ARTS . Theater Review

Miss Halfway

THEATER REVIEW: The Gndiges Frulein


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Published: Mar 23, 2010

The Gndiges Frulein

I am an unapologetic collector of Tennessee Williams' oddities — and they don't come any odder than The Gndiges Frulein, a one-act play that opened and abruptly closed in February 1966 under a fusillade of critical abuse. Many dismissed the play as an incoherent freak show. My attempt at a brief synopsis probably won't convince you otherwise: On a desolate island — the southernmost among the Florida Keys — a small group of people are buffeted by winds and assaulted by large birds that are attracted by the stench of dead fish, but stay on to nibble at the human residents. The latter include Polly, a bitchy gossip columnist; Molly, a bitchy hoteliere; and the title character (it roughly translates as "gracious lady"), an old vaudeville performer who has lost one eye and most of her wits, though she still can warble through a repertoire of dated songs and run out periodically to retrieve a fish. (There's also a hunky blond Indian.)

But don't dismiss TGF completely. True, there's not much narrative clarity. But Williams was always as much symbolist as realist. And if you consider the play as a dark satire — on the playwright's own dwindling reputation, and the nasty delight of theater critics who build up careers only to tear them down — you'll find it full of rapier insights. Williams may have lost his gift for structural control, but his dry wit and poignant, poetic reveries are here in abundance.

The trouble is, the Idiopathic Ridiculopathy Consortium's production doesn't give The Gnädiges Fräulein even a fighting chance. The play is a comedy of sorts — but it's a black comedy, full of violence. Here, director Tina Brock goes for the broadest kind of rural farce, in shades of Green Acres. It's very skillful in its way, and the accomplished cast goes at it full-tilt. But the amusement it provides (if this is the sort of thing that makes you laugh) doesn't do poor Tennessee's script any favors. I wish I could encounter Jane Moore's performance of the title role in other circumstances — she's a sensational actress, and alone in the company finds some sweet-sadness that cuts to the heart and makes us realize there's actually something going on here.

Through April 3, $20, Second Stage at the Adrienne, 2030 Sansom St., 215-285-0472, idiopathicridiculopathyconsortium.org.