Theatre in Review: Bronx Bombers (Primary Stages at The Duke on 42nd Street)

	Richard Topol and Christopher Jackson. Photo: James Leynse

Playwright Eric Simonson fields an all-star lineup of baseball greats in Bronx Bombers, a whimsical, sentimental comedy about the New York Yankees. Following Lombardi and Magic/Bird, this is Simonson's third major league sports-themed collaboration with the producers Fran Kirmser and Tony Ponturo. It is also the most awkwardly constructed of the three; in his desire to get everyone from Babe Ruth to Derek Jeter on the same stage, he hasn't been able to work up much of a play. Even if you're not a baseball fan, however, there is a certain amount of pleasure to be had in watching a first-string lineup of New York character actors at bat.

The heaviest hitter is Richard Topol, almost unrecognizable as a beleaguered Yogi Berra. It is 1977, during the Yankees' "Bronx Zoo" period, when George Steinbrenner had only recently begun his dictatorial ownership of a team split by fractious personalities. Berra, who coaches the Yankees, is frantically trying to patch up an ugly public dispute between star player Reggie Jackson and manager Billy Martin. Jackson, who never met a reporter he didn't like, has blasted Martin to the press, accusing the manager of not using him well. The livid Martin, who insists that Jackson isn't living up to his potential, is convinced he is about to be fired by Steinbrenner. Berra has improbably enlisted Thurman Munson in his peacemaking efforts; Munson is considered the heart and soul of the Yankees but he and Jackson openly loathe each other.

This is a pretty good setup, although Simonson peppers the dialogue with a few too many Berra-style malapropisms. "That is a record that will stand until it is broken," he assures one of the players about a signature achievement. "Whatever happens, it hasn't happened yet," he says, by way of noting that the worst can be avoided. "I may be nostalgic, but I don't like living in the past," he adds. Topol's Berra, hair pasted to his forehead, a slightly stunned expression barely hidden behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, is a delight, but a little bit of this goes a long way. As Berra himself notes, "I didn't say everything I said."

Still, Bronx Bombers makes some crackling comedy out of the conflict between the strutting, self-important Jackson (Francois Battiste) and the neurotic, alternately furious and weepy Martin (Keith Nobbs), while the laconic Munson (Bill Dawes) looks on, providing color commentary. Meanwhile, Berra fears that Steinbrenner wants him to replace Martin as manager, a job that his wife, Carmen, reminds him is hell on his stomach lining. Simonson stages some amusing business involving Berra and Munson embarrassedly urging each other to comfort Martin during his frequent bursts of tears, and there's a clever bit when Martin, dressed in a leather jacket and cowboy hat, carefully arranges himself on the couch, donning sunglasses in an effort to look formidable before Jackson enters the room.

But, rather than keeping his eye on the dramatic ball, Simonson heads for left field with a long Act II dream sequence in which Berra and Carmen host a ghostly dinner party with a guest list that includes Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, Elston Howard, Mickey Mantle, and Derek Jeter. The alleged purpose of this get-together is for Berra to find a solution to the Jackson-Martin deadlock, but the scene quickly devolves into a theatrical old-timer's game, a parade of legendary personalities carrying on pretty much as you would expect them to do. Ruth is greedy for food, booze, and women. The saintly, doomed Gehrig is already showing signs of the illness that will come to bear his name. DiMaggio is cagey, a tough negotiator who claims he's in the game for the money. Howard's earnest, low-profile demeanor as the first black Yankee is contrasted with Jackson's demanding ways. Mantle boozes and complains that the '60s were bad for baseball.

Once again, there are some striking moments. "All the Yankees went to the Stork Club," reminisces Carmen. "Not all of them, Carmen," says Howard, quietly reminding her that blacks were not admitted to that fabled night club. Ruth enters wearing an enormous raccoon coat and bearing a case of what he calls "sparkling apple cider," shaking up the gathering with his energy. There is plenty of dramatic irony as the older players, unaware of the changes wrought by time, meet their successors: "You must play with the Black Yankees," Ruth says, referring to a Negro League team of the '30s, when introduced to Jeter. And Mantle, who has a slight vindictive streak, needs only one sly reference to Marilyn Monroe to get a rise, of near-fistfight proportions, out of DiMaggio.

Still, there are very few surprises here, and the choice of the clean-cut Jeter to represent the modern-day team is a clue that Simonson is more interested in easy uplift than in analyzing the profound changes that have shaped the national pastime. (It's tempting to wonder how this scene would play if, say, he had added the scandal-wracked Alex Rodriguez to the mix.) And when, after the dinner party scene, the action jumps forward to 2008 for the final game in the old House that Ruth Built, it is obvious that Simonson has forgone real drama for a scrapbook of scenes dedicated to reassuring fans that the Yankees were, are, and will always be baseball's greatest team.

In any case, the cast capitalizes on the larger-than-life characters they are given. C. J. Wilson's brash Ruth is a likable vulgarian, even when he is trying to round up a gang for a brothel visit. John Wernke's Gehrig is suffused with melancholy, as if he knows his time is running out. Dawes' cynical Mickey Mantle battles enjoyably with Chris Henry Coffey's edgy, buttoned-up DiMaggio. Simonson always writes one juicy female role in these plays, and Wendy Makkena makes a most stylish hostess as Carmen, who can hold her own in a room of big league egos.

Bronx Bombers is staged in the round, which poses a number of problems for the set designer, Beowulf Boritt. For a touch of authentic atmosphere, he provides a treatment on the theatre's upper level that suggests the distinctive architecture of the old Yankee Stadium. Otherwise, his main challenge involves getting various arrangements of furniture -- from a Boston hotel room, the Berras' bedroom, the dinner party, and a locker room -- on and off stage without slowing the pace of the show. This he does, aided by a well-drilled running crew; the designer also makes clever use of revolving ceiling pieces to suggest different locations. Jason Lyons' lighting is an understated thing of beauty, proving you don't needs tons of color or patterns to make beautiful stage pictures. David C. Woolard's costumes include wickedly accurate '70s-era leisure wear for Munson and Jackson, a smashing New Look gown for Makkena, and a thoroughly contemporary suit for Nobbs, who doubles as a young reporter in the final scene. Lindsay Jones' sound design includes the crack of a baseball hitting a bat, the roar of a stadium full of fans, and maybe a little too much underscoring in the John Williams inspirational-movie-music vein.

Lombardi and Magic/Bird were both negligible as drama, but, like Bronx Bombers, they had their charms, and Lombardi at least managed a decent run. Whether Bronx Bombers can successfully hit for the bleachers remains to be seen, but even for the non-sports fan, it offers modest, if very real, charms. -- David Barbour