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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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061289
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06128900.048
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1990-09-22
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THEATER, Page 72Once Outposts, Now LandmarksRegional houses are where the new plays are being nurturedBy William A. Henry III
Where does an established playwright take new work to see it
brought to life? Once the automatic answer was New York City, on
Broadway or off. Now, for Pulitzer prizewinner Beth Henley, the
starting place is Costa Mesa, Calif. For Emmy winner Luis Santeiro,
it is Miami. For three-time Tony nominee Graciela Daniele, it is
Philadelphia. And for Donald Freed, whose Circe and Bravo was a
London success, it is Denver. Three of the Broadway season's major
plays -- Eastern Standard, The Heidi Chronicles and Largely New
York -- originated in Seattle, while Neil Simon's Rumors and A.R.
Gurney's off-Broadway smash The Cocktail Hour were launched in San
Diego. These are just a few examples of the fundamental trend in
American culture nowadays: democratization through
decentralization. Places that used to be outposts are fast becoming
landmarks.
What do the creators of these works, the majority of whom live
in New York, gain by going out of town? Time to nurture a show
while insulated from panic-inducing box-office pressures, and solid
artistic collaboration. Increasingly, regional artistic directors
have some background of commercial success, while the standards of
acting and design generally measure up to those off, and indeed on,
Broadway. Just as important, the ticket buyers are receptive and
discerning.
The roster of current or recent offerings on stages around the
U.S. is as remarkable for its diversity as for its proficiency.
Santeiro's Mixed Blessings, an adaptation of Tartuffe as a loving
lampoon of nouveau-riche Cuban Americans, is the sprightliest and
most polished, and it proves the axiom that art has the most
universal appeal when it is the most specific. The script is
remarkably faithful to Moliere's original in plot and characters,
yet entirely contemporary -- a duality hilariously hinted at,
before the curtain rises, when the sound system tinkles out
Guantanamera on a harpsichord. A Cuban emigre himself, Santeiro has
a dead-on eye and ear for people, from the fiercely pretentious
grandmother who wants everyone to forget she used to keep pigs to
the nosy, noisy maid whose fractured syntax includes the news that
an acquaintance is a patient at "Mount Cyanide." In Santeiro's
shrewdest insight, the villain is not a religious humbug but a
larcenous Lothario masquerading as an embodiment of the work ethic,
and the cant he peddles is based on an immigrant assimilationist
version of the American Dream.
South Coast Repertory Theater in Costa Mesa, which has emerged
as one of the foremost venues for new work, served Henley well in
its straightforward production of Abundance, a skeptical
re-examination of 19th century frontier mythology through the eyes
of two mail-order brides. Henley's underlying theme seems to be the
way people change during the course of life, often swapping roles
with intimates: the exuberant pioneer gradually becomes a timid
drudge, while her starry-eyed friend hardens into an adventurer.
The final scenes do too much too fast and too vaguely. But the
script has the makings of Henley's best work since her stunning
debut in Crimes of the Heart.
Marlane Meyer's The Geography of Luck, on another stage at the
same theater, is an adroitly crafted portrait of assorted drifters,
losers and desert rats that starts out sourly Sam Shepardesque yet
ends in an eerie and touching echo of Saroyan's affirmative The
Time of Your Life. But Roberta Levitow, normally a talented
director, gave every scene the same pace and texture and allowed
the frequent scene changes to dissipate energy and tension.
Fortunately for Meyer, a staging under different direction is
planned for this summer at Los Angeles Theater Center.
L.A.T.C. has just closed the year's splashiest example of the
drama of the abstruse. Minamata takes its name from a Japanese
fishing village that was afflicted with industrially caused mercury
poisoning, and many of the show's powerful images derived from W.
Eugene Smith's documentary photographs, published in 1972 by LIFE.
The text explores how modern society distances those who cause a
disaster from those who suffer the effects. But it is also about
-- to the extent that the hallucinatory stream of consciousness can
be said to be "about" anything -- transvestism, multinational
corporations, military buildups, Hostess cupcakes and rape of every
variety. At times, director Reza Abdoh's 135-minute,
intermissionless work, co-written with Mira-Lani Oglesby, sounds
like the ravings of a paranoid schizophrenic; at times, it is
performance art of fever pitch and mute beauty.
Minamata is precisely the sort of piece New Yorkers expect to
find only in New York. There are no plans to take it there, and
that is too bad. Yet maybe the best measure of the health of the
American theater is that now New Yorkers, too, have to travel to
see the full range of what American creators have to offer.