You would think
that an elder statesman of the theater like Terrence
McNally would be resting on his laurels and collecting his
royalties from Majorca or Maui. But unlike his
ex-lover Edward Albee or his contemporary Sam Shepard,
who eke out something new every five years or so, the
68-year-old McNally churns out plays like a caffeinated
hotshot fresh out of Yale. The current revival of
The Ritz at Studio 54 is his third show on
or near Broadway this year alone.
First up was
Some Men at the Second Stage, an ensemble
piece in the tradition of Love! Valour!
Compassion! and Corpus Christi. Spanning
eight decades, it investigated the ways gay men have evolved
(or not) in their habits of partnering (or not). All
the scenes you expect from a gay social history are
there. Same-sex wedding? Check. Scene at the baths?
Check. AIDS ward? Check. Gay therapy group? Check. Internet
chat room, gay daddies, elders being interviewed by
earnest/ignorant young students, gay bar the night of
the Stonewall rebellion--they're all
predictably there. The play might have felt like a string of
cliches if it weren't so well staged by
Trip Cullman and fantastically acted. In particular,
the ever-great David Greenspan wrung tears and laughter from
some of the most overexposed gay stereotypes, p
including a drag
queen in a Greenwich Village sweater bar who sings
"Over the Rainbow" in a weak but
endearing voice with a thick Long Island accent.
Besides being haunted by actor Romain Fruge's
astonishingly beautiful bare butt, I came away with
respect for McNally's stamina for chronicling
gay life. Even if it's old news to us, mainstream
straight audiences eat it up. And who knows, a play
like Some Men may turn out decades from now to be
the definitive document of the way we live now.
Next was Deuce, a
calculated commercialcomedy for the old-lady
Broadway audience, about two retired tennis champions
played by Angela Lansbury and Marian Seldes. The play
was as schematic as an eighth-grade term paper about
the history of women's tennis. But in some ways this
pair evoked the main characters in my favorite McNally
play, A Perfect Ganesh, in which two women who meet
on an airplane have a profound conversation about
life, love, and death. The audience for Deuce
mostly went to worship Lansbury, and they went crazy
hearing the beloved star of Murder, She Wrote say
"cunt," tell Viagra jokes, and speculate
about which tennis stars are lesbians.
Unfortunately,
the Roundabout Theatre Company did McNally no favors in
reviving The Ritz, first seen on Broadway in
1975. Set in a New York bathhouse--post-Stonewall,
pre-AIDS--where a garbageman from Cleveland
(Kevin Chamberlin) hides out from the Mafia, the play
is justifiably famous for its unapologetic display of gay
male sexuality. (One character totes a tub of Crisco,
and not for making cupcakes.) But the script is a lame
attempt at French farce. To be funny, farce has to
start plausibly and then seduce the audience into buying a
string of improbabilities that build to delirious nonsense.
The Ritz is far-fetched from the get-go, so
there's no momentum, just a string of desperately
unfunny sitcom gags about a fat straight guy's
fear of the half-naked gay men running around.
McNally
originally crafted the play around the character of Googie
Gomez, a third-rate nightclub singer at the baths,
created by Rita Moreno, who eventually won a Tony
award for her performance. (It was based, of course,
on Bette Midler's legendary appearances at the
Continental Baths as the campy/trashy Divine Miss M.)
Rosie Perez is strangely flat-footed and tentative in
the role, though she manages to pull off the insanely
cheesy Broadway medley that closes act 1. I would have found
the show completely unbearable if it weren't
for the hilarious, hardworking, and vanity-free Brooks
Ashmanskas in the leading role of Chris -- the flaming
queen who serves as the garbageman's tour guide to
the baths. This actor, who stole Martin Short's
own show Fame Becomes Me away from him, here
channels Paul Lynde with the energy of Zero Mostel and
Peter Allen combined.
Here's a
recommendation: If you go see The Ritz,
consider sitting in the balcony with your Bose
noise-canceling headphones on, the better to
appreciate director Joe Mantello's gift for
casting hunky guys and convincing them to walk around Scott
Pask's triple-tiered bathhouse set wearing next
to nothing. Undistracted by the dialogue, you can
concentrate on the beefcake parade, which includes
former porn star Ryan Idol smoking a cigar and sporting
'70s sideburns. Just try not to wonder why guys
are going in and out of the steam room in underpants,
bathrobes, and thigh-high boots.