REVIEW: Orange County Register
Sunday, September 14, 2008
By PAUL HODGINS
'Don't Talk to the Actors' captures backstage mayhem
Tom Dudzick's comedy hits all the right notes at Laguna Playhouse.
There's something irresistible about a juicy backstage story. Egotistical actors, insecure writers, godlike producers, shaky financing, and always, lurking in the background, the white-hot terror of opening night – the opportunities for mayhem are endless.
Michael Frayn found comic gold in the genre with "Noises Off." So did Woody Allen (with a gangland twist) in his film "Bullets Over Broadway."
Tom Dudzick's "Don't Talk to the Actors" is a worthy addition to the ranks. The Buffalo playwright's tale of frenetic machinations that threaten to sink a Broadway show in the rehearsal room smack of undeniable authenticity – the plot is based on the experiences Dudzick suffered when his play "Greetings!" made its New York debut. Presumably because of the pain involved, Dudzick intertwines the humor with welcome moments of insight and adds some ballast with a touch of tragedy in the second act.
At the Laguna Playhouse, director Rick Sparks shows a deft touch with the script's mercurial turns, and he definitely knows how to maximize the laughs, aided by a cast of talented actors who connect convincingly with their characters.
Chris L. McKenna plays Jerry, the hapless Buffalo playwright. At the beginning of the story, he's practically speechless with delight over the prospect of seeing his modest play, "The Piano Tuner," being readied for its Broadway debut.
As Jerry and his fiancée Arlene (Emily Eiden) scope out the rehearsal studio, he marvels at the sharpened pencils and empty binders that Lucinda (Denise Moses), the persnickety stage manager, has carefully placed around the table. He's gaga over the seriousness of it all: "Real actors. With credits. Knowing their lines. Showing up on time."
Jerry is here because of a meteorological act of fate – "a snow-related miracle that could only happen in Buffalo," as he puts it.
A Broadway producer, trapped in that upstate ice-burgh because of a blizzard, takes in Jerry's two-hander and loves it. He arranges for a Rialto opening, casting two veteran TV actors who found fame in an early '80s sitcom, Curt Logan (Steve Vinovich) and Beatrice Pomeroy (Eileen T'Kaye), to star.
Jerry goes all in, abandoning his low-level Buffalo bank job and apartment and renting a place in the Big Apple. Trouble is, he hasn't told Arlene, a high-strung Montessori teacher who thinks they still have a "safety net" up north should things go bad in the big city.
And things go bad – very quickly.
Curt, a has-been whose cheesy fame is a quarter-century behind him, uses his backslapping charm to conceal his true intent: to rewrite the character Jerry has written, transforming him from a mild-mannered gentleman into a scenery-chewing brooder.
Beatrice, too, causes trouble. She's an old nightclub singer with a repertoire of bawdy songs and a burning desire to turn her character – modeled on Jerry's saintly dead mother – into a foul-mouthed party girl.
At first, Mike (Joel Polis), the ill-fated show's director, keeps things together with his superb diplomatic skills, good humor and school-of-hard-knocks experience. "Don't talk to the actors," Mike tells Jerry – a wise piece of advice which the playwright ignores, to his deep regret.
Later, when things get rough, Mike reveals a hidden streak of shrewd fearlessness and first-rate persuasive talents. But he can't avoid the Himalayan challenges that stand between Jerry's modest a script and its Broadway debut. The best (and most serious) part of Dudick's story lies in the second act, when surprises are sprung, long-ago passions cause complications, and chance events (including a dangerous granola bar) take the story through several unexpected hairpins.
This cast relishes their characters' quirks and excesses.
Vinovich's Curt is the epitome of the aging Hollywood one-hit wonder scrambling for a last chance at the big time. Vinovich is adept at projecting the kind of shiny surface bonhomie that's both irresistible and patently insincere. You can't help but be sucked in by Curt's unctuous charm, even as you laugh at the transparency of his selfish motives.
T'Kaye's Beatrice is a wonderful creation, too, especially in the second act, when the actress makes its clear her character's sharp-elbowed bawdiness is a shell protecting a deeply wounded soul.
Like T'Kaye, Polis saves his character's more serious traits until the play's latter stages. Mike is, above all, a master manipulator of human frailty, but he uses his skill in the service of his play. In Polis' hands, Mike is the story's most ethical character.
McKenna plays Jerry with such relentless optimism in the beginning that you relish the playwright's head-on collision with big-city cynicism. Eiden gives Arlene a high-strung, small-town-girl defensiveness – the kind of memorable characterization perfected by the young Sandy Dennis a generation ago. And Moses is wonderfully brittle as Lucinda, a harridan who redefines the term "OCD" but reconsiders her career choices when they affect her love life.
Scenic designer Bruce Goodrich pulls us directly into gritty Manhattan, from the evocative window view to the dreary second-floor rehearsal studio with its battered furniture and cheap coffeemaker. Peitor Angell provides several jazzy music cues that work as both underscore and mood setter.
To anyone who's worked in theater, everything contributes to an eerie sense of déjà vu. This little slice of daily life – terror, tedium, exhaustion, hatred and joy tethered to a single, short leash – seems all too real. It's hilarious only to those who have never lived through it.
Contact the writer: 714-796-7979 or phodgins@ocregister.com
