Tuesday, October 28, 1997
Popular fat cats recall glamour, glitz of 1920s Hollywood
life
THEATER Renowned cast does dazzling portrayal of America’s
celebrities
By Cheryl Klein
Daily Bruin Senior Staff
Think of it as theater noir: "The Cat’s Meow," which had its
world premiere this weekend at the Coast Playhouse in West
Hollywood, puts the dark glamour that made "L.A. Confidential" so
intriguing onstage and flashes back a few decades to 1924.
The setting: The Oneida, a yacht adorned with art deco floor
murals, portholes peeking out on a turquoise Pacific and enough
servants to keep the champagne glasses full, prohibition be
damned.
The cast: Entirely A-list, dahlings. William Randolph Hearst –
W.R. to his friends, "Pops" to his coy mistress – snaps his fingers
and Hollywood comes running. Marion Davies (Kimberly Bieber) is at
his side, blonde-haired and sultry-voiced. Charlie Chaplin (Joseph
Fuqua) longs to be at hers. And silent movie mogul Thomas Ince
enjoys a star-studded birthday bash at sea, courtesy of Hearst
(Albert Stratton).
The verdict: it’s a stylish and intriguing play, toying with
conspiracy theories but leaving its greatest mark in its wry
portrayal of history’s glitziest figures.
"The Cat’s Meow" doesn’t exactly present Hearst and his
entourage in a new light – that the newspaper tycoon was a control
freak and the Little Tramp was a womanizer are yesterday’s news.
But writer Steven Peros and director Jenny Sullivan weave their
stories together with a humor and fast-paced wit that befits the
roaring ’20s.
Playwright and party-goer Elinor Glyn (Pamela Gordon) narrates –
a throaty Hepburn-esque drawl emanating from her thin frame – as
she waxes sarcastic on her shipmates. Elinor speaks of "the
California Curse," which is essentially the now-archetypal theory
that wide-eyed dreamers come out West only to become part of a
system that is too large and too corrupt for any one person to
escape. As starlets booze and men dance with their mistresses in
the smoke-filled haze around her, we believe it. Yet, Gordon brings
warmth to Elinor’s weary demeanor, making her a link to the
audience rather than a snobby observer.
We also believe that, true to noir, everyone is out to
double-cross someone else. Sullivan drives this point home by
staging several scenes at once. One clique will talk while another
hovers, half-lit and whispering, rather than succumbing to typical
blackouts or frozen forms. Most of the time this creates dramatic
tension; Charlie and Marion wrestle in the bedroom while W.R.
frowns – sheltered but increasingly suspicious – at the wheel of
the ship a few feet away.
But during some of the play’s many heavily populated party
scenes, it’s easy to get distracted. Precious Chong is hilariously
ditzy as flapper actress Didi Dawson, sometimes to the point of
upstaging other actors. And while the action is generally smooth,
things slow down agonizingly between scenes. The crew is dressed in
period costume as the help, a cute gimmick that becomes frustrating
as they painstakingly arrange each lavish table setting and unroll
each gaudy bedspread.
Thankfully, a few strong performances step in and take control
of the yacht as it lolls through the evening. Fuqua is a jaded and
dashing Chaplin, revealing that behind the goofy mustache and
twirling cane is a shrewd businessman and – almost achingly – a
fervent artist. In a sincere moment of love and feminism, he
promises Marion he’ll treat her as a "vital, passionate woman," not
as the possession that Hearst considers her.
Also on board is movie reviewer Lolly Parsons (Nancy
Cartwright), who, oddly enough, writes glowing critiques of
Hearst’s films for Hearst’s publications. Apparently the phrase
"conflict of interest" wasn’t a popular one with old W.R.
Cartwright, dressed in a frumpy pink echo of the current fashion,
speaking with an accent straight out of "Fargo," and who is
painfully yet delightfully out of place among her sleek, worldly
cohorts. Lolly doesn’t escape the California Curse, nor does she
become a pitiable victim. Late in the play she reveals that, like
her boss, she has a manipulative side and that she’ll use it to get
her slice of the publishing pie.
The big crime here – in a sea of extortion, brown-nosing and
good, old-fashioned sexual abandon – is the alleged murder of Tom
Ince. Ince did die aboard the Oneida, but reports surrounding the
incident were hazy. History was left conveniently vague so the
Oliver Stones and Steven Peroses of the world could speculate.
Without giving away too much of Peros’ account of the night, let’s
just say that men who die from indigestion don’t bleed from their
heads.
"The Cat’s Meow" wraps things up nicely, using the Oneida
episode to explain each of the characters’ subsequent actions, as
any good paranoia drama should. Maybe things are a little too
convenient, but presumably Peros is staging a sort of
early-Hollywood fairy tale rather than a theatrical documentary.
This goes along with the glittering costumes, the tinny music and
the daring flirtation with amorality that made the ’20s roar.
As the play sails on, W.R.’s eccentricities take a more
frightening form. It’s no surprise that he hushes his guests about
the death, a stab at the same media indiscretions that are making
news today. "The Cat’s Meow" purrs with old-time glitz and
larger-than-life characters all trying to bring each other down to
size. Or at least that’s what the powerful newspaper institution
known as the Bruin would have you think.
THEATER: "The Cat’s Meow" runs through Nov. 30 at the Coast
Playhouse, 8325 Santa Monica Blvd., West Hollywood. Tickets are
$18. For more information, call (213) 660-TKTS.
The Coast Playhouse
(Top to bottom) Joseph Fuqua appears as Charlie Chaplin,
Kimberly Bieber as Marion Davies, and Nancy Cartwright as Louella
Parsons in "The Cat’s Meow."