Theater News

Holiday Leftovers

Post-Thanksgiving, Filichia shares his thoughts on Debbie, Def Poetry, etc.

Filichia finds that, at Debbie Does Dallas,women have as much fun as men(Photo: Carol Rosegg)
Filichia finds that, at Debbie Does Dallas,
women have as much fun as men
(Photo: Carol Rosegg)

How was Thanksgiving? Any leftovers? I have a few, though not of a culinary nature. Just a few random thoughts on shows I’ve seen, books I’ve read, and recordings I’ve been playing — all of which I haven’t reported.

First, the shows. At Debbie Does Dallas, I expected that I’d hear a great deal of hearty masculine laughter, for it would seem to be a show for the tired businessman. But most of the laughs came from the women in attendance. The times, they have a-changed.

That was evident, too, when I went to Russell Simmons’ Def Poetry Jam, where kids in the audience recognized the intros of the records played by the DJ as quickly as we recognize the vamp to “All That Jazz.” But when one performer asked, “What happened to a rhyme deferred?” they hummed in recognition of that reference, too; nice to hear that high school teachers have done their job in getting kids to read A Raisin in the Sun. By the time I left the theater, I had decided that Def Poetry Jam is this generation’s The Me Nobody Knows, an alive Spoon River Anthology. I wish it well.

Nothing showed me that times have changed more than my visit to Uncommon Women and Others at a New Jersey high school. I went because a colleague’s daughter was in it, but as I approached the theater, I was wondering if the frank sexual talk would be too controversial for that age group. But parents and children sat together and laughed over the lines, including Holly’s observation that “Whenever I see a boy with a yarmulke, I think he has a diaphragm on his head.” I realized that, long ago, when I was at Arlington Catholic High School, I didn’t know what a diaphragm or a yarmulke was.

Anyway, my colleague’s daughter, one Emma Dupin, was so good as the excitable Rita (especially when shamelessly flirting with one of the girl’s fathers) that I just have to mention her so that, when she becomes a big star, I’ll get the credit for having discovered her. That also goes for Anne Berke, who not only delivered the diaphragm-yarmulke line but also had that long monologue on the telephone where Holly calls a boy she met a while ago, hoping he’ll be her new love, only to learn he doesn’t remember her at all. (Having a telephone conversation when no one’s on the other line is one of the hardest things to enact. It’s often been said that many an actress has won an Oscar because she had a scene on the phone; if Berke’s performance had been filmed, she might have gotten a gold statuette of her own next spring.)

I wish I could be more enthusiastic about a new play called Members of the Tribe at the Producers’ Club. By the time Debbie was telling Barb how her husband wasn’t paying attention to her, I started reading the program and found that Debbie was played by Elaine Miracle, whose work I wouldn’t describe as miraculous. “Elaine,” the program said, “has spent most of her career trying to make theater better in Columbus, Ohio.” Good Lord! Based on her performance, I’d hate to think what theater in Columbus was like when she was there. Could it really be worse now that she’s here?

Monique Vukovic and Jay DiPietroin Peter and Vandy
Monique Vukovic and Jay DiPietro
in Peter and Vandy

Then came Peter and Vandy, written by Jay DiPietro, directed by Jay DiPietro, and starring Jay DiPietro, which suggested it would be this terrible vanity production. It turned out to be the best play I’ve seen in months. It’s staged in the East Village, in a glorified living room. The folding chairs on which the audience sits are inches away from DiPietro and Monique Vukovic, who play the title characters. Peter and Vandy are living together but it’s not going well; just the way he calls her “honey” lets us know that he doesn’t mean it. When he’s sitting and she hugs him from behind, he stretches his head far away from hers.

In the next scene, he’s much chirpier and happier, and we soon realize we’re seeing what took place years earlier, when Peter was ardently courting Vandy and she was the cool one. Soon, though, we’re back in the present, and the things that used to make him laugh no longer do. Except it isn’t the present — it’s much later, after they’ve broken up and he’s made an effort to run into her, which infuriates her because she wants to forget him and he wants to reconcile. It’s goes on like that, back and forth, for 90 intermissionless minutes, and there isn’t a single moment that feels phony. Being so close to the actors, I wanted to get up and slap DiPietro silly for what he was putting Vandy through. But I also wanted to give him a big hug for being such a talented writer.

Saw The Exonerated. Here, the program tells us, every word that the actors read from their music stands comes from real life. Sure, but the words are being said by people like Jill Clayburgh and Richard Dreyfuss, and I have trouble relating to such stars as wrongly condemned-to-death prisoners who, only after years of suffering, were found innocent and restored to freedom. It’s nice that the mighty have allowed themselves to play the fallen; but given that director Bob Balaban brings out the actual people who suffered these terribly indignities at the end of the play, I wish he’d have had them read or tell their own stories.

And what have I been listening to? Sweet Appreciation, the recording of the surprise shindig that was held for Rusty Magee last May at the West Bank Café. The talented composer-lyricist has been enduring chemotherapy, so his equally talented wife, Alison Fraser, decided to have a party for 250 of his closest friends. (Considering the good guy that Rusty is, he does indeed have at least 250 people who could be described as his closest friends.) Rusty has been a rock about his illness. That night, he even sang a song he’d written about his situation, called “He’s Kind of Cute Bald.” In addition, Fraser and Rebecca Luker and Mary Testa (imagine having them as two of your closest friends!) sang a bunch of songs — all good ones — that Rusty wrote over the years. Great disc.

Finally: Did you hear what’s happening to Fiona Shaw? She plays Medea later this week.

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[To contact Peter Filichia directly, e-mail him at pfilichia@aol.com]