By Michael Feingold
By Elizabeth Zimmer
By James Hannaham
By Christian Viveros-Faune
By Christian Viveros-Faune
By R. C. Baker
By Michael Feingold
By Michael Musto
Everybody knows theater critics are useless. All year round, they occupy free seats, and in return they do nothing but complain, complain, complain. Why, you ask, can't they do something useful for a change?
So I was complaining (as usual), a few weeks back (Voice, May 23), about having to review the same plays over and over, when the world, so I claimed, was "full of unperformed great plays" deserving revival. In response, I only got press releases announcing that next season, like the last one, would be full of familiar titles. Some of them worth seeing again, no doubt, but not exactly unperformed rarities likely to fill a desperate hunger in our collective theatrical soul. Why can't our theater find at least a few less well-known plays that are worth a fresh look?
That drove me, shockingly, to do something useful: compile my list of plays we rarely or never see—plays we should be seeing, because they add some quality, which our theater currently lacks. It's a preliminary and incomplete list, not definitive and not for all tastes and all situations, but I offer it to interested producers and artistic directors, just as a start.
I gave myself a few restrictions: only American plays, of comparatively recent vintage; only works that might be producible in today's grim economic climate, and reasonably graspable by a fair-sized New York audience. No wildly excessive cast sizes, running times, or aesthetic approaches. I took a few risks in the aesthetic department, since I think that our theater too often underrates its audience. Time to ignore the two-dimensional media blare outside: Let the theater stand on its own sturdy feet, and check out these samples of its neglected past.
Sin (A Cardinal Deposed) (2004) by Michael Murphy. Not trying to raise religious hackles here. Murphy's docudrama, premiered by the New Group, uses Cardinal Law's depositions before the Boston courts to reveal the inner workings of a bureaucracy's systematic cover-up of child abuse—something that has tragically spread as a matter of public concern, not only within world Catholicism, but in secular realms like Penn State and Horace Mann School. Murphy's dramatic map of the Boston case remains a painful prototype of far too many instances revealed subsequently.
The Danube (1984) and The Conduct of Life (1985) by María Irene Fornés: Two full-evening works on very different topics, both still burning. The first, depicting star-crossed lovers forced to confront ecological disaster, now seems stunningly prophetic. The second deals with a government-employed military torturer and the women in his life. Granted, I don't see TV stars lining up to play these scripts. But I wish they would.
Ready for the River (1991) by Neal Bell: Bell is one of my leading candidates for America's most unreasonably neglected playwright (though PTP/NYC has just revived Monster, his excellent adaptation of Shelley's Frankenstein). You can gauge his prescience, from the opening of this play's harrowing, surreal journey—a farmer's wife and daughter fleeing because he has just murdered the banker who came to foreclose on the family farm. Sounds dated, I suppose.
The Fabulous Miss Marie (1971) by Ed Bullins. First produced, memorably, at Harlem's Lafayette Theatre, Bullins's sardonic study of L.A.'s affluent black couples, living to par-tay while sneering at civil rights marchers, uses vaudeville stylization and short, cogent scenes to treat its characters with a spicy mix of satirical malice and Chekhovian compassion.
In the Bar of a Tokyo Hotel (1969) by Tennessee Williams. A failing genius painter and his fearsomely unhappy wife, locked in Strindbergian love-hate, fuel this most challengingly dense of Williams's texts. But anyone who saw Donald Madden and Anne Meacham play it Off-Broadway knows its riveting power.
Who'll Save the Plowboy? (1962) by Frank D. Gilroy. Produced by the Phoenix Theatre, this play put Gilroy on the theatrical map; a few years later, The Subject Was Roses cemented his reputation. Harsher and bleaker than the later work, Plowboy won the 1962 Best Play Obie Award.
The Gingham Dog (1969) by Lanford Wilson. Signature Theatre has kindly announced Wilson's masterpiece, The Mound Builders, for next season. But they, or somebody, should tackle this somberly moving four-hander, mapping the breakup of an interracial marriage, which got an unjustly sniffy reception at its first production.
Lagrima del Diablo (The Devil's Tear) (1980) by Dan Owens. Political upheaval on a Caribbean island, naturally seasoned with a dash of vodoun, centering on a dictator, an exiled archbishop, and a mute girl with prophetic powers. Owens, a cunning, complex writer, was treated handsomely by the Negro Ensemble Company, but the press, as so often, had its mind elsewhere.
Boy on the Straight-Back Chair (1969) by Ronald Tavel. A Southwestern serial killer, a startling theatricalist form, and a style harshly mixing self-aware joking with mordant ruminations on American violence: Sounds like the playwright who invented the Ridiculous, doesn't it? It needs doing as the American Place Theatre did it then, with lucid ferocity and no camp.
The Cocktail Hour (1988) by A.R. Gurney. New Gurney plays still crop up a few times a year, but New York really deserves another chance at this funniest and wisest of the gentlemanly playwright's rueful reflections on his vanishing elite-WASP class. It requires a four-person cast as brilliant as the Off-Broadway original; consider yourselves challenged.
Thank goodness there are people out there who think "The Mound Builders" is a masterpiece! But this is a terrific article with some terrific ideas--many thanks!
What a wonderful column. While I've heard of and or read/seen most of the playwrights (though a few are new to me), most of the plays themselves are not ones I know as well as their more celebrated ones (i.e. the Wilson, the Fornes, the Gurney, the Guare). One of my most breath-taking memories of theatre is seeing Fornes' "Mud," a play about poverty and illiteracy, featuring JoAnn Schmidman and an actor from the Omaha Magic Theatre whose name I do not know, performed in the theatre at Kearney State College in Nebraska as part of a Nebraska Humanities Council project. Of course, none of the theatre faculty could be bothered to go (I think they were working on really up-to-date productions of things like "Hair"--I mean it was 1985, after all)--and one said to me he didn't consider their work really theatre). The production was directed by Megan Terry and the talk back with Terry and the actors was exciting--for the forty of us who showed up for the performance. It began a three-year relationship I had with the warm, welcoming OMT, who invited me to their performances and were generous with time and ideas. Still the best part of my three years in the hell-hole of rural, Bible-belt Nebraska, an inspiration of what could be done in what seemed like the hinterlands, and an inspiration to my as an aspiring performer/director/teacher to see what performance could do socially, politically, and culturally. Thank you, Megan and JoAnn, wherever you are these days! You may have saved my life that night.
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