The Mountains Look Different

B-

Jonathan Bank, Mint Theater Company’s artistic director and excavator of neglected plays, has unearthed yet another play that was a hit in Dublin but never made to America. This time it is an 1948 melodrama by Micheal mac Liammoir, co-founder of the illustrious Gate Theater, about Bairbre (Brenda Meaney; Indian Ink, Incognito), a woman from the west of Ireland who returns home, newly married, after 13 hard years in London. Her naive husband Tom (Jesse Pennington; Uncle Vanya, Bootycandy), whom she truly seems to love, is unaware that, having no skill for domestic work, she was forced to support herself as a prostitute. Tom’s crusty father Martin (Con Horgan; The Beauty Queen of Leenane), a farmer, takes an immediate dislike to Bairbre and claims to have met her before. The bad blood between the two of them escalates to a dangerous level. The action is set on St. John’s Eve, a pre-Christian fertility invocation marked by building bonfires. We also meet Bairbre’s uncle Matthew Conroy (Paul O’Brien; Is Life Worth Living?); Bartley (Daniel Marconi), Martin’s impudent servant; Bridin (McKenna Quigley Harrington), a young girl; Maire (Cynthia Mace; Skintight), an old woman with a troubled grandson, Batty Wallace (Liam Forde; Much Ado about Nothing); and a priest (Ciaran Byrne; The Dead 1904). After a solid first act, things go somewhat awry after intermission. The introduction of four new characters late in the play dissipates the claustrophobia that was building up. The drama rapidly turns into melodrama. The strongest reason to see the play is the riveting performance by Ms. Meaney. One feels her pain. The other two principals do not fare as well. Mr. Horgan is insufficiently menacing as Martin. Mr. Pennington does not seem to have a grasp of Tom’s character; his movements are strangely crablike and he barely opens his mouth when he speaks. Vicki R. Davis’s (The Suitcase under the Bed) opening set of a stone farmhouse exterior with a mountain vista in the background turns around to reveal the main room of the farmhouse. Andrea Varga’s (The Suitcase under the Bed) costumes fit the characters very well. The lighting design by Christian DeAngelis (Hinkle Wakes) is an asset to the production. Director Aidan Redmond’s direction seemed choppy at times. The play is an interesting curiosity but not a must-see. Running time: two hours including intermission.

NOTE: The program contains an extended note on the life of the author that make him seem worthy of his own biographical drama. In addition to co-founding the Gate, he was esteemed as an actor, playwright, set designer and painter. He and Gate co-founder Hilton Edwards were prominent as a gay couple long before that was fashionable or even legal. Finally, 12 years after his death, it was revealed that the ultra-Irish mac Liammoir was actually Alfred Willmore, an Englishman whose love of things Irish led him to transform himself into an Irishman. 

Uncle Vanya (Hunter Theater Project)

B-

Under the leadership of Theater Department Chair Gregory Mosher, Hunter College has initiated a program of producing bare-bones theatrical productions at an affordable price ($37) in their intimate Frederic Loewe Theater. Launching the project is this version of a Chekhov masterpiece directed by Richard Nelson, who also collaborated on the translation with today’s go-to Russian literature translators Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. On the basis of his Apple Family Plays and the Gabriel trilogy, some have dubbed Nelson the American Chekhov, so it is fascinating to see what happens when he gives the Russian master his “let’s sit around the kitchen table and talk” approach. For me, the results are a bit disappointing; there is too much Nelson and too little Chekhov. Nelson’s approach restricts the play’s emotional range and drains some of its humor and pathos. Some of Chekhov’s words, such as Sonya’s concluding speech, just do not lend themselves to a conversational approach. The level of the acting is quite uneven. Nelson stalwarts Jay O. Sanders as Vanya and Jon DeVries as Alexander Serebryakov make powerful impressions. Yvonne Woods is strong as Sonya. Celeste Arias fares reasonably well in the enigmatic role of the old professor’s young wife Elena. In the minor roles of Sonya’s former nanny Marina, Kate Kearney-Patch is adequate. As grandmother Marya, Alice Cannon barely registers. The unfortunate casting of the key role of Dr. Astrov is the weakest element of the production. Although Jesse Pennington certainly looks the part, he barely whispers many of his lines and shows so little affect that he almost seems in a trance. During a few monologues, actors directly address audience members, which I think works rather well. John Ardizzone-West's scenic design consists mostly of three kitchen tables, several mismatched chairs and some dinnerware. Mark Koss's costumes do not look very Russian. I had forgotten that the play includes a strong ecological message that is even more relevant today. Fortunately Chekhov’s genius is resilient and comes through this adaptation mostly intact. While far from an unalloyed success, the evening is an interesting experiment worth experiencing and a promising start for the Hunter Theater Project. Running time: one hour 45 minutes; no intermission.

Bootycandy **

This work by Robert O’Hara, now in previews at Playwrights Horizons, is a loose assemblage of sketches, most of them comedic, that don’t really fit together very well. The central character is Sutter (Phillip James Brannon) whom we see as an effeminate black child, a misunderstood teenager, a black playwright with a taste for racial vengeance, and a loving grandson. The scenes that include him have a loose narrative thread. Other scenes include a monologue by a preacher who comes out as a cross dresser and another by a man trying to talk himself out of a mugging. A clever costume trick is the gimmick of a hilarious scene depicting a phone conversation with two actors playing four characters. In a darker vein there is a long scene about two brothers-in-law who have a complex and painful relationship. The final scene of act one is an amusing faux conference at Playwrights Horizons with a panel comprised of the alleged authors of the previous sketches and a clueless white moderator. After intermission there is a funny yet moving scene of Sutter’s family at the dinner table. This is followed by an overlong sketch of two lesbians, Genitalia and Intifada, undoing their commitment ceremony. A friend accurately described it as a Saturday Night Live sketch that wears out its welcome. The evening turns very dark with a playlet about Sutter and a flaming butch queen friend picking up a drunk, emotionally unstable white man in a bar and going back to his hotel. In the aftermath, there is a Brechtian moment in which the actors rebel against the playwright and decide to skip the (nonexistent) prison scene. We end with Sutter reminiscing with his grandmother at her nursing home. The language is consistently and outrageously vulgar and there is both graphic description of sexual acts and extended male nudity (tellingly, by the only white actor). The best argument for the play is the opportunity it provides for five terrific actors to show their mettle. Jessica Frances Dukes, Jesse Pennington, Benja Kay Thomas and Lance Coadie Williams play multiple roles with great gusto. The revolving set and appropriately over-the-top costumes by Clint Ramos are first-rate. Once again I am persuaded that, in general, playwrights should not direct their own work. There are multiple instances where scenes run on much too long, a fault another director might well have corrected. I really hoped I could recommend it with more enthusiasm, but its many faults cancel out most of its strengths. I won't give away the meaning of the title. Running time: 2 hours 15 minutes including intermission.