Theatre in Review: China Doll (Gerald S. Schoenfeld Theatre)

	Al Pacino. Photo: Jeremy Daniel

Something very odd has begun to happen, just recently, with David Mamet's plays: People are getting lost inside them. It first happened in 2012's The Anarchist, when Debra Winger, playing an unspecified representative of the law and saddled with speeches that were like a volume of legal briefs, nervously prowled the stage, seemingly in search of a character, a point of view, a stylistic approach. It was painful to watch, especially since she was paired with Patti LuPone, who always, always, knows what she's doing, and it was hard to believe that Mamet, who directed, had left one of his leading ladies up there without a net. Mamet didn't direct his new play, China Doll -- that job has fallen to Pam MacKinnon -- but something even more discomfiting is unfolding nightly at the Schoenfeld: the sight of a star, Al Pacino, flailing, utterly at sea.

At first glance, China Doll promises the tough-guy dialogue and backstabbing action that is Mamet's stock in trade. Pacino is Mickey Ross, a mogul of some sort -- as always, the playwright stints on the details -- who is, as the curtain rises, trying to unravel the kind of kerfuffle that afflicts only the very, very rich. Mickey bought a private jet in Switzerland; it is scheduled to be delivered to him in Toronto, where he intends to pick up his girlfriend, who is British, then head to England, where she has a green card issue that needs ironing out. For tax purposes, the plane cannot be in the US; unfortunately, because of a minor malfunction, it is forced to make a brief emergency landing in New York. The upshot: The plane is now in Toronto, but Mickey's girl, who was on board, has barricaded herself in a hotel under an assumed name, and a $5 million tax bill suddenly looms.

With the help of Carson, his nearly silent assistant, Mickey works the phones, trying to get satisfaction. With a Bluetooth in his ear -- Carson does all the dialing -- Mickey goes after, among others, the plane's manufacturer, his lawyer, a representative of the governor, and the governor's father, a longtime crony. He also keeps trying to reach his girlfriend, who isn't taking calls, so he must work his way through several layers of the hotel's management. The more pressure he applies, the more it becomes apparent that he is the victim of a political squeeze play and the young lady has been brutally humiliated by law enforcement officials, in a rather flagrant abuse of power. By the end of the first act, an infuriated Mickey informs Carson that it is time to get out "the files."

These would be dossiers on the governor and his father with which he plans to embarrass them. This kind of tooth-and-claw battle is basic Mamet, and the man-on-the-phone dramatic format can be made to work -- see Craig Wright's Mistakes Were Made, in which Michael Shannon turned in a hilarious, crackling performance as a Broadway producer at bay. But China Doll is a limp affair, partly because the dialogue is so rambling and discursive, its dramatic point blunted by what seems like hours of schmoozing -- and also because Pacino simply isn't on top of the role. His Mickey should hum with menace; instead, he seems tired, meandering, unable to work up much aggression at all. At the top of the second act, when he decides the $5 million isn't worth all the tsuris, that he will simply pay the tax bill and move on, he doesn't seem all that different from the supposedly agitated Mickey of Act I, a couple of furious gestures just before intermission excepted.

Rumors flew during previews that Pacino couldn't learn his lines. That's not really a problem here, but he's not really on top of things; he frequently stumbles over his words and his voice fades out from time to time. If his Mickey was meant to be Zen on the surface and a killer underneath, that might make for a gripping contrast. As it is, the actor goes in and out all night long, rarely working up enough energy to engage us for more than a minute or two at the time. When Mickey, discovering that he is in far deeper trouble than he originally imagined and that he is nursing a Judas in his own entourage, finally takes violent action, the result is silly rather that sinister.

The fault cannot be laid entirely at Pacino's door; the script for China Doll meanders incessantly; during the early exposition, the dialogue lingers over such details as the decision, made by the manufacturer, to change the tail number of the plane from a Swiss to an American registration. This is a key point, but it is discussed to death. For once, Mamet's minimal use of details doesn't let us fill in the blanks; Mickey's relationship with his fiancée has no reality, nor do we understand anything about Carson.

The latter character is played with a kind coiled intensity by Christopher Denham, who is omnipresent but given only a handful of lines to say. Both actors are smartly costumed by Jess Goldstein, and there's a lot to like in Russell H. Champa's lighting, especially the golden daylight that flows in during Act II. About Derek McLane's set, I can only say that it is one of his most mysterious creations. I spent most of the first act trying to figure out where this towering, minimalist-chic interior with enormous windows was located. After intermission, it seemed clear that it's a hotel room, but, as far as I know, it could be in any state in the union. This is not the designer's way -- McLane has given us many finely detailed works in the past -- so I can only assume that he is following orders. There is no sound design, because Mamet doesn't believe in it, but, more than once, I wished that Pacino's faint, feathery voice had been miked.

There is drama tucked away inside the script of China Doll, but both playwright and director have applied the brakes, slowing the action to a crawl, and their low-energy star is unable to act as a galvanizing agent. Some of Mamet's plays are thrilling and some are irritating, even infuriating. I would never describe one as sleepy. Until now. -- David Barbour