Two-Ring Circus
There is no funnier essayist than Paul Rudnick, whose occasional pieces for The New Yorker and Premiere magazine make me laugh out loud. He's also a funny playwright, though the wildly ambitious double-narrative of Valhalla has its ups and downs.
On your left: Meet James Avery, a Depression-era Texas outsider, whose every relationship is fraught. His parents slap him around because he's a queer. His hunky best friend, Henry Lee Stafford, can't resist playing around privately with James, though he intends to marry perky, airheaded Sally Mortimer. And the optimistic Sally thinks a pretty girl will turn James around. (If you can imagine a puree of The Last Picture Show, Band of Brothers, Brokeback Mountain and Hollywood Canteen, you're close.)
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On your right: In the mid-19th century, King Ludwig II of Bavaria rises from horny princeling to jaded ruler, all the while indulging his favorite passions. These include aesthetic snobbery, cross-gender voyeurism, opera (especially Wagner's Lohengrin), and castle building. (Ludwig's legacy is decidedly mixed, but he remains a hero to German travel agents.)
Valhalla gives us two decades in the lives of both James and Ludwig. For James, this involves soldiering in World War II; for Ludwig, a marriage to the humpbacked Princess Sophie of Austria. The plot threads mostly alternate, though there are a few moments when everyone is onstage together. It would be easy to call Valhalla a gay play, but it's more than that. Rudnick embraces pansexual behavior of all stripes. At the same time, he takes seriously his characters and their dreams.
Consequently, Valhalla flies around in hairpin turns, from farce (most one-liners hit their targets) to bittersweet sentiment. This would tax the most virtuosic ensemble, and sometimes Bill Felty's direction feels too slack. On the other hand, he's done wonders with the more serious scenes, which are very touching. Six young actors perform with unflagging energy and charm. Among them, special honors go to Austin Durant, who can shift from thuggish machismo to prancing queeniness within a single line; and to Miriam White, who (especially as Sophie) is dry, funny and bittersweet all at once, and reminds me of the young Stockard Channing.
Valhalla
Through Dec. 3,Philadelphia Theatre Workshop at Walnut Street Theatre Studio 5, 825 Walnut St., 215-635-2137
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