Theatre in Review: Ann (Vivian Beaumont Theater)

	Holland Taylor. Photo: Ave Bonar.

Now that Ann has opened, the Tony committee may have to create a new category, for best featured hair. The coif worn by Holland Taylor in her solo play about Ann Richards, the late governor of Texas, is a thing to marvel at, a white meringue whipped into a towering froth and held in place by industrial strength applications of hairspray. No beautician could have done it -- the Army Corps of Engineers, perhaps. "I have what Molly Ivins called 'Republican hair,'" she confides at one point, revealing one of the secrets of her success: Feel free to laugh at her; she has beaten you to the punch.

That hair -- the work of the masterful Paul Huntley -- is only one part of the transformation of Taylor, best known for playing imperious haute-bourgeois WASP matriarchs, into the wisecracking good old girl who, amazingly, rose to the top of Texas politics while avidly pursuing what conservatives now sneeringly called "the liberal agenda." Every detail is in place: the accent marked by vowels that suddenly elongate like Slinkies; the mocking smile accompanied by a faintly dangerous glint in her eyes; and the warmly welcoming manner that can become an icy fury when one of her principles is challenged. Seeing Taylor in action, the wonder is not that Richards triumphed over the prejudices of her time and place to make a success in politics -- it's what took this charming steamroller so long to mow down the opposition.

Taylor, who also wrote Ann, depicts Richards as a tough, funny, never-look-back kind of gal, always ready to turn her troubles into comedy, high or low. A connoisseur of her home state's foibles, she relishes telling the story of Ma Ferguson, her only female predecessor in the state house, who, responding to an early controversy about bilingualism, replied, "If the English language was good enough for Jesus Christ, it's good enough for me." Recalling her drinking years, she stares the audience squarely in the collective eye and says, "Look, I was fun," adding that she was "the poster child for functioning alcoholics everywhere." Noting how times have changed, she cracks, "Nowadays, you can hardly get into a primary unless you've been to rehab." Driven to the edge by an underperforming member of her staff, she confides, "I need an AA meeting. If I had the Big Book, I'd just kill her with it." There's nothing quite like the sight of Taylor, after inappropriately sharing one of her father's spicy stories, daintily daubing her lips with a Kleenex. The lady is full of the devil, guaranteeing a good time for all.

We hear how, raised by a largely absent salesman father and a mother so tough that, having just given birth, she took a moment to wring the neck of a chicken for a squeamish neighbor, she settles into life as a housewife and mother of four, throwing massive cocktail parties while her husband pursues a career as a civil rights lawyer. To keep up, she gets involved in Austin politics, running the campaigns of several women friends. She ends up running for county commissioner herself after her husband turns the job down. By now, her marriage is failing, and she is ready to take off like a rocket, moving from county commissioner to treasurer and, finally, governor of a state that, she notes, wearily recalling the rigors of the campaign trail, "is bigger than France."

If Taylor is largely irresistible, it must be noted that Ann suffers from most of the infelicities associated with this kind of solo bio play. Taylor adds a few structural oddities of her own. Ann begins with Richards giving a commencement speech at an unnamed university and then switches to her office in the state house, where we experience a day in the governor's life. This sequence, with Richards fielding one troublesome phone call after another while simultaneously signing a raft of bills, fencing with her secretary (amusingly realized in the offstage voice of Julie White), telling off various staff members, wrangling with her adult children, and trying to make up her mind about a stay of execution, is the show's high point, blending screwball comedy with hard political realities into a distinctive portrait of her daily life in politics at its maddest.

This scene almost makes for a play in itself, but Ann reverts back to direct-address mode for a sequence detailing her post-gubernatorial career, and then, weirdly, jumps to a trip to the astral plane, where she comments on her death and funeral, before returning to the commencement address that was abandoned a couple of hours before. It's safe to say that Ann could lose 15 or 20 minutes, most of which could come from the last portion, when Taylor is obviously casting about for a suitable ending. It's a pity; Richards is one lady who learned to never outstay her welcome.

In all other respects, however, Benjamin Endsley Klein's production is first-class. Michael Fagin's scenery takes full advantage of the Beaumont's enormous stage depth, with the vividly detailed statehouse office executing a graceful exit as it fades into the upstage dark. Zachary Borovay's projections include an amusing recreation of Richards' famous keynote speech at the 1988 Democratic National Convention and scene-setting imagery of Texas in the '40s and '50s, among others. Matthew Richards' lighting creates a nice fading-afternoon look in the governor's office sequence. Ken Huncovsky's sound design provides reinforcement for White's voice, heard only through an intercom; Richards' DNC speech; and such effects as wind and both murmuring and cheering crowds. Julie Weiss has captured the perma-press look of Richards' suits, which goes perfectly with that remarkable hair.

And even when the play is dawdling past the point of welcome, Taylor is a treat, working the room with the skill of a master politician, spinning stories, hurling zingers, and sharing just enough of herself to make sure we like her. Ann is also a valuable reminder of how fast things change in politics -- was it really only 20 years ago that a female liberal was in charge of Texas, the state of anti-abortion, anti-evolution, anti-tax crusaders like Rick Perry? Can you imagine what she would have to say about all that today?

"You haven't lived until you've been governor of Texas," she warns us at one point. It is Taylor's considerable achievement that she makes us believe those words without a second's hesitation. --David Barbour