Reviews - Clive and Picnic

While I was on grand jury duty, ticket discount offers came pouring in, but I couldn't take the time to look at all of them.  However, when the name Vincent D'Onofrio was in the subject line of a ticket offer, I pounced.  I had no idea he was going to be doing a play with the New Group this season!  After much trial and error of buying a ticket via my iPhone (I need one of those password apps!), I got a discounted ticket to Clive.  Without knowing a thing about it.  Sometimes, crushes can get you into trouble...

After a little more research, I discovered Clive is loosely adapted/based on Brecht's Baal.  Intriguing.  I've never seen a production of Baal.  It was adapted by Jonathan Marc Sherman, whose plays I have enjoyed in the past, and it was directed by Ethan Hawke, whose work I have enjoyed in the past (but not always, if I'm being totally honest).  So, I figured I was in for an interesting evening, no matter what.  But THEN I heard from several friends that the play was, um, perhaps, not quite ready for audience consumption.  Hmmmm.  Oh well, what the heck.  I decided to take a chance.

OK.  So.  Honestly?  This production did not make itself known to me.  I found it mainly to resemble an acting school project.  The cast was enjoying themselves in the extreme, and seemed smug and self-satisfied in their knowledge that they were the cool kids updating Brecht.  I didn't find that so enjoyable.  I know that Brecht didn't really believe in naturalism, or empathizing with character.  OK.  But I don't think 'alienating' the audience by being pretentious and self-indulgent was the alienation effect Brecht was talking about.  Although, if that was Brecht's intent: job well done.  I'm guessing, however (and this is just a guess, I'm not an expert in Brecht or epic theater), that this adaptation didn't quite go far enough.  It used several 'Brechtian' principles, like direct address, and songs, and the speaking of stage directions, in an inconsistent way.  And not in an offputting, theatrical inconsistency, but rather a 'let's throw that in' kind of way that didn't make the piece entirely successful.  And having characters in the insane asylum be the ones to espouse the principles (No emotion!  Just the words!) seemed so cliche.  All I could think was: Symbolism much?  Sigh.  In my opinion, of course.  There were several audience members who seemed quite engaged and committed to what was going on. 

Having said that, I will say that I found Vincent D'Onofrio's acting to be quite good, but I AM predisposed to enjoy his work.  He's an imposing physical presence and he used that to great effect - the juxtaposition of his largeness and the minute detailing of his characterization is intriguing.  Ethan Hawke, just like in Ivanov recently, had to walk across a thin tightrope, playing an antisocial anti-hero, and after awhile, his slacker-ish affect just didn't work for me.  Unless the goal was to turn me off.  Then, I guess, it worked.  He looked great, though.

Actually, everything LOOKED great.  I thought the physical production was very impressive - the set and lights and costumes were terrific, and I thought Ethan Hawke put together some intriguing and attractive stage pictures.  So...I don't know.  Maybe this was the best adaptation of Baal ever done and I just wasn't open enough to see it.  All I know is I felt vaguely intrigued once or twice, but was mainly annoyed throughout.  Smug is never my favorite theatrical attribute.  I think the show opens tomorrow night, so I'm prepared to have my reviewing hat handed to me.  I'm not sure the critic I sat next to last night was having a good time, though.  But I've been wrong before.

This afternoon, my boss took me to see Picnic, produced by Roundabout.  I love William Inge plays.  I just love how they're so seemingly simple and plain, but there's so much pain roiling underneath.  There's a wistfulness that's very appealing to me.  Plus, his midwestern characters are just so familiar.  In fact, the set looked like my great-grandmother's house, and Ellen Burstyn reminded me of my maternal grandmother so much, I wanted to cry.  As a single gal of a certain age, plays which find the loneliness and heartache in everyday life are just so moving at this point in my life.

Of course, being the softie that I am, I DID cry, a couple of times, especially with regards to the 'spinster schoolteacher' character, Rosemary, played by Elizabeth Marvel (clearly, I should've played the role during my acting days).  I thought she was spectacular.  At first, I thought she was overdoing it, but then, as she began to unravel and show her agony, I understood the posturing and oddness of the earlier scenes.  It was quite wonderful and I gasped at her nakedly raw need and desperation in the second act.  First-rate stuff.  In fact, I found all of the supporting actors to be first-rate and totally wonderful.  Ellen Burstyn was beautifully touching, and Mare Winningham played all sorts of levels throughout.  Reed Birney was fantastic as Howard, Rosemary's beleaguered beau.  Madeleine Martin was wonderful as Millie, the younger sister, and the gals with the small roles as the schoolteacher friends were spot-on and so specific.  I also thought Ben Rappaport as Alan, Madge's jilted boyfriend, was quite affecting. 

 

If I wasn't as enraptured by the leads, Maggie Grace and Sebastian Stan, oh well.  They certainly were pretty, though I'm not sure if Stan's uber-buffed six pack abs were totally accurate for the period.  Their awkwardness seemed an actor issue instead of a character choice, but they were earnest and honest enough.  They just didn't generate much spark or chemistry, and if you don't have chemistry between Madge and Hal...well, where's the drama?  Luckily, the other characters mined their drama for all it was worth and made this revival an enjoyable one to watch.  I'm glad I finally saw it.  Talk about a theatrical gamut - an adaptation of Brecht to William Inge.  I'd like to think I'm a savvy enough theatergoer to find much to enjoy in both.  Unfortunately, my enjoyment was pretty confined to the Inge.  But Clive did take more risk, at least on its surface.  There is value in that...