Theatre in Review: Good Person of Szechwan (The Foundry Theatre/La MaMa E.T.C.)

	Taylor Mac. Photo: Pavel Antonov

"Without danger, there is no theatre." So says Lettice Douffet, the eccentric Englishwoman so memorably portrayed by Maggie Smith in Peter Shaffer's Lettice and Lovage. These were strange words to be recalling at a Brecht revival -- somehow the role of Mother Courage has eluded our dear Maggie -- but they seemed oddly apt when a small fire broke out at La MaMa the other night, near the end of the performance of The Foundry Theatre's production of The Good Person of Szechwan. Apparently, an actress, standing on the gallery that surrounds the auditorium, removed a black judicial robe, putting it too close to a lighting unit, sending the robe up in flames. The fire was instantly put out by a resourceful member of the show's band, but the alarm was triggered, leading to a chaotic several minutes during which the cast evacuated the theatre while most of the audience members remained in their seats.

They stayed because the danger was obviously over, but I also like to think they stayed because they were so engrossed in Lear Debessonet's production that they were plain determined to see it through. (After a cameo appearance by the local fire department, the performance progressed quickly to the finale.) As it happens, such determination was well-founded. Good Person is a tricky piece; if not handled with sufficient style, it can quickly devolve into a tedious, humorless economics lecture. (Sadly, this was the case the last time I saw it, in an adaptation by Tony Kushner with songs by Los Lobos, at La Jolla Playhouse in 1994.) And, on paper, the team assembled by Debessonet pretty much defines the term "motley crew." It includes a downtown drag artist, a gaggle of musical theatre specialists, the artistic director of an Asian-American theatre company, one of the leading cutups of the Five Lesbian Brothers, and a Brooklyn-based indie music group. Before you get a premonitory case of indigestion, I hasten to add that Debessonet mixes these seemingly clashing ingredients into an unexpectedly harmonious whole -- if that's the word I want. In her hands, Brecht's barbed tale of money and morality becomes a mordant cartoon that, from time to time, surprises one with moments of power and deep feeling.

Much of the show's effect is the result of creative casting. Taylor Mac, known for expansive performance pieces with equally expansive wardrobes, is an inspired choice to play Shen Tei, the put-upon prostitute who is elevated to the status of shopkeeper by the intervention of a trio of passive-aggressive gods. Mac is bald and his chest hair is always on display under his slip; oddly enough, this makes him a most suitable Brechtian heroine, a living embodiment of the alienation effect. He is also well positioned for the scenes in which Shen Tei, unable to stick up for herself, appears in the guise of her brother, Shui Ta, an unrepentant capitalist who eventually becomes a tobacco mogul. (In one of the many sly touches employed by the costume designer, Clint Ramos, Shui Ta, outfitted with a pinstripe suit, bowler hat, and handlebar mustache, looks like a George Grosz caricature of a haute-bourgeois businessman; it's a nice tip of the hat to Brecht.) Mac is a gifted comic, whether pausing in the midst of a burst of anguish to preen for the audience in a frighteningly overdone wedding dress or struggling to extricate himself from an inflatable chair without revealing the baby bump under his suit jacket. But he can change the mood of a scene with the tiniest of gestures and is possessed of a stage-shaking singing voice when required. And he makes you feel the parade of personal dilemmas -- none with a clear-cut answer -- that befall Shen Tei, whose good fortune is revealed to have many strings attached. (When she has money, she is surrounded by the needy and duplicitous, all of them brandishing claims to her money; when she becomes Shui Ta to defend herself, she turns into the worst, most grasping boss of all.)

Mac gets plenty of support from the rest of the cast. David Turner is a continuously compelling presence as Wang, the water seller who provides plenty of color commentary on the rising and falling of Shen Tei's fortunes, while eyeing the audience with a skeptical glare. Vinie Burrows, Annie Golden, and Mia Katigbak make a fine trio of gods, eager to raise up humanity one moment and too busy to be bothered the next, as they lie around, complaining about the stress of running a recalcitrant universe. Clifton Duncan makes a strong impression as the handsome, opportunistic aviator who is only too willing to fleece Shen Tei out of her small fortune to advance his career; there's a palpable impatience behind his words each time he woos her, which doesn't bode well for her future. And Lisa Kron scores heavily in a pair of roles, as the hatchet-faced landlady who wants the rent money from Shen Tei now, no excuses, and as the aviator's mother, wittily outfitted in stretch pants and a sequined sweater, who sees only dollar signs when she gazes upon Shen Tei. Pacing the action is a series of attractively bluesy songs by César Alvarez and The Lisps, which cast their own melancholy spell.

The ingenious scenic design by Matt Saunders follows a kind of cheap-chic aesthetic, placing a series of cardboard hovels on a steep series of steps, with clouds and a biplane floating above the action. It's both epic and economical. Tyler Micoleau's lighting fluently reworks the large playing space as needed. Brandon Wolcott's sound design could do a little more to make the lyrics of the songs more intelligible.

It's probably appropriate that Kron, who gets many of the biggest laughs of the evening, is chosen to step out of the action at the end to inform us that, as far as the cast is concerned, Shen Tei's problems are insoluble, and it's up to us to figure them out. Brecht's exhaustively made point is that, under capitalism, virtue inevitably shrivels, or, as one of the gods puts it, "No one can be good for long, if goodness is not in demand." He argues his case so skillfully that it becomes hard to refute. Thanks to Mac and his accomplished colleagues, this unpalatable message rings horribly true.--David Barbour