Theatre in Review: The Intelligent Homosexual's Guide... (The Public Theatre) There's been a fascinating theme to the season at the Public, in which several plays have dealt with families whose histories are irretrievably intertwined with the politics of their time. They include the Bush-era liberals of In the Wake, the disappointed New York State Democrats of That Hopey Changey Thing, and the exiled Palestinians of Urge for Going, who all find their destinies shaped by complex political developments. Even the wife and children of Meyer Levin, in Rinne Groff's Compulsion, find themselves held hostage to his battle against cultural anti-Semites. This dialogue between the private and the public reaches a climax with The Intelligent Homosexual's Guide to Capitalism and Socialism with a Key to the Scriptures, a symphonic blend of symposium and soap opera that aims to explore the shifting political realities of the last half century while simultaneously exploring a family of almost Tolstoyan complexity. It's a tall order, ever for Tony Kushner, who routinely conceives his work in epic terms. Interestingly, it's the second new play we've gotten this season about the emotional and political fallout in a family founded by old hard-line Communists. If I prefer Amy Herzog's After the Revolution, seen at Playwrights Horizons a few months ago, it's because of its taut, compact dramatic structure. Typically, for Kushner, The Intelligent Homosexual's Guide to...> offers plenty of riches -- big ideas, a grasp of history, dazzlingly intelligent dialogue, and a cast of singularly cantankerous characters, all of whom have plenty to say. But, unlike his best plays, this one is so top-heavy with plot lines that it all but collapses in the third act. As the lights fade for the last time, it's easy to feel you've been on a three-hour-and-45-minute journey with no fixed destination. The center of this particular family universe is Gus Marcantonio, 72-year-old retired longshoreman and former labor activist. (It's amusing to see Michael Cristofer, fresh from last season's revival of A View from the Bridge, back among the Italian dock workers so soon.) Gus has recently attempted suicide, and his immediate family has assembled at his Carroll Gardens brownstone to discuss his plans to try it again. And what a family. The eldest son, Pierluigi, known as Pill, is so enslaved by a young hustler that he has fled New York for the Midwest, taking his angry lover of 26 years with him. Empty, short for Maria Teresa, is a former nurse turned labor lawyer, who still carries the family's radical flag. Her lesbian lover is about to give birth, but that doesn't stop Empty from dropping in on her ex-husband, Adam, for the occasional bout of sex. (Adam conveniently rents the garden apartment in Gus' house.) V, the youngest, a builder with a wife and children, carries a two-by-four chip on his shoulder; he was also the sperm donor for Maeve, Empty's lover. Also on hand is Clio, Gus' sister, a former nun turned member of the Shining Path who has been her brother's keeper for a year and wants to hand over the job to someone else. For at least two acts each scene unfolds like another engrossing chapter in a fine novel or mini-series. Pill's addiction to Eli is rooted in a supreme irony: This middle-aged child of socialism is turned on by the idea of paying for sex with younger men. He admits this even as he makes Eli his personal reclamation project, trying to save him from prostitution; it's no wonder he has a destabilizing effect on Eli. Fuming on the sidelines is Paul, Pill's lover, an atheist theologian who is watching his academic career go down the drain, thanks to their exile from New York. Gus announces that he has sold the house, throwing everyone into a tizzy. Empty lashes out at Adam, who handled the deal, then sleeps with him. V lashes out at Gus, savaging his political beliefs, unleashing a lifetime of grievance. Meanwhile, there are bombshells to be dropped regarding the house's new owner and the circumstances of Maeve's insemination. There are other nagging questions: Why did Empty finance Pill's affair with Eli to the tune of $30,000? And what's in that little suitcase that V found inside one of the walls? Welcome to America in 2007. The socialist dream has died, Communism has collapsed of its own internal contradictions, and families like Gus', left with nothing to believe in, flail about, seeking momentary pleasures in the most self-destructive ways. As a state-of-the-nation play, The Intelligent Homosexual's Guide recalls, in its general contours, August: Osage County, even if its details and milieu are thoroughly different. But where Tracy Letts' family drama benefited from a tightly coiled psychological tension, Kushner's play ultimately gets lost in its own digressions. At times, it's hard to believe that these people share a long and complex history; each is lost in his or her own storyline The main problem, I think, is that Gus' existential crisis doesn't provide a central spring for the play's mechanism. It's difficult to build a drama this complex around a depressed and withdrawn character. Even with his outbursts of fury, Gus doesn't really care much about the people and events around him - and, the more we learn about the family history, the more it seems that his effect on his children mostly amounts to sins of omission. As the characters drift off in Act III, their problems addressed but largely left unresolved, the one remaining point of -- whether Gus will choose to live or die -- doesn't seem all that urgent. But, before it bogs down, The Intelligent Homosexual's Guide -- the title, aside from its allusions to Shaw, also refers to Pill's long--gestating dissertation -- offers some dryly amusing lines, lots of sharp observations, and a genial cast of basket cases. "I shouldn't have cut my wrists on your birthday," says Cristofer's Gus, giving us a hair-raising glimpse into the family's definition of normality. Stephen Spinella makes Pill's sexual obsessions seem all too believable, and he retains his pointed way with a line. ("You were so bored, you learned Latin," he reminds Gus of his years of idleness.) Steven Pasquale simmers with a frightening rage as V. and Matt Servitto is a notably sharp-eyed kibitzer as Adam, for whom divorce has not provided a way out of this family. Brenda Wehle is a compelling, if faintly mysterious, presence as Clio, about who we don't hear nearly enough. Molly Price has a chilling Act III cameo as a local widow who instructs others in how to kill themselves. In the crucial role of Empty, Linda Emond works hard, but she has a tough assignment, as she is supposed to be the child most caught up in the question of Gus' death. Also, as written, Empty has so little connection to Maeve that the fate of their marriage doesn't seem worth bothering about. K. Todd Freeman has little to do but stand about and look furious , as Paul, whose reasons for staying with Pill never quite make sense. Michael Greif's direction is, scene by scene, meticulous and finely observed, but he does little to convince us that the play has much of a dramatic itinerary. In a way, by making each scene so interesting, he emphasizes the fact that the play is a collection of subplots in search of a climax. He has, however, made sure that the play has an excellent production design. Mark Wendland's multi-level scenic concept moves swiftly from Gus' dining room to Eli's studio, several street locations, and Adam's garden apartment. The look of each of these locations is enriched by Kevin Adams finely detailed lighting. Clint Ramos' nicely observant costumes, and Ken Travis' sound design, which provides reinforcement for a collection of classical and jazz selections (some of the latter is by Michael Friedman), are both solid. The Intelligent Homosexual's Guide is a good demonstration of Kushner's weakest aspect as a playwright, namely the way he lets his garrulous characters overwhelm the action with talk, disputation, and point/counterpoint exchanges. The piece is so ambitious, and for a while, so engaging that the concomitant disappointment is that much greater. This is a monumental play, with monumental flaws.--David Barbour 
|
