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Does Size Really Matter?

In reading the negative notices that greeted Peter Krause’s performance as Quentin in the Roundabout Theatre Company production of Arthur Miller’s After the Fall, I was struck by an oft-repeated truism. Several professional critics and chat room mavens, perhaps going out of their way to take it easy on Krause, suggested that his performance didn’t work because it was too small, too subtle — probably due to the fact that the actor is used to working in TV, currently as one of the stars of Six Feet Under. This may sound like a plausible point, but I think it’s an oversimplification.

First, let me say that I had a great seat within the first few rows of the stage for After the Fall — so if there were any subtleties of voice, body language, or facial expression in Krause’s performance that people in the rear orchestra or the mezzanine might have missed, I presumably would have caught them. As far as I’m concerned, the problem is not that the performance isn’t “big” enough but that there’s no “there” there. (I was particularly amazed that Krause’s face was blank in the scene where Quentin visits the site of a Nazi concentration camp. Don’t you think a person would be visibly upset by such a sojourn? Not this guy!)

It’s too easy to state that some actors have the sort of technique that’s fine for film or TV but doesn’t project in the theater; although there are cases where this is true, there are so many exceptions that it hardly seems worth stating the general rule. Antonio Banderas, Sally Field, and Anne Heche are three stellar examples of actors primarily known for their work on the big and or small screens who have recently distinguished themselves in stage performances. True, Chris O’Donnell came across very badly in the Roundabout production of Arthur Miller’s The Man Who Had All the Luck, but I don’t think there’s anything about his voice, movement, or whatever that’s inherently unsuited to the stage. Rather, it seems clear that the role was simply out of his league, and that he wouldn’t have been significantly better in a film or TV production of the play.

Of course, whether or not an actor has the goods for stage work as opposed to film work is largely a matter of opinion. Before the late Marlon Brando was scooped up by Hollywood, he was considered by many observers to have given one of the greatest, most revolutionary stage performances ever as Stanley Kowalski in the original Broadway production of A Streetcar Named Desire. Yet I’ll never forget what a lady of a certain age said during the question and answer period that followed a “Food for Thought” presentation of scenes from earlier versions of Streetcar at the National Arts Club this spring. She told how, when she and a friend saw Streetcar at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre in the ’40s, they had to double-check their Playbills to make sure they weren’t seeing an understudy; Brando mumbled his lines so badly that the woman found it hard to believe this was the man whose performance had been praised to high heaven.

Some actors seem to adapt their style to various media in an obvious way, while others don’t. When an actor gets to repeat a famous stage role in film or TV, it’s fascinating to compare the two performances. I’ve always marveled at how Miyoshi Umeki’s voice sounds on the original cast album of Flower Drum Song as compared to the movie soundtrack recording: Her voice is quite full and rich on the former, much breathier on the latter. (Barbra Streisand also sounds like two different people on the Broadway cast and soundtrack albums of Funny Girl, but we won’t get into that!) Also: Isn’t it fascinating that Ethel Merman, who might have been thought to be too big, bold, and brassy for the movies, had a more significant film career than the much smoother Mary Martin?

When all is said and done, it’s really not a question of “big” performers and performances vs. “small” ones: Any good actor should be able to adapt himself/herself to any medium. It’s true that the stage is more demanding in terms of vocal projection, physical stamina, etc. Still, if you were to sit down and make a list of actors who are or were excellent on screen but not on the stage and vice versa, I have a feeling you’d be surprised at how small that list would be.

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Show and Tell

Shows about the process of putting on a show are nothing new, but it does seem that the theater has never been quite so aggressively self-referential as it is these days. For example, the first annual New York Musical Theatre Festival (beginning in September) will offer an intriguing item called [title of show], described in a press release as follows: “Two struggling writers, Jeff and Hunter, try to write and submit a show to the New York Musical Theatre Festival’s ‘Next Link Project.’ What happens when they race to meet the impending deadline?” If that doesn’t sound self-referential enough, note that composer/lyricist Jeff Bowen and book writer Hunter Bell play themselves in the production, which is set to begin performances on September 22.

I asked Michael Berresse, who’s directing and choreographing [title of show], for his take on this trend. “I think it comes from people trying to find out what’s unique and honest about their creative energy instead of keeping to a formula that’s been handed down as to what sells a musical,” he says. “One of the main themes of our show is that we’re constantly fending off what we call ‘the vampires,’ whether they’re internal or external. Jeff and Hunter are talented, funny, and very shrewd. The show doesn’t alienate the audience at all — quite the opposite. The audience is in on the theatrical device from the beginning and that makes them feel knowledgeable and respected. It’s almost as if they have a role in the creative process.”

Well known for his performances in Kiss Me Kate, Chicago, and scads of other shows, Berresse is making his New York debut as a director and choreographer with this project, although he’s worked in those capacities in regional theater. “Before I came to New York to focus on acting,” he tells me, “I thought I was going to be a director-choreographer. That seed has always been in my mind. I currently have two projects on the books as an actor as well, so it’s not a complete transition; I’d love to be able to move forward in both capacities. If you ask my family, they’ll tell you that I’ve been directing my whole life!

“I think we’ve sort of hit a plateau in the way that we explore theater,” he continues. “The art form has changed so dramatically in this country, and in New York in particular. A real dichotomy exists between the big commercial ventures, with all of the compromises that can accompany them, and the desire that people have to return to a place of honesty — especially in musical theater. If a show doesn’t have a star or a familiar theme attached to it, producers get nervous with their money. So it’s up to the creators to remind themselves what it’s all about, to be able to share that and re-train the audience. I’ve always had tremendous respect for audiences; I think they’re much, much brighter than many people give them credit for.”

Berresse agrees that shows about shows can sometimes become annoyingly sarcastic and too clever for their own good — “but that’s where Jeff and Hunter excel,” he stresses. “There’s humor and joy and generosity in their work. That’s something I’ve missed in some of the self-referential shows I’ve seen; they’re bitter and jaded. This show has a huge heart — although it is filled with juicy, not-so-subtle inside references to keep New York theater fans busy in the chat rooms! These guys aren’t afraid to push the envelope when they have to. They’re two nerdy, funny, incredibly bright people who truly adore the medium of musical theater. I find that contagious and very hopeful.”