Revelers
Distressingly, the one character who inspires sympathy in Beth Henley’s comedy of theatrical types gathered to mourn the passing of their friend and mentor Dash Gray is the only one who has nothing to do with the theater. Bob Gray, the simpleton brother of the deceased–played by the always splendid Marc Vann in Center Theater’s world premiere–wanders about the stage empathizing with the forlorn, shying away from the spotlight, and feeling a profound sense of responsibility for even the most trivial of his actions. But the mad caravan of lunatic thespians and artistes that Henley has assembled are too self-involved and too quirky to put aside their differences even at a memorial service for a friend.
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It’s possible there’s a critique of the contemporary American theater scene in here somewhere. Given all the politically correct dramas aimed at garnering corporate dollars, the revivals of creaky old vehicles luring the tourist trade, the television sitcoms and sitdrams, it seems the theater has become more and more about narcissism and greed and less and less about furthering the art and examining the human condition. But if this is Henley’s point, she sabotages it with her menagerie of characters. Their foibles are over-the-top and their actions unlike conceivable human behavior. On the other hand, if Henley (who wrote this play for her old buddies at Center Theater and their mentor and teacher Edward Kaye-Martin) intends us to sympathize with her lovable loonies and pity their self-indulgence, she also fails. For it is woefully difficult for an audience to feel much more than casual interest or amusement in a parade of individuals carefully designed to be goofy.
The twists and revelations are sometimes intriguing or inspiring, but only if there are three characters or fewer onstage: we’re offered a momentarily moving sparkle of romance between dipsomaniac writer Canary and movie star Lloyd, a touching scene between the hapless Bob and the giddy Lark, cartoonist Harold’s oddly affecting “Zoom! pow!” contributions to discussions. But one stage and one play ain’t big enough for all seven of these characters at once. Whenever more than one interaction is onstage, Henley’s writing feels imprecise and Dan LaMorte’s staging messy. Exchanges between characters that are the focal points of scenes are often stiff, as supporting characters float around the periphery seemingly unsure of what to do. The play often comes across not so much exhilaratingly manic and chaotic–apparently Henley’s goal–as underwritten and needlessly complicated. The lack of a protagonist, which wouldn’t necessarily be troubling, here results in a play with no coherent point of view. For no apparent reason some characters and incidents receive a lot of attention while others get short shrift. Much stage time is given to Lloyd, whose movie-star antics are hackneyed and obvious, while more intriguing characters like Harold and Kate Spoon Mulligan remain obscure. But maybe if they’d been given more attention they’d be just as irritating.
