Archives for 2012

The world keeps on turning, no matter what may happen to you or your loved ones. A week ago tonight I was in Smalltown, U.S.A., mourning the loss of my beloved mother, instead of New Haven, Connecticut, where I’d planned to be present at the public announcement of Long Wharf Theatre‘s 2012-13 season. I don’t usually attend such ceremonies, but this one was different, for it was in part a celebration of the news that Satchmo at the Waldorf, my first play, will be transferring directly to Long Wharf after completing its run at Shakespeare & Company in Lenox, Massachusetts.
The production, starring John Douglas Thompson and directed by Gordon Edelstein, kicks off Long Wharf’s 2012-13 season, the first in its newly remodeled theater complex. Previews start on October 3. The show opens on October 10 and runs through November 4.
Regular readers of my Wall Street Journal drama column will know that I am a longtime admirer of Long Wharf (whose artistic director, not coincidentally, is Gordon Edelstein). It is a tremendous honor for Satchmo at the Waldorf to have been chosen to open the season there. It pleases me greatly that I learned about Long Wharf’s plans in time to tell my mother, who was no less pleased for me.
Here’s what I would have said had I been in New Haven:

I’d say this was a dream come true, except that I never dreamed of any such thing. To get to work with Gordon and John, and to have my show produced at Shakespeare & Company and Long Wharf Theatre, goes far beyond anything I ever imagined for Satchmo at the Waldorf. It’s like Benjy Stone says in My Favorite Year: “You don’t get years like that anymore.” Only I’m getting one–and I still can’t quite believe it.

Watch this space for further details.

Mrs. T and I returned to New York on Friday, and on Sunday we flew to San Francisco, there to begin a two-week-long reviewing trip in California. We’ll be driving down Highway 1, seeing shows in various parts of the state.
I plan to post from time to time, but I’m not yet in the mood to restart full-scale blogging activities (except for the usual almanac entries, videos, and theater-related postings, which resume today after a week of mourning). This is as close to a vacation as Mrs. T and I will be getting this summer, and we need it.
Many of you have sent us messages of condolence in recent days. I’ll answer them in due course, but for now I simply want to say that they mean more to me than you can possibly imagine. My humble thanks for your concern.

Boris Karloff is profiled by Ralph Edwards on This Is Your Life:

(This is the latest in a series of arts-related videos that appear in this space each Monday and Wednesday.)

“The truth is rarely pure, and never simple.”
Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

In today’s Wall Street Journal I review two Shakespeare productions, Chicago Shakespeare’s Timon of Athens and Classic Stage Company’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. Here’s an excerpt.
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In Barbara Gaines’ version of the rarely performed “Timon of Athens,” the title character (played with coolly arrogant panache by Ian McDiarmid) becomes a high-rolling futures trader who gets caught in a credit crunch and finds one day that his closest “friends” have stopped returning his calls. What brings Ms. Gaines’ idea to life is the boldness of her theatrical gestures, coupled with the clarity of her thinking. For her, Timon is a vain, self-centered fool who makes the mistake of thinking that the smooth sycophants who surround him like blood-sniffing sharks care for him, not his money. Give them iPads and put them in bespoke suits and you get a “Timon of Athens” that plays like a cross between “The Bonfire of the Vanities” and “Citizen Kane.”
The comparison to “Kane” is of the utmost relevance, not only because the fast-moving cross-cutting of Ms. Gaines’ staging is conspicuously cinematic but because she and Mr. McDiarmid have trimmed Shakespeare’s text as ruthlessly–and creatively–as did Orson Welles, “Kane”‘s maker, when he edited “Julius Caesar” for his 1937 Broadway production. This “Timon” has been similarly compressed and reshaped in such a way as to give it the shadowless simplicity of a fable….
When high-concept Shakespeare stagings go astray, you get something not unlike the scattershot first part of Tony Speciale’s up-to-the-second modern-dress version of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” which feels more like a bag of tricks than a carefully thought-out production. It also feels like a vehicle for two biggish stars, Christina Ricci (as Hermia) and Bebe Neuwirth (doubling as Titania and Hippolyta), neither of whom appears to be at ease with the unsparing demands of classical acting. On the other hand, just about everybody in the cast is trying way, way too hard, going for easy laughs like a purse-snatcher goes for little old ladies with great big handbags.
Be patient: Things start looking up as soon as the sleeping lovers are discovered in the enchanted wood and Puck (Taylor Mac) pulls the donkey’s head off Bottom (Steven Skybell) and turns him back into a human being. Mr. Skybell describes Bottom’s dream with sweetly wide-eyed bemusement, after which he and his fellow “rude mechanicals” enact “The Most Lamentable Comedy and Most Cruel Death of Pyramus and Thisbe,” Shakespeare’s brutal parody of a rustic staging of a classical tragedy, with a gentle gravity that is surprising in just the right way….
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Read the whole thing here.

My “Sightings” column in today’s Wall Street Journal reflects on the rarity of good novels whose principal characters are professional musicians. Here’s an excerpt.
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Of all the major branches of human endeavor, the one that figures least prominently in serious fiction may be music making. I doubt there have been more than a dozen English-language novels of indisputable significance in which one or more of the central characters was a professional musician, and fewer still in which those characters were portrayed in a way that other musicians would find convincing….
I can think of only two novelists who wrote about music as though they were musicians, even though they weren’t. One is Patrick O’Brian, the author of a much-loved series of adventure novels about Jack Aubrey, an early 19th-century British sea captain, and Stephen Maturin, his ship’s surgeon and best friend. Both men are devoted amateur musicians, and Mr. O’Brian brilliantly suggested the rough gusto with which they made music in between battles on the high seas.
The other novelist is Kingsley Amis, who threw critics off the scent by making the anti-hero of his first novel, “Lucky Jim” (1954), a culture-hating philistine who claimed to despise all forms of music, at one point going so far as to refer to the greatest of all classical composers as “filthy Mozart.” Needless to say, nobody who truly loathed Mozart would bother to hurl such abuse at him, and you can’t read far in “Lucky Jim” (which will be reprinted later this year by New York Review Books) without sensing that Jim knows quite a bit more about music than he’s letting on.
Mr. Amis wrote two more novels in which he revealed himself completely. “The Alteration,” published and set in 1976, is the story of Hubert Anvil, a boy soprano who lives in a parallel universe in which the Protestant Reformation never happened. Not only is Western Europe entirely Catholic, but it is still common for talented young male singers to be castrated so that their voices will never change, and Pope John XXIV, a Yorkshireman, wants Hubert to become the soprano soloist of the Vatican choir…permanently.
Even more striking is “Girl, 20” (1971), whose principal character, Sir Roy Vandervane, is a Leonard Bernstein-like conductor who is in the throes of a midlife crisis that has led him to lust after a 17-year-old hippie. When not chasing his teenage mistress, Sir Roy pursues his trade, and everything he says about it is squarely on the mark….
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Read the whole thing here.

I’m one of the guests on this week’s episode of Theater Talk. Ben Brantley of the New York Times, Peter Marks of the Washington Post, and I will be talking about the Broadway season just past with Michael Riedel and Susan Haskins. The episode will air on New York’s CUNY-TV at eight-thirty tonight, with additional showings on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.
For more information, or to view the episode in streaming video, go here.
(This telecast was taped prior to my mother’s death.)

Without you

No rose can grow;

No leaf be green

If never seen

Your sweetest face;

No bird have grace

Or power to sing;

Or anything

Be kind, or fair,

And you nowhere.

Elinor Wylie, “Little Elegy” (courtesy of Patrick Kurp)