Tuesday, October 01, 2013
From the Vault: Natural Born Killers
BLOGGER'S NOTE: I originally wrote this review (with some additions for this event) upon Natural Born Killers' original 1994 release. I'm re-posting it for The Oliver Stone Blogathon concluding Oct. 6 at Seetimaar — Diary of a Movie Lover
Forget The Doors. This film from the ever-controversial and increasingly dull (in all senses of the word) director marks the most extreme example yet of Stone spanking the monkey perpetually perched on his back. Quentin Tarantino* originally wrote the screenplay for Natural Born Killers, but Stone and co-conspirators David Veloz and Richard Rutowski butchered Tarantino's script to the point that he's now credited only with its story.
The film contains two halves: The first hour deals with a murder spree that companions Mickey and Mallory (Woody Harrelson, Juliette Lewis) undertake; the second chronicles the duo's incarceration and a live TV interview with Mickey by the host (Robert Downey Jr.) of a fictional tabloid TV series. The problems with Natural Born Killers accumulate at such a rapid pace that a thorough dissection of the film could end up as a thesis instead of a review. Stone, using what I assume must be either black magic, hypnotism or extortion, still manages to keep many film writers in his thrall to the point that they can't admit what a botch he's produced with Natural Born Killers. It's not that Stone can't be effective. He even made the silliness in the three-hour plus JFK entertaining despite the absurd claim that Kennedy was killed in order to stop the president from preventing the Vietnam War and, by extension, the need for Oliver Stone's film career. Stone's point-of-view concerning Natural Born Killers doesn't register anywhere near the realm of coherence.
The real subject — and I'm merely guessing — of Stone's awful opus aims at media obsession with sensationalism, certainly as timely as ever in the age of Tonya and Lorena, O.J. and the Menendez brothers. The number of usually reliable film fans who praise Natural Born Killers as original and fresh when no original idea resides in its empty little head amazes me. As usual, Stone proves as subtle as an 8.0 earthquake and twice as shaky (Exhibit A: See film still above). All the movie's points have been made before and better, from films dating back at least to 1967's Bonnie and Clyde, 1976's Network and even through the looking glass to 1931's The Front Page, which itself has been remade three times, the greatest being 1940's His Girl Friday
Stone also experiments more with film styles, alternating as he did in JFK between color, black and white, 16 millimeter, Super 8, video and even adds animation akin to graphic novels. Unlike JFK, these switches serve
no purpose other than to distract the audience. He also trots out other weird devices such as treating scenes with Mallory's monster of a father (Rodney Dangerfield) as if they exist in a TV sitcom, complete with laugh track and bleeped profanity — except for some reason some cuss words get bleeped and others don't. Of course, he can't resist tossing in some mystical Native Americans, just for good measure. It's hard to fault the performers (except for Tommy Lee Jones' inexplicable decision to play a prison warden as if he's imitating Reginald Van Gleason) since saving this mess would have been impossible for the greatest of actors, but at least Downey's wry performance injects some much-needed levity into this often tedious film. Downey appears to be the only actor aware that he's — in theory — signed on to the satire Stone believes he's making, but it's never a good idea to place a satire in the hands of someone without a sense of humor. In the end, it's ironic that Natural Born Killers stars former Cheers regular Harrelson since a paraphrase of a question Frasier once asked Cliff on that show immediately sprang to my mind while watching this mess: "Hello in there, Oliver. Tell me, what color is the sky in your world?"
*BLOGGER'S NOTE: Shortly after seeing Natural Born Killers, I had the opportunity to interview Quentin Tarantino who was promoting Pulp Fiction. He shared his thoughts about how Stone changed his screenplay.
"Actually, to give the devil his due, he was very cool when I said I wanted to take my name off the screenplay. He facilitated that to happen. He could have caused a big problem, but he didn't. When it comes to Natural Born Killers, more or less the final word on it is that it has nothing to do with me. One of the reasons I wanted just a story credit was I wanted that to get across. If you like the movie, it's Oliver. If you don't like the movie, it's Oliver."
Tweet
Labels: 90s, Harrelson, Oliver Stone, Robert Downey Jr., Tarantino, Tommy Lee Jones
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Thursday, June 02, 2011
Schrader's return to safer ground
By J.D.
After dabbling briefly with a major studio on the debacle that became known as Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist (2005), writer/director Paul Schrader returned to the relatively safe confines of the independent film scene with The Walker (2007). This film continues his fascination with loner protagonists ostracized by their profession as examined in American Gigolo (1980) and Light Sleeper (1992), or by their worldview as in Taxi Driver (1976).
Carter Page III (Woody Harrelson) is a popular socialite who works as a confidant, companion, and card player to the wives of politicians in Washington — a professional “walker,” a term coined for Nancy Reagan’s companion when she was First Lady. Carter is the epitome of the Southern gentleman. He plays a weekly card game with three women as they gossip and tell stories complete with salacious details about the denizens of Capitol Hill. Carter is finely groomed and impeccably dressed with only the finest suits, living in a beautifully furnished place.
With the stories Carter tells his dates, he hints at a rich backstory but he is careful not to reveal too much about himself. While waiting for Lynn Lockner (Kristin Scott Thomas), one of his dates, to meet up with her lover, she comes back in shock. Her lover is dead and she asks Carter to keep the incident quiet. Of course, he decides to get involved (he knew the victim). Carter used to trade in juicy gossip and now he has become the subject of it.
It doesn’t help that he lost considerable money on an investment that the victim advised and this gives the socialite a motive. As a result, he decides to investigate the murder using his own insider contacts and uncover a few dirty secrets that people in positions of power don’t want revealed. His efforts to clear his name become more urgent once the Feds apply pressure thanks to a particular nasty agent (William Hope). Pretty soon, events conspire against him and Carter becomes the prime suspect.
Woody Harrelson disappears into the role affecting a flawless accent and does an excellent job with Schrader’s witty dialogue and distinctive cadence. Every few years between amiable comedies Harrelson gets a juicy dramatic role to sink his teeth into and showcase his acting chops: Natural Born Killers (1994), The People vs. Larry Flynt (1996), and now this film. Schrader’s screenplay, as you would expect, snaps and pops, especially the scenes where Carter and his companions banter and gossip. It doesn’t hurt that he has the likes of Lauren Bacall, Lily Tomlin and Kristin Scott Thomas delivering it.
The Walker is a fascinating inside look at a subculture that exists in Washington under the auspices of a murder mystery. It shows to what lengths politicians will go in order to protect themselves and their dirty secrets. Schrader has crafted a smart thriller with interesting characters that is driven by a well-plotted story and not a bunch of noisy, hastily edited action sequences.
Tweet
Labels: 00s, Bacall, Harrelson, Kristin Scott Thomas, Lily Tomlin, Schrader
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Thursday, May 20, 2010
A terrible but necessary job
By Edward Copeland
While the 2009 best picture winner The Hurt Locker actually took place in the combat theater of Iraq, as is usually the case, the Academy missed the year's best film relating to Iraq, The Messenger. Having just caught up with the film on DVD, The Messenger may not have the nearly nonstop suspense that The Hurt Locker offered, but it more than makes up for it with a solid screenplay and well-defined characters that gives its fine cast a chance to shine and allows the viewer a chance to become involved on a deeper level than just edge-of-your-seat tension.
Ben Foster stars as Staff Sgt. Will Montgomery, an Iraq War veteran whose somewhat minor combat injuries and heroic status for his actions in combat have earned him a job in the military's casualty notification service. Will doesn't see this as an honor at first, especially under the guidance of the his rough-around-the-edges partner in the role, Capt. Tony Stone (Woody Harrelson, who earned a well-deserved supporting actor Oscar nomination).
Foster, who has been acting since he was a child, gives a great performance here. He always seems to excel when he's given good material and sometimes even when he gets so-so material such as Alpha Dog, but at other times seems at sea as in his role in the terribly inconsistent HBO series Six Feet Under or X-Men: The Last Stand.
Directed by Oren Moverman who co-wrote the script with Alessandro Camon, The Messenger had the risk of becoming a series of vignettes as Will and Tony notify family after family about the death of a loved one, but each instance is beautifully drawn and distinct from the others, especially one that offers a great cameo by Steve Buscemi. It also breaks up what could become monotonous by showing Will and Tony off the job, tentatively getting to know each other, hanging out and trying to pick up women to mend their individually broken hearts.
Will breaks the rules on this part by taking an interest in one of the widows they notify (the always good Samantha Morton), but The Messenger proves smart on this level as well by not going down any of the paths you would expect this sort of plot to follow.
Moverman's direction never distracts from the human stories at its core, yet manages to make every scene so compelling that there's never a risk of boredom setting in for the viewer.
Here we are, with 2010 halfway over, and I'm still discovering great 2009 films and I can say from experiencing, this does not happen with most film years, but even though I didn't get to see The Messenger until May 2010, it's definitely one of 2009's best.
Tweet
Labels: 00s, Buscemi, Harrelson, HBO, Oscars, Television
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
The most versatile monsters around
By Edward Copeland
With as much as is being written about vampires in light of the Twilight books and movies and HBO's True Blood and countless other vampire-theme tales (Don't forget Elton John's short-lived Broadway musical Lestat), I know I'm not the only one who wishes someone would drive a stake through the heart of the whole genre (and I loved the TV show Buffy, the Vampire Slayer). That's why it's so amazing that whether it is played for straight horror or for pure laughs, zombie movies almost always turn out well as is the case with the fun as hell Zombieland. Maybe it's because none of these undead spend time mooning over unrequited love: they want to eat humans and humans want to bash their heads in. It's as simple as that. Zombies aren't into boinking and long, poignant kisses.
Zombieland definitely belongs to the "we're here to entertain" school of undead flicks and it easily receives a passing grade thanks to its cast and its efficient pacing by director Ruben Fleischer and wry script by Rhett Reese & Paul Wernick.
As with pretty much every zombie flick, you can guess the plot: some sort of virus has turned a location (this time the U.S.) into a wasteland populated by the undead and the few survivors cling together to hang on to their humanity.
Jesse Eisenberg stars as Columbus (the survivors choose to go by their home cities to avoid attachments to survivors they encounter), a neurotic college student who has somehow survived thanks to a handy list of rules he's developed to stay alive against the marauding ghouls. While on the road, he hooks up with the Twinkie-obsessed redneck Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson) and the two make a fine zombie-killing team, even if Columbus does grind on Tallahassee's nerves at time.
The two do make one mistake when they are hoodwinked by a pair of young female grifters (Emma Stone, Abigail Breslin), but they eventually find them and the four form an uneasy resistance squad.
Since the release of Zombieland last year, the cameo by Bill Murray was one of the movie industry's worst-kept secrets, but thankfully if it was leaked what his cameo entailed, I missed it, and it is such a hilarious joy, I'm not ruining it for anyone else who doesn't know.
You would think by this point zombie comedies would have run dry in terms of gags that elicit laughs and funny, surprise moments, but Zombieland produces more than enough to make watching it worthwhile. Now if we could only get some of these zombies to take out this glut of vampires.
Tweet
Labels: 00s, Harrelson, Murray
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Monday, November 26, 2007
Welcome back boys
By Edward Copeland
For more than a decade now, I've lived in a critical wilderness when it comes to the Coen brothers. I was a huge fan of the siblings from the moment I saw Blood Simple back in 1985, through the great fun of Raising Arizona and the exquisite Miller's Crossing. I liked Barton Fink a lot, though something of their style was starting to strike me as repetitive.
When Fargo came and seemingly the entire critical world ravished it with hosannas, I felt as if I stood alone thinking the movie was overrated and the Coens were stuck in a rut, a feeling that only grew over the course of their next films, so much so that I skipped offerings such as the ill-advised remake of The Ladykillers and Intolerable Cruelty. When No Country for Old Men started garnering raves, I was skeptical as I had been post-Hudsucker Proxy, partly as self-defense so as not to be disappointed. Now I've seen No Country for Old Men and no one is more delighted than I am to say that Joel, Ethan and I have met up again on the same path.
This isn't to say that some of the praise for No Country for Old Men isn't overselling the film's worth, but I think it's understandable since it plays like such a radical departure from the usual Coen outing. As Tommy Lee Jones' sheriff says at one point, "it's hard to take measure of something when you don't understand." Still, this film adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's novel isn't really hard to grasp, it's just removed from most of the brothers' recent output in its coldness, straight-forward nature and relative lack of snark.
In a way, the Coen brothers film that No Country most closely resembles is their very first effort, Blood Simple, with its Western noir feel and Texas setting. Unlike Simple's great showiness, No Country resists all impulses to call attention to itself. It's as if the Coens, tired of two decades as the high school class clowns of American filmmaking, have finally matured to middle age.
The other Coen film that No Country parallels, albeit slightly, is Fargo since it really has no lead but instead three characters whose paths intersect at times. In addition to Jones' sheriff, who seems like a more reticent version of the character he played in his underrated directing debut, The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada, there is Josh Brolin's trailer park denizen who stumbles upon the scene of a drug deal gone bad and makes off with a briefcase full of cash.
The third, and most vivid, member of this trio is Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem), a stoic killing machine with pasty skin and a Prince Valiant haircut, out to retrieve the money as well as slaughter anyone whose death meets his peculiar fancy.
What's most remarkable about the film to me is its pacing, which seems very deliberate yet delivers much momentum without ever feeling rushed. I also liked how it's a period piece, but one so subtle that unless you pay close attention, you might not realize it is set in 1980.
In fact, what No Country bubbles over with more than anything else is subtlety, not something I've come to expect from the Coens. The themes of what a tough country America can be and the futility of chasing things that have fallen far from your reach are there, but delivered with a velvet touch instead of a sledgehammer. The other thing that impressed me most is that really none of the characters are particularly dumb.
Sure, they make mistakes, sometime fatal ones, but the movie never mocks them and some of their ingenuity seems out of a script from MacGyver. Also, while this is a violent film, much of the bloodshed is only seen either in the aftermath or not at all.
The performances are great across the board, from Jones and Brolin to Kelly Macdonald as Brolin's wife and Garret Dillahunt (late of HBO's Deadwood and John from Cincinnati) as Jones' deputy as well as brief appearances from Woody Harrelson and Barry Corbin.
Still, No Country for Old Men belongs to Bardem, who has created a monster for the ages.
One criticism I heard from people leaving the theater when I left was frustration with the somewhat vague ending that denies the audience clear-cut payoffs. That didn't bother me, because it's all there if you pay attention and the Coens aren't rubbing anything in the audience's face as they've done in the past.
In a way, it somewhat resembles the reaction to the finale of The Sopranos, emphasizing what many of that HBO series' fans hit upon: the recurrence of the idea that some things you never see coming. I have to admit I didn't see this good a film coming from the Coens again, but I'm most grateful that it did.
Tweet
Labels: 00s, Bardem, Coens, Deadwood, Harrelson, HBO, Josh Brolin, The Sopranos, Tommy Lee Jones
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Monday, August 27, 2007
The Southerners Who Went Up a Hill and Came Down Philosophers
BLOGGER'S NOTE: This post is part of the BIZARRO Blog-a-Thon being hosted by Piper at Lazy Eye Theatre.
By Edward Copeland
Terrence Malick's version of James Jones' The Thin Red Line opens with the ominous image of a
crocodile slowly entering the muck of a pond. Of course, crocodiles are used to this sort of environment, which won't be the case with the American soldiers who find themselves trying to take the island of Guadalcanal from the Japanese during World War II. It also sets up Malick's point-of-view of not just this locale but everywhere: Man does not belong, if for no other reason that he keeps getting in the way of us being able to see nature in its purity, constantly interrupting with war and narratives. Malick's adaptation of the World War II novel taught me something I didn't realize: Apparently the vast majority of Americans who fought in the South Pacific were from the South. Of course, Malick carefully instructs his actor not to distract from the reverent, dreamlike reverie of nature he creates by insisting that most of them employ the worst attempts at Southern accents they can muster. At times though, the damn actors still get in the way such as Sean Penn, whose accent seems legit at times, and Tim Blake Nelson who uses his real voice. Of course, the actors are an
impediment in general since they keep getting in the way of the scenery. Malick's vision is about nature's vengeance and inner ability for self-preservation, and too often the actors get in the way. Fortunately, he remedies this by using odd, rambling voiceovers, assembled in such a haphazard way, that you can never quite be certain which character is speaking. This is good, because this film is not about people and doesn't stoop to humanizing the conflict but allowing its actors to add dimensions to their roles and allow sentimentality to seep in as Steven Spielberg allowed in Saving Private Ryan. The first American we see in the film
is the one played by Jim Cavaziel, giving off a holy vibe as if he's preparing for his later title role in Mel Gibson's Jesus Chainsaw Massacre. When we first see Cavaziel's character, he is AWOL, romping on an island paradise with natives that seems as if it's out of Mutiny on the Bounty. That's not the only reference to other sources that Malick makes throughout the film: When we first see Cavaziel standing over the beach over the natives working with primitive tools, he's unmistakably supposed to be the equivalent of the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Cavaziel also gets the bulk of the dreamy monologues with fake drawls, as his internal conversation reflects on immortality and his dying mother. Unfortunately, the war intrudes on his peace in the form of a Naval vessel bearing his commanding officer (Penn) who plunges him back into the muck of the war. 
Now, I don't want to leave readers with the impression that The Thin Red Line is a pretentious, dull, humorless affair. Believe it or not, there is comedy to be found, laughs similar to those in the works of the Coen brothers with their dimwitted characters with overblown accents speaking in flowery prose. I have to wonder though: Who influenced whom? Did Malick pick up the Coens' tricks by watching films such as Raising Arizona or were the Coens inspired by earlier works such as Badlands and Days of Heaven which contained similar attributes? One scene for certain had to be inspired by Raising
Arizona: When Woody Harrelson accidentally blows "his butt off" with a grenade, there is no mistaking that the expression on his face is an homage to Randall "Tex" Cobb when his bounty hunter in Raising Arizona realizes he's in possession of an activated grenade. Of course, Harrelson's presence is one of many notable cameos that makes The Thin Red Line play as if it's a World War II-variation on Robert Altman's The Player. Quick: There's John Travolta. Over there, it's George Clooney. John Cusack just showed up. I kept waiting to see Cher. Without a doubt though the funniest cameo is given by John Savage, who checks his dog tags to try to find out who his character is and make certain that somehow he didn't get teleported through time back to the set of The Deer Hunter. The character who makes the strongest impression, and therefore breaks the mood Malick is creating, is Nick Nolte as Lt. Col. Tall, outwardly a Nixon-like creature, but inside as reflective as all the soldiers, commenting on how he's degrading himself, that someone is always watching him like a hawk, regretting all he might have given for love and acknowledging that he is dying slowly, like a tree. Then, philosophy seems to be what all the Americans have in mind. Ben Chaplin's character is
preoccupied with the wife he left at home, insisting he'll be waiting for her on "the other side of dark waters" only later to get a "Dear Jack" letter. When I first saw The Thin Red Line in 1998, I kept getting the characters played by Chaplin and Adrien Brody confused because of their similar facial features, distinguished only by Brody's slightly bigger nose. On my most recent viewing, the distinctions are clearer as you realize that Brody never says a word and that Malick must be making another film allusion, this time to Jean-Louis Barrault's character of the mime Baptiste in Children of Paradise. Malick excels at summoning his drowsy, trance-like Zentropa feel, but he does undermine his own movie with the sequence involving the storming of the beach and the taking of the hill. It doesn't belong and proves to be a true distraction, shocking the viewer out of his easy-listening mode. Even the character played by Elias Koteas seems to admit this in these sequences, stopping to check his watch as an audience surrogate impatient to end the action and get back to the existential. One thing that struck me
on my recent viewing is his portrayal of the Japanese soldiers. They seem to be shrieking stereotypes with no humanity. One narrator even goes so far as to ask, "Who is this evil, robbing us of light and life?" At first, I was offended by this portrayal, then I realized that this must be Malick making a statement about the racist South, especially when you see the Japanese soldiers disguised as trees, showing they are much more in tune with nature than their American counterparts. "War don't ennoble man," Penn's character says at one point. "Turns them into dogs." Thoughts such as these preoccupy the troops, some who die, new soldiers who arrive and some who abruptly disappear from the film's canvas. They ask questions about the courage of a contented heart and the darkness beneath the earth that allows the sun to shine and which may dwell within us all. Penn also acts as a Malick surrogate to some extent, commenting that he's only lonely when he's around people and that every man should make an island for himself. While certainly flawed, The Thin Red Line has much bigger fish to fry than just war. However, Malick reveals his true target audience with one of his final shots. These two are who The Thin Red Line is really for.
Tweet
Labels: 90s, Altman, Blog-a-thons, Coens, George Clooney, Harrelson, Malick, Mel Gibson, Nolte, Sean Penn, Spielberg, Travolta
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Singing in the Rain
By Josh R
The blazing afternoon sun beats oppressively down on the tiny Texas hamlet of Three Points, penetrating deep into the crevices of the parched, cracked earth as the withering crops and listless cattle wilt under its merciless glare. Curious then that it isn’t the sun, but a lone, shimmering star which burns the brightest in The Roundabout Theatre Company’s enchanting revival of Tom Jones and Harvey Schmidt’s 110 in the Shade, currently in previews at Studio 54. Three Points may be going through a dry spell, but as far as fans of Audra McDonald are concerned, the drought is officially over.
This is not to say that Ms. McDonald, a four-time Tony-winner most recently honored for her performance in 2004’s A Raisin in the Sun, has exactly been missing in action. Since her galvanizing debut in Nicholas Hytner’s acclaimed production of Carousel some 13 years ago, the preternaturally gifted actress and singer has graced many a production with her finely-honed dramatic abilities and pristine vocals — for the uninitiated, she is the possessor of what is generally acknowledged to be the most dazzling mezzo-soprano voice to be heard on Broadway in several generations. Her career has not proceeded without acclaim, as her numerous accolades attest (her trophy case runneth over into Julie Harris’ living room). That notwithstanding, some theatergoers, myself included, have been given to wonder if the extravagant critical attention lavished upon the actress has been largely a product of favoritism. The fawning that greeted her breakthrough turn as Carrie Pipperidge, Carousel's frolicsome soubrette, was well-earned; like everyone else who saw the production, I was bowled over by her virtuosity in the role. The bar was set awfully high during that first turn at bat, and the opportunities that contemporary musical theater — if not a dwindling art form, then an increasingly stingy one — offers its most celebrated talents are notably few.
Until now. If anyone thought the actress was in danger of coasting on her reputation for the remainder of her career — showing up for work, trilling a few bars and snapping up Tony medallions like some giant diva-shaped magnet — the glorious working of talent and emotion being unleashed nightly at Studio 54 should unequivocally and permanently put the matter to rest. Ms. McDonald effortlessly surpasses her achievement in Carousel — her talent has matured and her command of the stage has become more absolute, while her burnished soprano remains as coruscating as ever.
Of course, a star can only be good as the material allows her to be, and the actress’s unqualified success in her current venture owes itself in no small part to the strength of the vehicle. 110 in the Shade , adapted by Richard Nash from his 1954 play The Rainmaker, considers the plight of Lizzie Curry, a lonely spinster languishing from neglect on the drought-stricken Texas prairie. When a colorful con artist, bearing the preposterous name of Starbuck, arrives on the scene offering the promise of rain, she is markedly skeptical. What begins as a relationship of mutual discomfort and mistrust ripens into a delicate union of two kindred spirits who find a renewed sense of hope in what the other has to offer. Defenses fall by the wayside — just as Starbuck enables the disenchanted Lizzie to let down her guard, realize her inner beauty and embrace the possibility of romance, she leads him to the gentle understanding that man cannot subsist on dreams alone. It’s hokey, sentimental stuff, but with a homespun charm that’s just about impossible to resist — I’ve always had a soft spot for the 1956 film version of The Rainmaker featuring Katharine Hepburn and Burt Lancaster, which enjoys a strong following among romantics. A bit of sap is just fine, provided it doesn’t congeal into syrup, and both 110 in the Shade and the play on which it’s based are sweet without succumbing to stickiness.
While the book of the musical adheres very closely to the source play, the chief attraction of 110 in the Shade has always been its criminally underappreciated score. With music and lyrics by Jones and Schmidt, the team responsible for The Fantasticks, Shade’s sublime fusion of Western motifs and soaring melodies is reminiscent of Oklahoma! in both richness and scope. The premiere production opened to a warm reception in 1964, but was more or less eclipsed by the season’s two monster hits, Hello, Dolly! and Funny Girl — the former dominated that year’s awards presentations, although Shade managed several Tony nominations, including one for its star, the beguiling lyric soprano Inga Swenson (later known to television fans as Benson’s vinegary cook, Gretchen Kraus). It’s a work that has long been aching for rediscovery, and with the Roundabout’s artful restoration, it receives its full due as an authentic American classic.
Lonny Price’s production, though modestly mounted, is beautifully designed and executed. While color-blind casting can occasionally be a distraction in period pieces, in this context, you forget about it very quickly — the diverse ensemble functions on such a harmonious level that you cease to notice. I must admit (with some shame) that going into this production, I had a hunch that Ms. McDonald would be good rather than great. While taking it for granted that she would excel in applying her lustrous soprano to Jones and Schimdt’s gemlike score, I wasn’t entirely convinced that she was ideally suited to the role of an insecure, self-effacing farm woman of the type to be overlooked (she’s such a robust physical and vocal presence, asking her to hide her light under a bushel seemed a bit of a stretch). These doubts proved to be unfounded, for the actress so skillfully charts her character’s physical and emotional journey from apprehensive wallflower to ethereal Venus as to allay any fears that she might not be up to the challenge. She has the right quality of tight-lipped, self-conscious stubbornness in the scenes where Lizzie is required to be “plain,” and when her wistful modesty melts away and a look of rapturous release overtakes her features, she is positively incandescent. This Lizzie blossoms into full flower before our eyes, and it’s no wonder; as the enigmatic stranger who weakens her resistance, Steve Kazee could stir up feelings of passion in even the stoniest of hearts. With a mesmerizing combination of virility and mysticism, his Starbuck doesn’t have the boisterous energy Burt Lancaster brought to the film version of The Rainmaker, or the sly playfulness of Woody Harrelson in the 1999 Broadway revival — but he is a much more mysterious and erotic presence, and there’s a genuine sense of danger and sexual charge to his scenes with McDonald. What he lacks in bluster he makes up for in animal magnetism, and the seduction scene has an otherworldly quality, at once both provocative and lyrical, made all the more pronounced by the palpable chemistry between the actors. With all due respect to the other Lizzies and Starbucks I’ve seen, never have any other two actors in these roles generated as much heat.
As the sheriff who serves as a reticent rival for Lizzie’s affections, Christopher Innvar subtly conveys the bruised emotions which inform the character’s stoicism, while an excellent John Cullum provides a warm, folksy turn as the Curry patriarch. As Lizzie’s older brother Noah, the hard-nosed pragmatist, Chris Butler succumbs to whininess a bit too frequently, but as the brash, dim-witted Jimmy, the youngest of the Curries, an elfin bundle of energy named Bobby Steggart is an engagingly buoyant presence. He is well matched with the equally animated Carla Duren as the giggly Snooky McGuire — they make for an appealingly pixilated pair of lovebirds (as a side note for you trivia hounds, the part was played in the original 1964 production by an 18-year-old Lesley Ann Warren in her professional debut). The ensemble members are well chosen and collectively create a believable portrait of small-town life.
And what of the rain, you ask? For those expecting a torrent, you won’t leave feeling short-changed…those with front row seats should come prepared to find themselves slightly drenched by curtain call (woolens are not advised). Impressive as the waterworks display may be, it’s nothing compared to the production’s greatest special effect — its leading lady, who is a marvel to behold. Even though I’ve listened to the original cast recording many times, hearing McDonald’s breathtaking interpretation of the these songs — particularly “Raunchy,” a mischievous send-up of feminine seduction technique, the beguiling reverie of “Is It Really Me?”, and most especially, the agonizing, heart-rending lament that serves to close the first act, “Old Maid” — is akin to hearing them performed for the first time. Pondering her changing fortunes near the end of 110 in the Shade, Lizzie Curry remarks how “You look up in the sky and you long for a star and you know you’ll never get it…then one night, you look down and there it is, shining in your hands.” As the star of this production stands downstage center at the evening’s conclusion, arms outstretched, letting the rain and the applause wash over her, the sentiment has been fulfilled for the audience.
Tweet
Labels: Harrelson, K. Hepburn, Lancaster, Musicals, Theater
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
