Review: Out From the Shadows
CBS Studio Center, 4024 Radford Avenue, Studio City
by Wenzel Jones
From our “Shut Up And Take Your Medicine” Department we have A History Of Shadows, a play receiving its world premiere at the CBS Studio Center in Studio City. I don’t mean to imply that this is bad theatre, nor that it is badly done theatre, but it does have the unpleasant quality of something that is good for you.
Based upon the novel of the same name, A History Of Shadows illustrates the lives of four good friends, all gay men, from the late 1930s through the 1980s. The characters are Billy (Jack Beckerman), an interior designer; Robert (William Christopher), an accountant; Carl (Bernie Kopell), a musician; and Wesley (Robert Mandan), an actor. They describe what life was like before the Stonewall riot (and if I have to tell you what the Stonewall riot was then you really should go see this show), when being gay was even less of a cocktail party conversational gambit than it is today. Their individual stories are tied together by the character of Steve (Larry Cox), a Bright Young Thing who is gathering these tales for his book.
Your first sign that there may be trouble ahead is when you notice that the set consists of four wing chairs, each with its own side table, each on its own riser. You pray you are not about to endure four characters sitting on a stage telling you how it was “back then.” Your prayers will go unheeded. To call this play wordy would be to call the IRS slightly overbearing.
Oh dear. Now it sounds as if I had a horrible time, and I didn’t. Work with me on this one.
The performances are commendable for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that at no point did my eyes glaze over while I wondered, “Gee, how do they remember all those words?” Of the five men in the cast, three are eminently recognizable to anyone who, at some time during the last twenty years, has walked through a room with a functioning television set in it. With lesser performances this could have been insurmountable (Father Mulcahy? Gay? Oh, why am I so surprised….) but the initial dissonance of seeing familiar faces saying and doing unfamiliar things disappears quickly.
Robert Mandan is quite rakish and charming as Wesley, the leading man with a leading man of his own. He is by far the most vibrant character, one who at times almost believes his own acting. Jack Beckerman plays the interior designer, one who, if he were the love child of Bea Arthur and Larry “Bud” Melman—I mean this in the nicest way possible—is very fun to watch. He’s even fun to watch when it isn’t his scene, just perching on his chair, a picture of flamboyance at rest. William Christopher is Robert, the accountant, and, as you would expect, the most closeted of a closeted group. There is great sadness in this character, but Mr. Christopher never allows him to become maudlin. Bernie Kopell as the musician has one of the more touching monologues in the show, and handles it quite nicely. Larry Cox has the rather thankless task of bouncing from character to character, asking the odd question or two to keep the show moving and spending his down time gazing enraptured while everyone else yaks away. And, of course, the devil is represented by a pseudonymous Roy Cohn. (It’s a heavy price to pay for cultural acceptance: Back when nobody went to see them, gay plays used to be notable for their gratuitous nudity in the first act. Now they just have Roy Cohn.)
Given that the show is talky, what have we here? Well, we have a lot; about 45 minutes too much, by my reckoning. The thirties pass with the ease of a Cole Porter tune but, oh, those forties! World War II would seem a natural place to linger, I suppose; what with all the soldiers fresh off the farm, the inherent drama, and the swell songs, but much of that era will seem to be passing in real time. When you glance at your watch and it still says 1943, just be grateful the show doesn’t deal with the generation that started feeling its oats in the seventies.
Although it is admittedly interesting to hear about what gay life was like before the release of “Love To Love You Baby,” and it’s certainly important that we be reminded that gay men and Donna Summer were not simultaneous inventions, I can’t help but think there’s a better way of doing it. Due to the structure of this show (“Oh, did I ever tell you about the time…?”) it’s too much like being trapped with Uncle Mike and his friend Jeff, who Mom says we’re not supposed to talk about, and not enough like theatre.
The show is being produced by a group called InSITE, the same fine people who last year did Romeo and Juliet on the Seinfeld set (and in the parking lot and in the…). Their stated goal is to “combine the technologies of film, TV, video, music, sound, and lighting into the live presentation ritual of the theatre to create, in essence, Virtual Reality Theatre.” I have no idea what this means. In this particular instance, it refers to the previously mentioned four chairs, a slide show on an upstage screen, and a stained glass special towards the end. Maybe I missed the rest of these amazing elements. After all, it’s the dim-witted like me who keep shows like Cats running, as they say, “now and forever.”
This is not an evening you will remember for its opulence and luxury. The show is being done on one of the sound stages at CBS. It is not one of the sound stages near, somewhat near, or even remotely near the front gate, the front gate outside of which you must park your car. You will be expected to mill about the virtual box office until a herd of sufficient size has gathered, at which point you will be led to the virtual theatre. As Meriwon Trapp no doubt instructed her young charges before their merry tromps through the Alps, wear comfortable shoes.
When you get to the performance space, and you will, there will be two seating choices: high-backed, slightly padded kitchen chairs, or folding metal chairs. Since all the padded ones were up front the night I was there, I can only assume that chair comfort is directly related to ticket price. Be a wise consumer.
I tell you this not to denigrate those who would stage theatre in innovative spaces (Was Tamara not wonderful in the Hollywood VFW Lodge? And wouldn’t it have been more wonderful in the Spelling mansion? But I digress.) but merely as a public service to those of you who are short of wind, halt of step, or bony of butt. If you’re the sort who is bold enough to attend theatre with a small stadium cushion…well, you may be thanking me by intermission.
A History Of Shadows is playing Tuesday through Sunday evenings at 8:00 p.m. The main gate of the studio is at 4024 Radford Avenue, a bit east of Laurel Canyon and yards north of Ventura Boulevard. Tickets ($20–$25): (213) 466-1767. And don’t forget about the shoes. ♦