FRANCIS BIDDLE GIVES IT A TRY

In life, he was a traitor to his class. In "Trying," a two-character play by Joanna McClelland Glass at the Promenade Theatre in New York, he is hardly that. He's far more the Philadelphia blueblood offended by servants who are "forward" and women who are "bold" than the former New Dealer who served as FDR's attorney general and as Chief Judge at the Nuremberg trials.

We're talking about the playwright's Francis Biddle. He is doddering on the edge of senility in 1967 at age 81, confronted by a new young secretary hired by Biddle's wife to replace the previous secretary who quit rather than put up with his patronizing insults and withering scorn, not to mention the long line of secretaries before her who didn't last.

We're talking about the Francis Biddle who is offended by the deterioration of manners and language he sees all around him; who is offended by new gadgets and even old ones, not least, by the "hideous gas heaters" in his Georgetown office above the garage, which were designed by an "imbecile" (Biddle's favorite epithet for anyone he holds in contempt; another, reserved for his cook, is "clucking succubus"); who is offended by bills he forgot to pay; who is so offended by a great-nephew "using drugs" that he writes him out of his will on the spot.

Luckily for this Francis Biddle, he is played by Fritz Weaver. (Photo by Joan Marcus.) Weaver redeems him by making him much easier to take than he deserves, by not portraying him merely as a cantankerous character made lovable in spite of himself, although the script comes borderline close to that cliché. Weaver turns this Francis Biddle into a credible human being whose record of historic accomplishment is counter-balanced by a personal sense of loss -- principally the death of a young son, which has haunted him ever since -- giving him a tragic perspective on life that makes his snobbism and disdainful tirades, if not sympathetic, at least palatable.

It's not as if Weaver creates this Biddle out of thin air, however. The script does lay the groundwork for his characterization, not only with biographical details that soften us up but with dialogue that shows several other redeeming traits: flashes of dry humor, liberal outrage, love of poetry and an underlying sense of fairness.

Recalling his boarding-school days at Groton, he describes a less-than-privileged experience. It was a place, much like a prison. There, Biddle says, "The Reverend Endicott Peabody damn near killed me with his sanctimonious religiosity. He knew and taught and understood one thing only. He called it 'muscular Christianity.' Please, God, on my knees, God, let me depart this earth without ever again experiencing 'muscular Christianity.'"

Those well-delivered lines draw knowing laughter at the Promenade on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, where the audience is likely to be unanimous in its opposition to George W. Bush. They're not the only lines that may be taken as overt references to current politics, either. When Biddle discovers that his new secretary shares his love of e.e. cummings's poetry, they trade favorite lines from the same poem. Hers is, "I will not kiss your fucking flag." His is, "There is some shit I will not eat." Thus we learn that this Francis Biddle, the high-toned curmudgeon who cannot abide anyone using split infinitives, doesn't mind using common vulgarities in a good cause.

I did say "Trying" is a two-hander, didn't I? Which makes it strange not to have said anything yet about the other character, Sarah, the new secretary, who is played by Kati Brazda. Unfortunately, there's nothing much to say about Sarah. Although she's reportedly based on the playwright herself -- Glass once worked as the real-life Biddle's secretary -- she exists as little more than a theatrical device. She's a foil for Biddle, and that's about all.

If you must know, Sarah, like Glass, is a Canadian who hails from Saskatchewan. She's not, as she says, "one of the pleated-plaid Ivy girls" but rather a "prairie Populist." She's 25 (which, based on the casting, is tough to believe) and newly married. She uses speedwriting to take dictation, not shorthand, a point of contention between her and Biddle, and she's hard-working, organized and understanding.
 
It gives away nothing to reveal that Sarah has the "spine" to last as Biddle's secretary, or that her father was an abusive alcohoic, or that she's not completely happy in her marriage, or that she has vague ambitions to be a writer -- because the play itself gives so little away about these clues to her nature. It rarely explores them beyond a mention, and Brazda doesn't flesh them out.

The oddest thing about "Trying" (a title that somebody should have changed) is that it feels so slight despite its length (nearly 2-1/2 hours with an intermission). One reason is that little happens. We get to know this Francis Biddle, and we get to watch him and Sarah getting to know each other. That's it. Another reason is that after they've come to terms, the play fizzles out without an ending. It's as though we've seen them climb a mountain only to discover it was an anthill.
 
"Trying" is at the Promenade Theatre, 2162 Broadway (at 76th Street), New York. Performances are Tues. to Sat., at 8 p.m., with matinees Wed., Sat. and Sun. at 3 p.m. Tickets: $26.25 to $66.25. They may be purchased at the theater, by telephone (212-239-6200) or online at telecharge.com.

October 24, 2004 9:51 AM |

Categories:

Me Elsewhere

'WILD SIDE' STILL ROCKS 

Nelson Algren was one of the great American authors of the 20th century, it is no exaggeration to say, and among the most neglected. Consider his underrated classic, "A Walk on the Wild Side." The title -- popularized and co-opted as an idiomatic phrase by Hollywood and Madison Avenue (institutions Algren loathed) -- is familiar to most anyone who speaks English or knows Lou Reed's lyrics. But the novel itself? Hardly.

BUSTER KEATON REVISITED 
Buster Keaton: Tempest in a Flat Hat is not a biography. "This book is merely a fan's notes," Edward McPherson writes in the introduction, although his publisher ignores the disclaimer and calls it a biography on the cover. In fact, the book is a bit of both, a difficult combination to bring off unless you're David Thomson, who set the standard with Rosebud, his penetrating rumination on the life and career of Orson Welles, which was nothing if not a distillation of every obsessive thought he ever had about the myth and the man and all his movies.
LAUREN BACALL, STILL SALTY AT 80 
When Lauren Bacall writes that her singing voice ranges "somewhere between B minus sharp and outer space," she's being candid and funny. It's not every stage star with two Tony Awards for best actress in a musical whose vocal talent offers so little promise. (OK, Harvey Fierstein excepted.) Still less would one admit it.
THE STARS ACCORDING TO BOGDANOVICH 
Peter Bogdanovich's superb collection of movie-star profiles and interviews -- a sequel to Who the Devil Made It, his interviews of top film directors -- begins with an affectionate tale about Orson Welles that reminds us just how intimate the author's connection to Hollywood's greatest has been. But contrary to what we've come to expect from dime-a-dozen celebrities and celebrity interviews not worth two cents, the tale avoids bromidic egotism and journalistic platitudes.
SAMMY'S WHITE DREAMS 
Four decades ago Lenny Bruce sentenced Sammy Davis Jr. to "30 years in Biloxi," stripping him of "his Jewish star" and "his religious statue of Elizabeth Taylor." Now we have two new biographies of Davis that spring him from ridicule, if not from doubts about his legacy, and restore a measure of dignity to a black entertainer whose huge fame and success never overcame his devout wish -- indeed his lifelong effort -- to be white.
more picks

Sites to See

About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by CriticalMASS published on October 24, 2004 9:51 AM.

HUMVEES ON PARADE was the previous entry in this blog.

THE NEW YORKER GETS TOUGH is the next entry in this blog.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.

Creative Commons License
This weblog is licensed under a Creative Commons License.