April 8-14, 2004
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Spring Fever
 Good as gold: Eric Stoltz plays a con man's devious servant in Larry Gelbert's Sly Fox.  |
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New York's spring theater season is full of surprises.
Now Open:
King Lear. This great tragedy can become merely a painful study in the infirmities and vanities of old age. Christopher Plummer, under Jonathan Miller's direction, chooses naturalism as his take on the mighty title role -- twitching fingers, mincing steps, forgetting names. When Lear divides his realm between his two vicious and manipulative daughters, they turn on him heartlessly, while his youngest and truest daughter, Cordelia, is cast aside. Unhappily the acting skews the moral balance, since the good characters are unsatisfyingly portrayed: Claire Jullien as Cordelia has the right looks, all blonde curls and haunted blue eyes, but she is a cold fish, so unemotional both early and late that she almost seems to deserve Lear's outrage when she refuses to declare her love. Even more disappointing is Brent Carver as Edgar, Gloucester's good son betrayed by his half brother, the illegitimate Edmond; he inexplicably smirks throughout the most heartbreaking scenes with his blinded father, and is often barely audible. The evil characters are the liveliest, especially Geraint Wyn Davies reading Edmond as a charming sociopath, and Lucy Peacock as Regan, who radiates a tense and perverse sexuality -- her visceral pleasure in the famous eye-gouging scene provides a fierce moment. The austere wooden set, excessively shadowed, is atmospheric but not visually interesting. You come to King Lear expecting to be torn apart, and I am disappointed to report that this is an admirable rather than a wrenching production. Through April 18, Vivian Beaumont Theatre at Lincoln Center, 800-432-7250.
Mrs. Farnsworth. How does a tiny theater, way downtown, premiere a new work by major playwright A.R. Gurney with major stars Sigourney Weaver and John Lithgow? The director of the Flea (and of the play) is Jim Simpson, Weaver's husband. A gentle little play filled with formulaic anti-Bush speechifying, the real pleasure here is in seeing Lithgow's elegant performance close up. Mrs. Farnsworth (her grandmother taught her that using first names was rude) is a rich Connecticut housewife (Weaver in pink cashmere turtleneck and pearls and wonderfully cliche gestures) who plans to write a novel about her love affair when she was a girl at Vassar with a young Yalie whose powerful family bought him out of hit-and-run accidents, unwanted pregnancies, etc. It becomes obvious to the creative writing class teacher (Danny Burstein) that the Yalie was Bush and that she has to write the book before the coming election and thus save the world. Mr. Farnsworth arrives to fetch his wife home since she has a history of delusional behavior (but does she? Martha Mitchell is invoked here: "It's a Watergate world."); Lithgow's portrayal of an unflappable, ultra WASP, whose knowing "Ah" speaks immensities about class, breeding and the values of civility, creates the only real conflict in the play, but just in case we're beginning to like this Republican too much, Gurney saves us by providing a surprising and implausible conclusion. Through May 8, Flea Theater, 212-352-3101.
Sly Fox. "Gold. God with an L." Ben Jonson's study of bottomless human greed -- the 17th-century Volpone -- was adapted by Larry Gelbert (M*A*S*H, Tootsie) 25 years ago and became a smash hit directed by Arthur Penn. Penn directs again, and this revival is old-fashioned but not stale. Heading a slew of comic actors is Richard Dreyfuss, with his effortless comic timing, hilarious and sly as the old fox who pretends he is dying ("It's time for my morning suffering") to bilk gifts from all the slimy, craven people who expect to be named his heir. The nimble Eric Stoltz plays his lackey, highly adept at the con game himself. The large cast delivers the laughs: Rachel York strutting her Mae West stuff, Bob Dishy, master of the eye roll heavenward, Bronson Pinchot, twitching like mad. The show is full of good lines ("You could drill into him for a year and not strike decency") and provides an easy, jolly evening. Open run, Barrymore Theater, 212-239-6200.
The Stendhal Syndrome. The title refers to an overwhelming emotional-physical response to art, and Terrence McNally's two one acts testify to art's transformative power. "Full Frontal Nudity" is about three tourists and their guide (Maria Tucci) gazing at Michaelangelo's David in Florence; it's a shallow play about shallow people who, unlike the play, discover their own depths. In "Prelude & Liebestod," we hear the thoughts of a genius conductor during a performance of the Wagner in counterpoint to the thoughts of his wife's sitting in the box house right, the adoring fan's in the box house left, the concertmaster's and the soprano's. Richard Thomas is both funny and thrilling as the self-engrossed, sexually obsessed maestro. "What is transfiguration but an orgasm coupled with a heart attack?" Through April 25, Primary Stages, 212-279-4200.
Opening Soon:
Jumpers, Tom Stoppard's early show-offy comedy about philosophers in a much-celebrated production that transfers from London (where I saw it and, frankly, found it dull) starring Simon Russell Beale (Previews begin April 6, performances through July 18, Brooks Atkinson Theatre, 212-307-7171). A Raisin in the Sun,Lorraine Hansberry's classic family drama, is revived with an astonishing-sounding cast: Sean (P.Diddy) Combs, Audra McDonald and Phylicia Rashad (Now in previews, open run, The Royale, 212-239-6200).
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