February 3- 9, 2005

theater

Ship of Fools

by Toby Zinman

Here's the premise: Matthew Kidd has just come from a flop of a meeting with Hollywood producers. His screenplay about the whaling ship Catalpa's historic rescue of six Irish revolutionaries from an Australian penal colony in 1875 has become "the greatest movie never made." Disgusted with himself, he wonders, "Why didn't I just show them the pictures in my head?"

And then he proceeds, for nearly two and a half mortal hours, to show us those pictures. Well, not show, but tell. And tell and tell and tell. Irish playwright Donal O'Kelly, following in the lamentable contemporary inclination of Irish playwrights, writes narratives, not plays. Well, no.

Catalpa is only part narrative (with huge globs of faux Joyce and huger globs of faux Melville); mostly it is directions that are spoken to us. For example: ""Good work men. Get some sleep.' It's nearly … cut." [Anthony Lawton, who plays all the roles, whirls here, arms outstretched] "Dawn." He performs seabird imitations, sound effects for horses, door knocking, chains clanking, waves lapping; all are told to us, each one announced, as in "go to the door. Gesture of knocking. "Knock, knock, knock'." Over and over again.

Its complicated story, purportedly about freedom, seems better suited to a potboiler novel; there are approximately a zillion characters, speaking in a variety of accents, so you can see why an actor would find this show show-off heaven. But the hackneyed plot, supported by Lawton's cliche gestures, so tediously prolonged by all the endless description, is further muddied up by the varying tone. Most of the time this is deadly earnest (with the emphasis on deadly), but there are weird moments toward the end when it seems to be an intentional parody of itself. But, no — after the ship sails, whales are killed and dismembered, the prisoners saved, mutinies subdued, storms endured, sea chanties sung, Fenian parades in New York ticker-taped — finally, finally, the captain goes back to his wife and daughter. First by train (chuga-chuga), then by stagecoach (clip-clop). But wait! First, he stops to buy some soap. Then we watch him take a bath. After the teary reunion, we think, now, it must be over. But no! The voice reminding him of deathbed promises (plaguing us throughout) speaks again. As Matthew Kidd would say, it is "the last crucifyin' straw."

Lawton knocks himself out to little effect, having been sabotaged by both his director, Kathryn C. Nocero, and his playwright, neither of whom seem to have any sense of theatricality. It's no wonder Kidd didn't sell his screenplay; the real wonder is how O'Kelly ever sold his script.

CATALPA Through Feb. 20, Lantern Theater Company, St. Stephen's Theater, 10th and Ludlow sts., 215-829-9002