BY 1935, HOLLYWOOD WAS a big, spoiled, obnoxious brat of an institution that had just learned to talk and spoke a lot of drivel. But it paid plenty and lured lots of literary talent. F. Scott Fitzgerald went, and returned to write “The Last Tycoon.” P.G. Wodehouse went and returned to write “Barmy in Wonderland.” Nathaniel West gave us “The Day of the Locust.”
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| Larry Green, John Tillotson, and Douglas Krizner. Photo by Peter Cunningham |
After 54 years it remains as much a tribute to a particular style of stage comedy as it does to its subject. George Abbott, who originally directed the play, put his stamp on a wisecracking, fast-paced manner that will leave you gasping with laughter. The “Boy Meets Girl” revival that played Proctor’s Theatre last Friday was directed, by Brian Murray, in a different style: it left you gasping in boredom.
The Acting Company, John Houseman’s prestigious rep company, helped create the damage.
Did Murray actually sit in some rehearsal theater and watch what was happening? Did he make suggestions that resulted in the lazy, sloppy job these actors did? This is a man with a breathtaking list of directorial credits. What went wrong? There’s no excuse for the kind of shoddiness we witnessed.
A secret of the play’s effectiveness is the obvious affection the Spewacks lavished on their subject. Sure, they’re ridiculing the boneheads who peopled the Hollywood studios, but it’s with an obvious smile.
The same is required for an effective revival of this show, but this production too easily slid into the realm of cheap caricature.
At the center are the writers, Benson and Law, who at rise are trying to churn out yet another formula script for fading cowboy star Larry Toms (Anthony Cummings). They’re an impish pair, ready with a gag or practical joke. But studio head C. Elliot Friday (John Tillotson) endures it all because he likes the boys. And knows they’re good.
None of which was communicated by Douglas Krizner and Larry Green. Krizner, as Benson, at least had the courtesy to deliver his lines downstage. Green played Law like a sourpuss punk. Who mumbled. Neither came distantly near the rhythm required by the dialogue.
This isn’t “let’s get deep into the character” acting. You hurl lines in what’s almost a monotone as fast as possible, and time the responses by fractional seconds. There’s a good example than the film of the play made by Hollywood itself, in which James Cagney and Pat O’Brien were the frantic duo, but an even better film to learn from is a little gem titled “Three Men on a Horse,” another Abbott-produced play.
“Boy Meets Girl” needs the strictest pacing possible because it was written in the theatrical equivalent of symphonic movements of varying tempo. If the fast parts drag, the slow scenes keel over and die.
And did so, despite the fact that two of the better performers carried the burden of them. Laura Perrotta played dim-witted waitress Susie with wide-eyed zeal, well matched by Spencer Beckwith as the equally-dim Rodney, a hapless extra. They had the skill to push their characterizations to the near edge of believability. And delivered their lines with terrific timing.
Tillotson was another with a good sense of the style he was playing; to a lesser extent, so were John Greeleaf as the unctuous agent, Rosetti, and cowboy Cummings. But too often their confrontations were static, both in delivery and staging.
A clear sign of a production in desperate trouble is the overplaying of bits. This one was rife with them, mugging and squealing all over the stage. In Booth Tarkington’s theatrical memoir, “Presenting Lily Mars,” a journeyman actress laments, “when you see a fine oil painting with a hole in it, can you see anything but the hole?”
Murray needs several art lessons. And the company, which was lazy and inarticulate, probably needs a rest. Back in the era of “Boy Meets Girl,” Houseman was producing knockabout comedies like “Too Much Johnson” and “Horse East Hat.” What we saw was a slap in the face of both Houseman and Abbott.
BOY MEETS GIRL, by Bella and Samuel Spewack. Directed by Brian Murray. A co-production of The Acting Company and the Repertory Theatre of St. Louis. Scenic Design by Derek McLane. Costume design by Jennifer von Mayrhauser. Lighting design by Stephen Strawbridge. Performed at Proctor's Theatre, May 5, 1989
– Schenectady Daily Gazette, May 6, 1989
THE PLAY WAS FIRST PERFORMED 54 years ago, yet it remains as much a tribute to a particular style of stage comedy as it does to its subject: Hollywood in the golden age of the studio. George Abbott, who originally directed it, put his stamp on a fast-paced manner that leaves you gasping with laughter. The Boy Meets Girl revival that played Proctor's Theatre last Friday was directed, by Brian Murray, in a different style: it left you gasping in boredom.
This was a shock coming from The Acting Company, John Houseman's prestigious rep company.A secret of the play's effectiveness is the obvious affection writers Bella and Samuel Spewack lavished on their subject. Sure, they ridiculed the boneheads who peopled the Hollywood studios, but they did so with an obvious smile.
The same is required for an effective revival of this show, but this production too easily slid into the realm of cheap caricature.
At the center are two writers, Benson and Law, based on the for-real screenwriters Charles MacArthur and Ben Hecht (who, not coincidentally, gave us the wisecracking classic The Front Page. At rise the pair is trying to churn out yet another formula script for fading cowboy star Larry Toms (Anthony Cummings). But they're irrepressible, ready with a gag or practical joke. Studio head C. Elliot Friday (John Tillotson) endures it all because he likes the boys. And knows they're good.
None of which was communicated by Douglas Krizner and Larry Green. Krizner, as Benson, at least had the courtesy to deliver his lines downstage. Green played Law like a sourpuss punk. Who mumbled. Neither came distantly near the rhythm required by the dialogue.
Boy Meets Girl needs the strictest pacing possible because it was written in the theatrical equivalent of symphonic movements of varying tempo. If the fast parts drag, the slow scenes keel over and die.
And did so, despite the fact that two of the better performers carried the burden of them. Laura Perrotta played dim-witted waitress Susie with wide-eyed zeal, well matched by Spencer Beckwith as the equally-dim Rodney, a hapless extra. They had the skill to push their characterizations to the near edge of believability. And delivered their lines with terrific timing.
Tillotson was another with a good sense of the style he was playing; to a lesser extent, so were John Greeleaf as the unctuous agent, Rosetti, and cowboy Cummings. But too often their confrontations were static, both in delivery and staging.
Murray made more than just a few errors of judgment: he blew it from start to finish. He has an impressive list of directorial credit, which only confirms this as the age of the dubious resume. We were promised the country's top repertory company in a tribute to Abbott; what we got was a rowdy bunch of amateurs indulging themselves on stage at Abbott's expense. And the expense of an unhappy audience.
Acting Company: go home. Come back when you've matured. Better still: don't come back. Our community theater groups have more talent and integrity than you do.
– Metroland Magazine, 11 May 1989
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