\nYork, he is hardly that. He’s far more the Philadelphia blueblood offended by servants who
\nare “forward” and women who are “bold” than the former New Dealer who served as FDR’s
\nattorney general and as Chief Judge at the Nuremberg trials.<\/P>
\n
We’re talking about the playwright’s Francis Biddle. He is doddering on the edge of senility in
\n1967 at age 81, confronted by a new young secretary hired by Biddle’s wife to replace the
\nprevious secretary who quit rather than put up with his patronizing insults and withering scorn,
\nnot to mention the long line of secretaries before her who didn’t last. <\/P>
\n
We’re talking about the Francis Biddle who is offended by the deterioration of manners and
\nlanguage he sees all around him; who is offended by new gadgets and even old ones, not least, by
\nthe “hideous gas heaters” in his Georgetown office above the garage, which were designed by an
\n“imbecile” (Biddle’s favorite epithet for anyone he holds in contempt; another, reserved for his
\ncook, is “clucking succubus”); who is offended by bills he forgot to pay; who is so offended by a
\ngreat-nephew “using drugs” that he writes him out of his will on the spot.<\/P>
\n
It’s not as if Weaver creates this Biddle out of thin air, however. The script does lay the Recalling his boarding-school days at Groton, he describes a less-than-privileged experience. Those well-delivered lines draw knowing laughter at the Promenade on the Upper I did say “Trying” is a two-hander, didn’t I? Which makes it strange not to have said If you must know, Sarah, like Glass, is a Canadian who hails from The oddest thing about “Trying” (a title that somebody should have changed) is that it feels 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 […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-889","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-main","7":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pbvgEs-el","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/herman\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/889","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/herman\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/herman\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/herman\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/herman\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=889"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/herman\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/889\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/herman\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=889"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/herman\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=889"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/herman\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=889"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![](\"http:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/herman\/images\/THIS%20FRITZ.jpg\")
Luckily for this Francis Biddle, he is played by Fritz Weaver. (Photo by Joan
\nMarcus.)<\/EM> Weaver redeems him by making him much easier to take than he deserves, by not
\nportraying him merely as a cantankerous character made lovable in spite of himself, although the
\nscript comes borderline close to that clich\u00e9. Weaver turns this Francis Biddle into a credible
\nhuman being whose record of historic accomplishment is counter-balanced by a personal sense of
\nloss — principally the death of a young son, which has haunted him ever since — giving him a
\ntragic perspective on life that makes his snobbism and disdainful tirades, if not sympathetic, at
\nleast palatable.<\/P>
\n
\ngroundwork for his characterization, not only with biographical details that soften us up but
\nwith dialogue that shows several other redeeming traits: flashes of dry humor, liberal
\noutrage, love of poetry and an underlying sense of fairness.<\/P>
\n
\nIt was a place, much like a prison. There, Biddle says, “The Reverend Endicott Peabody damn
\nnear killed me with his sanctimonious religiosity. He knew and taught and understood one thing
\nonly. He called it ‘muscular Christianity.’ Please, God, on my knees, God, let me depart this earth
\nwithout ever again experiencing ‘muscular Christianity.'”<\/P>
\n
\nWest Side of Manhattan, where the audience is likely to be unanimous in its opposition to George
\nW. Bush. They’re not the only lines that may be taken as overt references to current politics,
\neither. When Biddle discovers that his new secretary shares his love of e.e. cummings’s poetry,
\nthey trade favorite lines from the same poem. Hers is, “I will not kiss your fucking flag.” His is,
\n“There is some shit I will not eat.” Thus we learn that this Francis Biddle, the high-toned
\ncurmudgeon who cannot abide anyone using split infinitives, doesn’t mind using common
\nvulgarities in a good cause.<\/P>
\n
\nanything yet about the other character, Sarah, the new secretary, who is played by Kati
\nBrazda. Unfortunately, there’s nothing much to say about Sarah. Although she’s reportedly based
\non the playwright herself — Glass once worked as the real-life Biddle’s secretary — she
\nexists as little more than a theatrical device. She’s a foil for Biddle, and that’s about all.<\/P>
\n
\nSaskatchewan. She’s not, as she says, “one of the pleated-plaid Ivy girls” but rather a “prairie
\nPopulist.” She’s 25 (which, based on the casting, is tough to believe) and newly married. She uses
\nspeedwriting to take dictation, not shorthand, a point of contention between her and Biddle, and
\nshe’s hard-working, organized and understanding.
It gives away nothing to
\nreveal that Sarah has the “spine” to last as Biddle’s secretary, or that her father was an abusive
\nalcohoic, or that she’s not completely happy in her marriage, or that she has vague
\nambitions to be a writer — because the play itself gives so little away about these clues to
\nher nature. It rarely explores them beyond a mention, and Brazda doesn’t flesh them
\nout.<\/P>
\n
\nso slight despite its length (nearly 2-1\/2 hours with an intermission). One reason is that little
\nhappens<\/I>. We get to know this Francis Biddle, and we get to watch him and Sarah
\ngetting to know each other. That’s it. Another reason is that after they’ve come to terms, the play
\nfizzles out without an ending. It’s as though we’ve seen them climb a mountain only to discover it
\nwas an anthill.
“Trying” is at the <\/EM>Promenade
\nTheatre<\/EM><\/FONT><\/B><\/A>, 2162 Broadway (at 76th Street), New York.
\nPerformances are Tues. to Sat., at 8 p.m., with matinees Wed., Sat. and Sun. at 3 p.m. Tickets:
\n$26.25 to $66.25. They may be purchased at the theater, by telephone (212-239-6200) or online
\nat <\/EM>