Theatre in Review: The True (The New Group at Pershing Square Signature Center)

	Peter Scolari, Austin Cauldwell, Edie Falco. Photo: Monique Carboni.

The pleasure of seeing Edie Falco disappear into the role of Dorothea "Polly" Noonan is the greatest of many offered by Sharr White's salty, bracing comic drama about politics in Albany, circa 1977. Polly is the confidant of Erastus Corning II, the longtime mayor, and the Democratic machine that has kept Erastus in office for decades is beginning to show a few hiccups. As the play begins, Dan O'Connell, the party chairman, has passed away. Even if Dan was 91, Erastus is stunned; the drums of change are pounding in the distance. Erastus was, in many ways, Dan's creation; now, Charlie Ryan, another local pol, is poised take over the chairman's role and he intends to place his own man in the mayoral seat. Adding to his worries, Erastus barely scraped by in the last election with a margin of a few thousand votes -- in an overwhelmingly Democratic city.

None of this bothers Polly, a creature of daunting vitality and scalding candor. Instead, she's a combination fixer, spy, and tactician, a modern Madame Defarge running a pair of culottes through her Singer sewing machine while working the angles and handing out opinions in a vocabulary that would make David Mamet blush. Consoling her blindsided friend, she says, "Erastus, do me a favor? Repeat after me? Ready? Boo-f--king-hoo." Listening to a potential enemy pontificate, "You don't buy loyalty. You inspire it," she snaps, "Where'd you read that, some poster on the wall of your life insurance agent?" (This doesn't mean she won't employ the bromide when she needs it, however.) Realizing that Bill, a young acolyte she has been wooing with hospitality and homemade Irish stew, is of no real use, she instantly sends him home with a filled Tupperware container and some popsicle molds -- the better to make frozen stew pops. After all, why waste an evening on someone who has nothing tucked away in the favor bank?

Polly is a minister without portfolio; having started out as a secretary in Erastus' insurance business, she has remained by his side through his long, long run, to the point where it is widely assumed that they are lovers. They aren't, although the truth, when finally arrived at, is too complex to summarize in a few words. In any case, her loving husband, Peter -- who is Erastus' best friend -- notes, in all admiration, "When Father Moreno buries you he'll have to take precautions, so you can't claw your way out on election days." But crisis arrives when Erastus, without warning, quietly tells Polly, "With deep regret. I'm going to have to end my association with you."

It's worth noting that Polly, Erastus, and Peter are all real-life characters, and Polly's granddaughter is Kirsten Gillibrand, Senator from New York. (She doesn't appear in the play, but those culottes are being made for her eleven-year-old self.) I don't know if White's script is true to the facts, but it serves up a vivid series of episodes as Polly, mystified by Erastus' shunning of her, struggles to hold on to her place while negotiating a changing political landscape. Without Erastus' knowledge, she confronts Howard, his potential opponent, who offers her the chance for a life-changing betrayal. Charlie, unleashing years of frustration, tells her, "You're like a f--king snake with the head cut off, still biting." Suddenly, Polly must confront the possibility that she is past her prime.

The True starts out like a standard political melodrama, but White is interested in Polly's sui generis position in a nearly all-male power structure -- and in the complicated emotional bargains she, Erastus, and Peter have made to maintain the equipoise of their arrangement. (Erastus' unhappy wife makes the briefest of appearances, crossing the stage to show-stopping effect, for reasons I'd better leave unrevealed.) But, as Polly not unreasonably notes, the real problem is her gender: "I know plenty of men just like me, Peter. In fact, pretty much all men I know are just like me, and they're admired. But what am I? Suspect. Goddamned suspect."

And rather than indict the party's corruption -- like the paid-for votes that Polly dismisses as "a tradition" -- White looks back on them with a certain fondness, insisting that even if they entailed a certain amount of fancy footwork at the ballot box, the results included good patronage jobs, pensions for widows, and a chicken in every pot. It's all about retail politics: Polly stuns Bill with her granular knowledge of his neighborhood, including the members of his own family; that's how business is done. She also cannily warns Erastus that the party is destroying itself by failing to serve heavily black neighborhoods with the same efficiency it has addressed the city's declining Irish population. She also sees that a world of middle-class prosperity is on the wane: "You work so hard keeping people organized. Civilized. In pursuit of...ideals. Only to see everything crumble and people turn on each other, like animals. It happens that fast, Peter. The things you read about New York City. Whole blocks burning in the Bronx. Neighbor robbing neighbor. Worse. Sometimes I'm afraid that...our lives? That...we were just lucky enough...to...have lived them during this...little, light-filled bubble of...good. Dark ages before, dark ages after."

If Falco -- with her hair pushed back in leonine fashion, all-devouring eyes occasionally hidden by large eyeglasses, and a nose sharp enough to open a manila envelope -- drives the action with her magpie energy, she gets marvelous support from her two leading men. Michael McKean is Erastus, heavy with the weight of the world, quietly sipping yet another scotch to quiet the fear that his time is up, yet willing to admit to Polly, with barely suppressed anger, "You do get my goat." Peter Scolari's Peter is watchful and sympathetic, always there when needed, yet also capable of smilingly slipping in the needle. When Polly demands time for her beauty sleep, he laconically notes, "Oh, you've got beauty enough." We also see the considerable affection that exists between Erastus and Peter, despite the cloud of suspicion under which all of them are made to dwell.

The True also features supporting roles so juicy that they require some surprisingly big names to do justice to their single appearances. They include Austin Cauldwell as the hapless Bill, who mistakenly tries to prove his masculine bona fides by ordering one of Peter's martinis; Glenn Fitzgerald as Howard, Erastus' silky-smooth challenger; and John Pankow as Charlie, the slovenly, loutish operator who would be party chairman.

In addition to his fine handling of the cast, Scott Elliott's production benefits from a production design that is both evocative and efficient. Derek McLane's basic set, depicting Polly and Peter's combination library and kitchen, changes quickly, thanks to new backdrops, into Polly's bedroom, Erastus' home, Charlie's living room, and a car interior. These changes are aided by Jeff Croiter's seamless, beautiful lighting; the opening tableau, featuring Polly, Peter, and Erastus in their individual pools of light, kicks off the action on an especially felicitous note. Clint Ramos has provided Polly with an array of period-accurate wrap dresses; the men's suits are equally right. Rob Milburn and Michael Bodeen have provided incidental music that makes good use of bongo drums and various strings, along with an array of the usual effects.

Presiding over it all is Falco, who, given the best role she has had in perhaps twenty years, creates an indelible, indomitable political survivor. "You're a piece of work, you know that?" asks a visibly irritated Howard. "It's possible I may have heard that in some certain quarters," she replies, offering a feline smile of satisfaction. "Are you finished?" asks an equally vexed Erastus after one of their head-butting sessions. "I'm just catching my breath," she replies. Believe me: The lady knows what she is talking about. -- David Barbour