joe outright.   

Joe’s counterpart, Lorna, works for and is the lover of Tom Moody. Lorna’s motivation is presented more clearly than Joe’s.  She has grown up in a terribly dysfunctional family—an abusive father and a mother who committed suicide. She has hooked up with Tom, who seemingly loves and needs her in a way that she finds hard to resist, so that she hardly considers her own feelings at all.

Joe is one of theater’s “angry young men,” triggered by something deep that neither he nor the playwright is able to name.  As his father—loving, supportive, yet helpless to prevent the oncoming train wreck—says of Joe, “he gotta wild wolf inside…eat him up!”  Lorna has a bit of that wolf inside of her as well, and it is inevitable that she and Joe are drawn toward one another, just as their lives inevitably spiral out of control. 

Odets liked to write big ensemble works, where he could set his central characters amidst family, friends, and acquaintances, whose comings and goings add richness to the larger themes.  In addition to Joe, Lorna, Tom, Tokio, Mr. Bonaparte, and Fuseli, there are Mr. Carp (Jonathan Hadary), Mr. Bonaparte’s Schaupenhauer-quoting neighbor; Anna (Dagmara Dominczyk) and Siggie (Michael Aronov), Joe’s sister and brother-in-law; Frank (Lucas Caleb Rooney), Joe’s union organizer brother (gotta have at least one of those in an Odets play!), plus more than a dozen others to round out the cast. 

All turn in solid performances, and director Bartlett Sher has done a masterful job of keeping things nicely paced, so that the nearly three hours of running time seldom make you want to look at your watch.  However, I do find the direction to be a bit fussy and occasionally excessive.  Sher makes frequent use of period music (to remind us over and over that this is taking place in the 1930s?), and stages several boxing gym scenes that fill the stage but are really a bit much.  Interestingly enough, however, he chooses to underplay elements of homoeroticism and homophobia that thread through the play.    

I don’t want to downplay the strengths of the production.  In his lifetime, Golden Boy was Odets’s most popular work, and it is not hard to understand why.  The characters, while perhaps not fully developed, are nonetheless engaging, and the current cast is very good throughout. I would imagine that over the next few weeks, more of the actors will deepen their performances, as Tony Shalhoub has already done.  As they say in the boxing world, Golden Boy is a real contender, well worth plunking down the price of a ringside seat.

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