Some play/playwrights require an extra ability, an advanced skill set to be able to be performed adequately, and with distinction. Obviously, Shakespeare is one such writer, but there are others: Chekhov, Ibsen, Odets, Mamet, Williams come to mind. Depicting dialogue as natural conversation is step one towards truth in acting…and yet dramatic writing has that extra ‘thing’, that additional ‘wit’ that’s attached to it, or layered over it, to make it that ‘heightened reality’ thing that distinguishes dramatic writing from other kinds.
The Fresh Fruit Festival has been a home, a haven, for many years, to many novice playwrights, writers who are getting their toes wet into the wonderful, wacky swimming pool of theatrical production. This is a good thing, and this is always a good thing.
Doug DeVita, however, is not a novice playwright. Quite the contrary; he is an established, superior scribe, having works produced all over the country, and is a recent finalist and award-winner in the Queens Short Play Festival that occurred earlier this year. He is a playwright who has meaningful things to say, and a unique way in saying them.
His plays are, generally, not in that ‘lofty but accessible’ space that is reserved for the aforementioned composers; his plays are simple, elegant, have great meaning, are full of heart and wonder, and occur between people that are sitting in the booth next to you at the diner.
‘Goddess of the Hunt’, however, is not one of those plays; it has an advanced requirement on its other collaborators–notably, the actors, and the director..(or in case, directors, a troubling trend in recent memory and that is not a good thing).
As soon as one opens the program before curtain, and notices a character named ‘Diana Black-White’, then you just know what kind of play you are about to witness and experience: A stylized play, a comedy of some sort, perhaps a farce, a dash of Georges Feydeau meeting the craziness of Preston Sturges, with a splice of Noel Coward–characters that have no trouble paying the rent, and frolicking here , there, and everywhere, searching for God-Knows-What.
Sanford Meisner, one of the founding members of the Group Theater, and who ran the Neighborhood Playhouse for decades right here on 11th Avenue, said thus: ‘I wish the stage were a tightrope; an incompetent wouldn’t dare walk across it.’ Meaning, of course, that it is not that easy, nor should it be.
Here, in this production, directed by Rosie Corr with two assistants, that wish imposed by the great Mr. Meisner into the laps of the Gods of Theater (or is it the other way around?), has not been fully realized, and it has led to a distinctly uneven production of Mr. DeVita’s play.
The good stuff: The play is typical DeVita–clever, snappy one-liners everywhere (especially inside jokes about the theater), expert exposition which settles the audience immediately, easily identifiable characters, and enough double and triple crosses that are so sharp-edged you can walk across the stage and get figurately cut.
In addition, we are greeted before curtain–and all through the play–with some eye-opening motion graphics (designed really well by Angelo Torres), which serves as a ‘backdrop/Greek Chorus/Narrator’ in a compelling, humorous, distinctly 21st Century fashion, whizzing by at an accelerated pace–just as life sometime does in this 95-miles-per-hour life that we sometimes live.
The not-so-good stuff: The direction was sloppy, at times clumsy, at times the uneasy feeling that the play was woefully under-rehearsed: actors constantly stepping on other actor’s lines; meandering, meaningless blocking; a general sloppiness that makes Mr. Meisner’s tightrope more than an idea or wishful thinking.
A play like this requires ensemble acting by every definition of the word–fingers on a fist, acting in complete harmony and unison, in the same rhythm and cadence as everyone else, like an orchestra…and that simply did not occur. When one watches ‘The Three Sisters’ or ‘Glengarry Glen Ross’, one says to themselves: ‘I see the individuality of the characters, but they are all created by the same author; the different dishes that were cooked came out of the same kitchen.’ That was sorely lacking here, and much of it had to do with the casting.
The play, by and large, felt miscast. Without question, the cast, judging by their ample credits everywhere, including significant Broadway appearances, can do their thing effectively; otherwise they would all be making their stage debut. Still, the two leads–Mary Powelson, as the treacherous Diana, and Kevin Ligon, as her patsy Charlie–were miscast. In addition, they did not have the chemistry required in ether that invisible ‘thing’ that magically occurs sometimes on a stage, nor the requirement as set forth by the playwright.
It is hard, however, on whom to pin the blame on–as the rat Jimmy Altieri says in ‘The Sopranos’: ‘We need a Supreme Commander at the top–not the Dave Clark Five’…and he is, essentially, correct. That notion triply-applies to the theater. With 3 directors–unheard of back in the day, or for the last 180 years, but another recent ‘trend’ that will soon turn into a fad–the results were obvious; no singular vision leading the brigade into the forest; just another project-by-committee that never, ever, ever is successful when it comes to matters of art.
Mr. DeVita wrote a superior play; he deserved better from his colleagues. The production was ‘effective’, and of course received a standing ovation at curtain–but it was more for (or should’ve been) an appreciation for the work of the playwright, and not the execution of the playwright’s vision.
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