Theatre in Review: The Memory Show (Transport Group)The Memory Show invites us into the living room of Mother and Daughter, as they bicker, hurl accusations, and rewrite the past, all part of their lifelong struggle to seize the upper hand. It's a psychological boxing match in which neither party ever lands a knockout punch. Between rounds, they confide in the audience, each wooing us to her point of view. They really don't belong in the same city, let alone under the same roof, but Mother has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease, and Daughter has returned to care for her -- if "care" is the word I want: "My mother's always been a pain in the ass. But now she has an excuse," Daughter notes, demonstrating her best bedside manner. Remarkably, this tale of intergenerational infighting and debilitating illness is a musical, and if The Memory Show teaches us anything, it is about the limits of conventional musical theatre when it comes to treating certain subjects. This is not to say that Sara Cooper (book and lyrics) and Zach Redler (music) don't provide some incisive moments. The opening number, "Who's the President of the United States," marries a spiky, angry lyric to an intriguing jumping-jack melody as it expresses Mother's anger and anxiety at undergoing a mental status examination. "David's Smile" is a sad, ruminative little ballad in which Daughter recalls how she met and shed her ideal mate, unable to handle a man who treated her well. In "What's Inside," Cooper finds just the right words for Mother, expressing herself in a series of brief, but emotionally charged, phrases: "My life is like a walnut/Cracked by you/What's inside/A broken sun/A missing dawn/A soupy spoon/A husband gone." This is The Memory Show in more ways than one because, even without the presence of Alzheimer's, Mother and Daughter remember their past in radically different ways. "Your father wasn't the man you remember," Mother sings. "He was a nebbishy little man with fingers like shelled clams/The son of a fishmonger who sold to the vendors at Coney Island/With chubby tan cheeks like fresh-roasted yams." Daughter furiously counters, "He was very soft-spoken and a good listener, too/A man who took on the family business out of love and respect for his father/A man who was able to put up with you." Where there is so little agreement, peaceful coexistence is sure to be a pipe dream. But as Mother and Daughter's mutual fury flourishes and as Mother's mind continues to slip away, Cooper and Redler find themselves increasingly hamstrung by the situation they have created; their attempts at treating mental illness, adultery, abuse, and attempted suicide with a rueful wiseacre humor almost always fall flat, and their frequently attractive music isn't powerful enough to handle the grim facts laid out here. A number called "You and Me, Toilet," in which Daughter comically complains about having to clean up after Mother in the bathroom, is squirm-inducing. Equally unpleasant is the masochistic drinking game Daughter plays while picking unsuitable men on Match.com. A physical tussle that ends in Mother on the floor and pills scattered everywhere pitches the action into melodrama. The climax hinges on the revelation of a long-buried secret -- the existence of which is telegraphed repeatedly -- that would have you believe Daughter has misread her childhood in its totality. In any case, it appears to be the only way the authors could arrange a tearful reconciliation in time for the finale. Under Joe Calarco's direction, The Memory Show at least offers a pair of powerful personalities. Catherine Cox, a regular on Broadway in the '80s, is excellent as Mother, with her awkward, stork-like gestures and aggressively flippant manner, neither of which ever erase that lost look in her eyes as the darkness closes in around her. If nothing else, it's great to see her again. The big-voiced comedienne Leslie Kritzer fully inhabits the role of Daughter, making heavy use of her stage presence and natural charm to put over a character whose eleven o'clock number is titled "I'm Unlovable," a proposition that is usually hard to argue with. The production also benefits from Brian Prather's set design, which is dominated by an upstage wall loaded with family photos; many of the frames are empty, a pointed visual clue as to what is ailing Mother. Similarly, Chris Lee, the lighting designer, creates a series of telling flashes that indicates the progress of Mother's illness. (The effect is based on a comment Mother makes about opening mental doors and being greeted by a white flash that signals another lost memory.) Walter Trarbach, the sound designer, provides an effect, like the clicking of a camera, to accompany these flash cues. The costume designer, Kathryn Rohe, has provided both actresses with natural-looking outfits. Can a story this sad and relentlessly downbeat be made into a musical? Never say never, but on the face of it, a chamber opera might be the best approach. Cooper and Redler have something, but in this case they've given themselves a seemingly impossible assignment. Alternately sentimental and bilious, The Memory Show makes its characters sing when what they really want to do is scream. -- David Barbour 
|
