Tuesday, February 2, 1999
Curtain Calls
THEATER:
"The Living"
Through April 4
Colony Studio Theatre
Silver Lake
Tickets: $23-$26, student discount available
(323) 665-3011
Few images are more haunting than a doctor’s plague mask: bald
leather head, vacant eyes, long sloping beak. The Colony clan
capitalizes on the general creepiness surrounding 17th-century
London’s plague outbreaks with modest success. It dramatically
chronicles a handful of citizens who doesn’t skip town when the
body count begins to rise.
Their reasons vary from civic duty to scientific curiosity to
familial desperation, but all are fleshed out characters whose
valor waxes and wanes in the wake of the disease. Dr. Harman (the
contemplative David Carey Foster), for example, has his passport in
hand, but he agrees to linger even if his medal of honor comes in
the form of telltale red splotches.
The subject is timely – as we "enlightened" 20th-century folk
run around screaming about the millennium, history smartly steps in
with a reminder that the world has come much closer to ending – and
didn’t. Which is, of course, the point of the ultimately optimistic
drama.
The story belongs to the survivors – or at least the fighters –
however brief their stay is. Such themes are poignant, if simple,
and parallels with the AIDS pandemic are eerily easy. Early plague
deaths, the play tells us, are labeled "spotted fever" or
"apoplexy" for fear of stigmatization.
At times, such catharses unfold naturally. At others, playwright
Anthony Clarvoe abandons his direct, eloquent dialogue for the
hammer-over-the-head route. Case in point: Lord Mayor Sir John
Lawrence (John Ross Clark) marvels, "Are you proposing that the
government pay for medical care?" This, and Lord Brounker’s random
use of the F-word, get laughs, but not the period-appropriate ones
that come when the cabinet maker forgets air holes in his design
for the mayor’s plague-resistant booth. Jerking the audience out of
the play world prevents us from sharing the panic of a world
without plumbing or soap.
The characters are fond of lengthy monologues, delivered with
give-me-an-award fervor, but "The Living’s" general arc somehow
remains intact, along with several performances.
Alison Shanks’s Sarah Chandler stays comparatively cool-headed,
even when villagers lunge at her with stakes – she always stays
true to her role as the shopkeeper’s wife. Lisa Beezley’s turn as
the alternately conniving and repentant Elizabeth Finch lightens
the mood, as does D. Ewing Woodruff’s sassy bureaucrat, Lord
Brounker.
Throughout the play, director David Rose keeps his players a
theatrically atypical distance of at least 3 feet from each other.
To touch is to risk infection. This blocking brings home the
stomach-churning isolation and awkward interruption of daily life
that marked the era – too bad the play can’t resist schmaltzing up
the obvious crescendo to this physicality.
All this unfolds on John Patrick’s sloping, multi-tiered set,
which demands recognition when coupled with cloudy brown lighting
from Matthew O. O’Donnell. Both aid Clarvoe’s exploration of the
plague’s many faces – rampant opportunism, religious musing,
surrender fraught with selflessness. The play unmasks them shakily,
but unmasks them nonetheless.
Cheryl Klein
Rating: 6
"Riga"
Through Feb. 27
John Anson Ford Amphitheatre
Hollywood
Tickets: $20
(323) 660-8587
When you think about it, the histories of African Americans and
Jews bear more than a passing resemblance. Whether it was by being
labeled with the word "colored" or a little gold star, both groups
played victim to the kind of prejudice that becomes so dangerous
that it somehow gains a life of its own. Of course, one of the
greatest mysteries is how people can stand back and let intolerance
become annihilation.
Through the tumultuous love-hate relationship of two young New
Yorkers – one white, one African American and both gay – "Riga"
tries to play social conscience, addressing the hatred that fueled
the Holocaust, minority race relations and the stigma of
homosexuality, all in less than three hours.
Although each man is forced to slay individual demons, the most
endearing moments of the story grow from their inability to
communicate with each other, which leads to sexually and
emotionally charged confrontations.
One reason why Wolf, a glib Jewish performance artist, and Z, a
cultured African American conductor at Juilliard, bicker constantly
is their differing viewpoints of history. While Z remains
tight-lipped about his family background in Watts, Calif., Wolf
cannot stop obsessing about relatives who perished during World War
II in Riga, Latvia, during the Nazi occupation. Meanwhile, in an
incident reminiscent of Matthew Shepard’s death, Z must face
Christian antagonism surrounding a memorial for his deceased lover,
a prominent musician.
As Wolf and Z come to blows, both men recap the ups and downs of
their relationship, as well as their own internal fears, directly
to the audience.
The flashbacks are cleverly staged by a quick and versatile
ensemble. The chameleon-like cast makes scene transition easier in
a narrative that, at times, jumps too suddenly from a small house
in Latvia to a raunchy gay bar in New York or an L.A. crack
house.
But, the intense feelings between Wolf and Z really generate the
most candid scenes and the wittiest dialogue. Taking a cue from
"Ally McBeal," their emotional ardor is projected to the audience
in an amusing and exaggerated fashion. For example, Wolf compares
the animosity in their arguments that led to their first breakup to
the fury of a boxing match. Thus, in Wolf’s mind and onstage, the
couple’s worst squabbles are replayed as sparring matches complete
with the gloves and a referee.
Whenever the drama steers away from the central love story and
ventures into Wolf’s nightmarish memories of Jewish atrocities or
Z’s horror at omens of him burning in hell, it asks the audience to
make huge leaps as well. Although it is definitely admirable of
playwright William M. Hoffman to try dealing with all these social
themes, one play does not seem like a big enough forum. Packed with
so many wrenching moments, and especially ignited by the
incorporation of photographs of real Holocaust victims from Latvia,
the story drags on at times and leaves the audience almost drained
of its compassion.
Although Joel Polis gives a scene-stealing portrayal of the
tortured Wolf, his under-40 looks make it difficult to believe that
a young, swinging New Yorker dating in the 1990s also grew up in
Latvia in the 1940s.
Still, "Riga" manages to leave a lasting impression that, in
spite of the morality lessons taught in videos and textbooks, the
history of hatred is always in danger of repeating itself.
Terry Tang
Rating: 7Bob Lapin
The cast of "The Living" stuggles with a social epidemic.
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