By Samuel L. Leiter . . .
There was a time in the mid-20th century when non-English, European playwrights—especially French—were regular visitors to the Broadway stage; but the days of, for example, Sartre, Anouilh, and Giraudoux are long gone. The most successful non-English-language playwright of recent years has been France’s Yasmina Reza, whose Art and God of Carnage were both international successes. They provided small cast, intellectually provocative, yet widely accessible, middle-class dramedies that had extensive Broadway runs, each cast with premier American actors. Chances are, though, that you’re not as familiar with the cast, experienced as it is, of the current Off-Broadway revival of 2009’s Tony-winning God of Carnage, translated by Christopher Hampton, a version first seen in London in 2008. It’s at Theatre Row, produced by Theater Breaking Through Barriers, “dedicated to advancing the work of professional actors with disabilities.”
Aside from Carey Cox (Rose Blaine on “The Handmaid’s Tale”), who plays Annette, a wealth manager, with the occasional use of a cane, whatever physical disabilities the other actors have aren’t apparent. David Burtka (It Shoulda Been You), who happens to be married to Neil Patrick Harris, is Annette’s corporate lawyer husband, Alan, irritating the hell out of her (and everyone else, including us) with his constant cell phone conversations about a Big Pharma scandal he’s trying to suppress. Christiane Noll (Ragtime) plays Veronica, an art historian specializing in Africa (Darfur, to be exact), in whose Cobble Hill, Brooklyn, apartment the action takes place. Finally, Veronica’s husband, Michael (Gabe Fazio, Spring Storm), is a hardware wholesaler, selling products ranging from doorknobs to toilet systems. Annette and Alan are there following a playground altercation in which their 11-year-old son, Benjamin, struck the other couple’s boy, Henry, knocking out a couple of teeth. Henry’s offense: calling Benjamin a “snitch.”
Over the course of the play’s 90 minutes, what begins as a civilized conversation over how to handle the aftermath of the attack, such as parental responsibilities and appropriate punishment, not to mention liability, the two couples find themselves sniping at one another as alliances form and reform among the four adults, only to dissolve in turmoil. Themes of misogyny, male chauvinism, marital tensions, proper parenting, childhood violence (both dads take pride in having belonged to gangs), and so forth course through the action, as the characters increasingly imbibe while noshing on clafoutis. Comical highlights include a barfing scene and one that decides the fate of that infernal cellphone. If it’s not Alan’s cellphone butting in, it’s the apartment’s landline, with calls from Michael’s mother, whose medicine happens to be the same problematic drug causing the uproar in Alan’s phone calls.
Reza’s writing keeps you wittily engrossed as the couples navigate their tenuous situation, with its constantly shifting alliances and dissensions, but there comes a point when you wonder what, despite the various opportunities, is keeping Alan and Annette from leaving other than the playwright’s need to keep the ball in the air. Audience members may themselves want to extricate themselves earlier, not so much because the play is faltering but because the company’s charm supply dries up too quickly.
Director Nicholas Viselli’s production gets off to a very slow start, so slow that I was wondering about 20 minutes in how I’d manage to sit through to the end. Perhaps wishing to establish the discomfort of the two couples in their initial confrontation, he lets the dialogue slog along at a tortoise’s pace when the writing clearly calls for repartee marked by snappy timing. I even found myself tapping my knee to force the actors to wake up. The lack of nuance and insight during the first third only made it more apparent how helpful star charisma was to Matthew Warchus’s Broadway production, which starred Jeff Daniels, Hope Davis, James Gandolfini, and Marcia Gay Harden (I saw the replacement cast, which included the wonderful Jimmy Smits in the Gandolfini part): all four actors received Tony nominations.
Midway through, though, when the plot heats up and the characters begin dropping their masks, things began to click and the pacing and spirit improved considerably, making the last two-thirds at least more bearable. Nonetheless, the company never exceeds a B- level of emotional and comic dimensionality. In part, this is due to the superficiality of Mr. Viselli’s direction, which also fails to block the action convincingly. Having Alan take his frequent phone calls in the midst of everyone else, talking loudly as if no one else existed, is only one of several annoying features of the staging. He almost seems to be broadcasting his comments proudly for everyone to hear rather than making even a cursory attempt at keeping his remarks confidential.
Bert Scott’s attractive red set, with its contemporary furniture placed before a wall of geometric shapes on which the text is projected for the hard of hearing (albeit not always in synch with the speakers), is helpful, as are Olivia V. Hern’s quotidian costumes, Samuel J. Biondolillo’s efficient lighting, and Eric Nightengale’s spot-on sound design. A helpful feature for the vision-impaired is the mildly sarcastic voice-over dialogue (also projected) that’s been added before the play proper begins, when, not only is the set described but each actor details how their characters are dressed, down to the color of their socks.
If you’ve never seen God of Carnage, it’s worth seeing even in this less-than-stellar revival. If you insist on stars, you can always check out Roman Polanski’s 2011 film version, starring Jodie Foster, John C. Reilly, Christoph Waltz, and Kate Winslet.
God of Carnage. Through May 20 at Theatre Row (410 West 42nd Street, between Ninth and Tenth Avenues). www.bfany.org
Photos: Carol Rosegg
