Theatre in Review: Go Back to Where You Are (Playwrights Horizons)

	David Greenspan. Photo credit: Joan Marcus

Is there a new play shortage I haven't heard about? Are companies so strapped for new material that they're putting on first drafts? That's the only explanation I can think of for Go Back to Where You Are. David Greenspan's 70-minute comedy treats its narrative so cursorily that it practically creates its own new genre: Reader's Digest Condensed Theatre. Unfortunately, in this case, they left out all the good parts.

The action -- what there is of it -- is set at a Long Island summer house owned by Claire, a well-known actress of great surface charm but a vain and selfish monster underneath. Her houseguests include Charlotte, the struggling actress she loves to patronize; Tom, her sometime director; Wally, her son, a television writer from LA; Malcolm, Tom's discontented partner, and Bernard, her brother, an unsuccessful playwright still mourning the loss of his lover to AIDS many years before. It's the perfect setup for a modern riff on The Seagull -- Claire is more or less living the part of Madame Arkadina -- but Greenspan chooses not to go there.

That's because there's another character on the scene. He's Passalus, a chorus boy from ancient Greece, who is dispatched by God Himself from BC to AD to solve the problems of yet another of Claire's guests. It's indicative of Greenspan's method here that we never see this woman nor do we discover why she needs Passalus' help; that would require creating a character and weaving her into the plot, something the author can't be bothered to do.

Instead, moving so rapidly that you think he must have a dinner date, Greenspan presents each character's problems, which are then magically solved by Passalus, who, ignoring God's orders, decides to mix in and help out. He gives Wally new confidence in his writing. He patches up the troubled relationship of Tom and Malcolm. He even gives Bernard's career a small boost. The latter gesture is significant because he has fallen in love with Bernard, who, to say the least, has commitment problems.

This might have made for a charming comedy if we ever got to know anything about the characters, but Greenspan is in too much of a hurry for that -- so everyone gets a couple of minutes to state his dilemma before Passalus goes to work. (Passalus, by the way, appears both as himself (with a modern cover story to explain his presence) and as an elderly grand dame who likes to hobnob with Claire.) The action unfolds in the most self-conscious manner, with everyone talking about the fact that they're in a play. "It's true; there's no chronology," more than one character remarks, thus giving Greenspan the freedom to punctuate the story with jump cuts, allowing Passalus to switch back and forth from his old-lady persona without ever leaving the stage. There are many, many inside jokes. "It's not like I'm God," says Malcolm, played by Tim Hopper, who is indeed double-cast as the Deity.

If Greenspan wants to fiddle about with these extra-theatrical games, it's harmless enough, as long as you know what you're getting into. What's truly remarkable, however, is how the director, Leigh Silverman, has assembled a blue chip cast -- including Lisa Banes as Claire, Marian Mayberry as Charlotte, and Stephen Bogardus as Wally, along with Hopper and Greenspan himself (as Passalus) -- considering that their roles are practically nonexistent. The one exception is Brian Hutchison as Bernard, who is allowed to open up to us a little more. This gifted actor gives us a clear glimpse into his character's tragedy-stunted soul, and, even though the script gives us no indication of what Bernard and Passalus see in each other, the resolution of their romantic dilemma is genuinely moving.

Anyway, under Silverman's pacey direction, the cast members give it their all. I felt particularly sad for Banes, who, if she had a dozen or so good lines, would have been a riot. Greenspan makes full use of his trademark mannerisms -- the high nasal voice, the singsong rhythm, the over-scaled gestures -- which, in this case, mark him as a visitor from another world. The production is certainly easy on the eyes, given Rachel Hauck's elegant boardwalk-and-beach setting, which is lit with delicacy by Matt Grey. Theresa Squire's costumes are extremely observant.

None of this good work distracts one from the fact that Go Back to Where You Are is over before it ever gets going. Late in the evening, Bernard, who is (surprise!) revealed to be the author of what we're seeing, says, "I think it is a play. It could be a sketch." He said it; I didn't.--David Barbour