Hey folks, Harry here... Well, this is where severe envy comes in. There are several reasons why New York rules... The N.Y. Kitten, all the live theater, steam coming out of sewers, cabbies, FAO SCHWARTZ, King Kong's Building, N.Y. Kitten and finally the really great characters walking that city. But right now, besides my continual angst at not being near the Kitten, I'm extremely frustrated to not be in New York, because this play that Mr. Beaks reviews sounds fantastic! So, Quint, if you hear me... check this one out. It's a winner. QUINT is currently in New York catching various plays... and at the same time headed to Amity Island out by Martha's Vineyard as his own personal Mecca. But for now, read Mr. Beaks... He's got well cooked noodles in his head and knows of what he speaks...
Last year, New York City theatergoers were afforded the privilege of watching two immensely gifted actors – Philip Seymour Hoffman and John C. Reilly – scorch the Circle in the Square stage in Matthew Warchus’s revival of Sam Shepard’s ode to sibling discord, TRUE WEST. It’s one year later, and there’s a new pair of battlin’ brothers tearing up the stage downtown at the Public Theater in the form of Don Cheadle and Jeffrey Wright, this time in TOPDOG/UNDERDOG, a new work by Suzan Lori-Parks, directed by the estimable George C. Wolfe. Forget the free, star-studded production of THE SEAGULL in Central Park; *this* is the theater happening of the summer.
Though the prospect of Cheadle and Wright reading passages from WINDOWS 2000 FOR DUMMIES could probably trigger a month of sold-out shows, the fact that they’ve come together for a provocative new work from one of the few genuinely exciting voices out there in American theater is cause for rejoice. That this is the least obscure, stream-of-consciousness-heavy piece from Parks yet means that the language, rather than getting in the actors’ way, is more naturalistic, freeing up the performers to imbue their characters with a depth quite uncommon in the playwright’s previous work; thus, making for meaningful post-theater discussion instead of maddening head-scratching. Do not, however, confuse accessible with safe; this is a drama charged with familial squabbling and male posturing, where the promise of violence seems constantly on the verge of fulfillment.
The action of the play is confined to the run-down, barely livable apartment of Booth (Cheadle), an incompetent hustler whose wardrobe and home furnishings have all been "boosted". Sharing the space with Booth is his older brother Lincoln (Wright), a legendary Three Card Monty wizard who, after a tragedy that claimed his partner’s life, has since gone straight, and now spends his days in whiteface, appearing as his Presidential namesake at a local arcade, where he serves as a human target for customers eager to reenact the assassination of the Great Emancipator (this is, without a doubt, one of Parks’s most bizarre conceits). Most of Lincoln’s income, however, goes towards booze, as he spends most of his hours at home in a near-drunken stupor, while Booth, aspiring to a more luxurious lifestyle than his talents can provide, constantly dogs Lincoln to turn his hand back to the game that made his reputation.
Both characters are haunted not only by the ghosts of their long-dead parents, but also by the specter of relationships torn asunder, and while Booth is actively seeking to fire the embers of his crumbling relationship with a neighborhood sweetheart, Lincoln quietly mourns the demise of his marriage to Cookie, in which Booth played a part. There isn’t a relationship in this play that isn’t overburdened by manipulation or neglect, and this goes most of all for the brothers, who, even when ostensibly comforting one other, are constantly harboring ulterior motives. Even a simple Chinese dinner becomes a none-too-subtle chess game, with Lincoln always quietly several moves ahead.
Whatever Parks seems to be saying about family, dishonesty, or race in American, her insights are best taken in quip form, and she provides plenty of memorable lines worth filing away (e.g. "People like their history to unfold the way the folded it"), but the play itself seems a side dish to the hearty acting meal at the center of the plate. One of the most common laments in the theater is that all of our great actors will eventually be lost, or ruined, by Hollywood, which is why this production is an absolute godsend. As Booth, Cheadle recalls some of the live-wire energy that put him on the map in DEVIL IN A BLUE DRESS, but finds a wounded resonance that rescues the character from descending into simple villainy. His movement is at once reckless and elegant, so much so that, sitting in the front row, I often feared that, in a blink of an eye, he was going to end up several rows behind me.
And while I hate to sound like I’m slighting an actor as remarkable as Cheadle, the play belongs – well, it’s written that way – to Wright. If Cheadle seems to be constantly on the move, it must be in reaction to Wright’s ability to own every inch of the stage while only occupying a small corner of it. I’ve never seen an actor convey such incredible authority while draped over a reclining chair, but such is Wright’s command of his instrument that he consistently wins beats with an effortlessness that makes me wonder if this is at all comparable to the kind of excitement Brando inspired years ago onstage as Stanley Kowalski. His transformation from Basquiat to Peoples Hernandez in SHAFT is but prelude to masterful work here.
TOPDOG/UNDERDOG will be running through the month of August at the Public Theater’s home base on Lafayette Street in the East Village, and even though it may be a tad pricey ($45 per ticket), it should be considered an essential stop for those living in or visiting New York City.
This is *why* theater matters.
Faithfully Submitted,
MrBeaks
