By Ron Fassler . . .
“Editors care about books, not writers,” says Bruston Fischer, in the opening moments of Tawni O’Dell’s new play Pay the Writer. As elegantly played by Bryan Batt, attired sartorially in Brooks Brothers suits, he knows from where he speaks. As the play’s narrator, he is the literary agent for novelist, Cyrus Holt (Ron Canada), his oldest and most famous client, an aging lion whose roar has diminished to a whisper. If every play is a love story, even with Cyrus having an ex-wife and two grown children come in and out of the action, O’Dell centers her play on the relationship between the two men. Bruston is an unapologetic gay man, who came of age in the 1960s presumably with some white privilege, everything to which Cyrus was denied access. A Black man whose father was a coalminer, he had to come up the hard way through service in Vietnam, fighting for everything he achieved in his life. The deep forty-year friendship the two begin in their twenties informs every moment of the play.
As minimally staged by director Karen Carpenter, the action shifts back and forth with little in the way of props and scenery (a small table, some chairs, a bench), save for one set bursting under the weight of shelves loaded with books as Cyrus’ old apartment). As a memory play, it comes complete with the aforementioned narrator who breaks the fourth wall. This convention is not known for being the most artful way to theatrically unfold a narrative, but it is one of the most expedient. Often a device for lazy writing, here the comic lines are actually funny and there isn’t too much that sounds written, a trap with characters who literally inhabit a literary world. There is a problem in that the basic plotting goes over the same territory multiple times and while there are a few surprises, most of them can be seen coming far away before they land. But at least O’Dell is honest in her emotional storytelling and doesn’t try to force too much.
O’Dell is aided by actors who are confident in the characters they’re portraying. Bryan Batt cuts a fine figure, wholly believable as someone good at their actual job as well as the extracurricular work of attending to their client’s every need (“My talent is taking care of talent,” he says). Bruston also says early on, “We are born with agents. They’re called mothers.” As Cyrus, Ron Canada brings a soulful gravitas, but felt a bit tentative at the performance I attended the day before its opening night. This production has had a short preview period and with time he should easily come up to speed. Marcia Cross, looking no different than she did on Desperate Housewives nearly twenty years ago, makes for a believably torn ex-wife, though her character is a bit underwritten. Again, this play is about the two men.
Three supporting actors are perfectly cast. Miles G. Jackson plays Bruston as a younger man as does Garrett Turner, who plays young Cyrus. Both are very similar in looks and bearing to the actors cast as their older selves and their work together is quite good. And in a one-scene role, Stephen Payne nails a homeless Vietnam vet with pathos and pride. A genuine standout performance. Rounding out the cast are Steven Hauck as a French writer, and Danielle J. Summons as Cyrus’s daughter, Gigi. These two characters are written in broad strokes, but the actors accomplish their tasks admirably. Garrett Turner, serving double duty, shows up later in the play for a lovely turn as Cyrus’s son, Leo. It’s curious that O’Dell, a female playwright, presents two women’s roles that are the least fleshed out in the play and come off a bit one dimensional, no fault of the actors playing them.
The title Pay the Writer has a timeliness to it due to the current strike between the motion picture studios and members of the Writers Guild of America. That situation has nothing to do with this play, but it being the mantra of the striking writers can’t help but permeate the discussion of what a writer is worth. What is it that makes their work speak to others and how do they keep up the supply and demand when it’s all locked inside their heads? They don’t sculpt with clay, or compose on pianos, they sit until the muse hits them and then it’s pen to paper or fingers on a keyboard. Whatever it is, it isn’t easy. A play like Pay the Writer explores the workings of the mind of a writer, what gets them going, keeps them going, and what price do they ultimately pay for mining their craft? When Bruston says the line “Editors care about books, not writers,” Cyrus responds with “Then who cares about the writers?’
Good question.
Pay the Writer is playing at the Pershing Square Signature Center, 480 W 42nd Street, NYC. For further information, please visit: https://paythewriterplay.com
Photos: Jeremy Daniel
