Review: Laurence Fishburne Leaves Us Wanting Morpheus in Like They Do in the Movies

To watch Laurence Fishburne dance out onstage in a sparkling robe looking like a sequined Jedi knight is to feel the thrill of being in the presence of one of the great actors of our time. In his new one-man show Like They Do in the Movies, he commands the Perelman PAC stage like he lives there and has invited us in for some casual chitchat. He tells us he’s been a bullshit artist for the past 50 years and that he wants to share some stories — some true, some not so much.

The title of the show might lead some to believe that those tales will have something to do with his life in the entertainment industry (that’s what I thought), but with rare exception, this is not the case. Fishburne, known for roles like Morpheus from the Matrix franchise and his star turns on Broadway (Two Trains Running, for which he earned a Tony, and Thurgood, a Tony nom), has something different in mind. He talks a little about his childhood but then shares anecdotes about everyday, non-Hollywood folks he’s met throughout his life. Maybe those stories are true, maybe they’ve been embellished along the way. Let the BS fly.

That might have seemed like a good way to structure a show for him and director Leonard Foglia, but the result is not altogether satisfying. I’ll say right off the bat that Like They Do does showcase Fishburne’s talent for creating character, beginning with his mother and father in the opening scene and including some startling revelations about them. But for the rest of the two hours and 20 minutes, we hear a series of vignettes apparently told to Fishburne by people (mostly men) whom he’s met at various times in his life. While Fishburne’s knack for impersonations and storytelling is always there, the play sags after the opening autobiographical scene. It’s like serving boiled chicken after the filet mignon.

And it’s a meaty opener to follow. Fishburne talks about his early life in Augusta, Georgia, and his family’s move to Brooklyn as he portrays his mother, who we learn was diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder and sexually abused him as a child. His father (“Big Fish”) was around now and then, and was proud when Fishburne appeared in his first film — Cornbread, Earl and Me (one of his only movies mentioned in the show) — at the age of 11. But he was not big on little Larry’s inclination for dressing up in his mother’s clothes and singing Elton John.

This tantalizing first scene leaves us wondering if Fishburne is on the verge of revealing even more intimate details about his life. But he takes things in a different direction. Instead, he begins to tell a humorous story from the perspective of a man who is arrested for impersonating a cop. Then after a quick change from his Jedi robe to a jacket and yellow sweater (outfits by Zinda Williams), he becomes a man named Joe who describes the harrowing days he and his nurse wife experienced in a New Orleans hospital after Katrina devastated the city.

The second act continues Fishburne’s anthology of monologues (a cop who knits, a homeless man who washes cars, an owner of an Australian bordello) before returning to more fascinating moments in his childhood and finally performing a loving tribute to his mother. The effect of this uneven structure is to make us feel as though we are watching two plays that have been forced together with no clear narrative thread. While the middle stories at times do keep us engaged with their shock value, they pale when bookended by Fishburne’s far more interesting life.

The production is not helped by Neil Patel’s set design, which features images of New York and two strange rotating monoliths that largely go unnoticed behind a scrim. Tyler Micoleau’s dusky lighting and Justin Ellington’s sound design distinguish scenes from one another, but they also call attention to the stagehands who enter and perplexingly reangle a table. It seems like busywork in a show that shouldn’t need much flourish.

Too bad that we’re not treated to any Hollywood stories or behind-the-scenes peeks at The Matrix or Broadway tea-spilling. While it’s a pleasure to watch Fishburne at work, Like They Do in the Movies leaves us wanting a little Morpheus.