Article Launched: 01/17/2008 11:01:20 AM PST, Marin Independent Journal
There is a pink elephant in the living room of A.R. Gurney’s 1988 comedy-drama, “The Cocktail Hour,” that has simply become too big to step around. So concludes John, the protagonist/antagonist of Ross Valley Players’ bravura new production of Gurney’s autobiographical play, which features four distinct and fascinating performances by four distinct and fascinating actors, and a brilliant directorial turn by RVP newcomer Mary Ann Rodgers.
Like one of those urbane, sophisticated cartoons found in the New Yorker -- where the characters are not so much finely drawn as suggested -- “The Cocktail Hour” is Gurney's funny, light-hearted comedy of manners — good and bad — set deep in the dark heart of a quintessentially repressed WASP family, and deep in the heart of its secrets.
We meet John (Eric Burke), a full-time publisher and part-time playwright, who has written a new play titled, as coincidence would have it, "The Cocktail Hour.” He has returned to his childhood home in upstate New York, ostensibly to get permission from his dyed-in-the-tweed patrician father, Bradley (T. Louis Weltz) to proceed with the play, which, he warns his father, hits ''pretty close to home.'' Without actually ever reading it, Bradley, along with his wife, Ann (Christine Macomber), and younger sister Nina (Beth Deitchman), are certain John’s portrayal of them is one of ridicule, despite John’s assurances to the contrary.
But John is seeking more than just permission, hoping to find, as he rummages through the family’s closets and skeletons, some plot device that will provide resolution for his less-than-satisfactory play. Unfortunately for us, although John claims to have found his closure, we never really find ours.
Following a shaky start between father and son, the moment Macomber takes the stage as John’s mother the actors around her come alive. The laughter in Act I is almost nonstop, and much of it is prompted by Macomber’s irresistible, suburban grande dame. Just to hear this actress (who performs regularly with 42nd Street Moon and has sung many of the Gilbert and Sullivan “Old Dame” roles with the Lamplighters in San Francisco) order a refill of her martini – something she does quite frequently - is to attend a master class in comic timing and inflection. We realize to our delight that, she is getting drunker and drunker as the play goes on, in almost imperceptible increments, even getting a laugh when she is offstage, when we hear her laughter from the kitchen. Still, the mother somehow emerges as generous and vulnerable in Macomber’s portrayal, which very nearly runs away with the show.
Giving her a run for her money, however, is actress Deitchman’s strong but discontented sister, Nina, who opposes any production of her big brother's play — if only because she discovers that she only plays a minor role. By contrast, in Deitchman’s case, this versatile actress (who recently appeared in Marin in such divergent roles as Agnes in “Dancing at Lughnasa,” Madge in “Picnic” and Desdemona in “Othello”) takes what could have been a minor role and infuses it with fire, singular charm and a wild physicality found nowhere in the script – but is nonetheless perfect for the role. It comes as no surprise that Deitchman is a classically trained dancer, for she expresses Nina with her entire body -- whether it’s nursing a backache, wiping her lipstick from a cocktail glass or playfully slapping her brother’s head as she scolds him, she is in constant motion, somehow capturing both the anxiety and resilience of a woman who has known many disappointments, expressing it in body as well as word. Like a ballerina, one foot speaks; the other answers.
Yet, the sorest wounds are John's, and Burke wears them on his tweedy sleeve, with a deeply impassioned, ultimately warm performance. With Burke’s battered good looks and whiskey-flavored rasp, comparisons to a young Nick Nolte are unavoidable. But there the comparisons end, for where Nolte’s grunts and growls often sound like a dissipated bear straining at stool, Burke’s self-absorbed, inwardly-directed John has a pensive elegance and wit about him that’s very dry, with a sour twist.
As for Weltz’s interpretation of Bradley, although appearing to be the cast’s weakest link at the start of Act I, we warm to him as he warms to his task, looking every bit like a frail William Holden – the resemblance, in fact, is uncanny – which couldn’t be more perfect for the role as we come to understand it. Health fading, elegance intact, Weltz’s Bradley is a proud patrician whose vulnerability becomes apparent in the (otherwise hollow) reconciliation scene with his son.
If ever there was an example of a director compimenting what might, in anyone else’s hands, have been a lightweight, even tiresome play, this is it. Clearly perceiving the story not as a comedy, but as a son's genuine struggle to come to terms with his own hostility (and a playwright's attempt to create a poor man’s "Long Day's Journey Into Night"), director Rodgers spotlights telling moments without becoming too precious with them, and manages to bring to the surface both Gurney's poignancy as well as the vulnerability of the characters – and manages it without skimping on the laughs. Well done.
“He has never been my father, and I have never been his son – we’ve both known that for a long time,” says John to his mother, as the play turns sober in the final act. This begs for a reconciliation scene between father and son that is equally as strong. And though it finally comes, it comes like the weak apology of a relapsed alcoholic. Alas, America‘s premiere playwright of the inherent comedy (and feet of clay) of upper middle class WASP families (“Love Letters,” “The Dining Room”) appears to use a cultural relic like the cocktail hour as a metaphor for a dying man and his class – and then leaves us hanging. Unresolved. Shaken, but not stirred.
Still, we are left with a lively, scintillating night of theater. Well worth the price of admission.
Go see this play.
REVIEW
Rating: ****> Four out of five stars.
Who: Ross Valley Players
Where: The Barn Theatre, Marin Art & Garden Center, 30 Sir Francis Drake Blvd., Ross
When: Through Feb. 17; 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays; 7:30 p.m. Jan. 24, 31, Feb. 7, 14; 2 p.m. Jan. 27, Feb. 3, 10, 17.
Tickets: $16 to $20
Information: 456-9555, http://www.rossvalleyplayers.org/.
Rating: Four stars out of five
Mark Langton can be reached at mark.langton@comcast.net.
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