The "Other" Ben

  This idea of memory that is being explored by DTP, takes shape in a performance that blends together two mediums: theatre and film. A smattering of props, instruments, cameras, and fragmented set pieces occupy the stage with a projection screen looming behind. As the audience filters in, the ensembles meanders around the space checking their equipment. Once the house lights go down, a man picks up two clay discs and rubs them together in a circular motion, creating a sound like metal wheels picking up speed on a train track. The image of rocking luggage then fills the screen, and we are transported. The memories or Orpheus and Eurydice (told with a distinctly contemporary spin) fill the screen for the next fifty minutes, while the ensemble works seamlessly on the ground to film this story. As the audience, we witness two experiences occurring simultaneously: the making of the film, and the film itself. In many ways DTP’s piece is reminiscent of a radio play with the cast/crew telling the story while generating the sound effects concurrently. The result being one of the most evocative, stimulating, and astonishing experiences to occupy a theatre in quite a while.

Thompson gives his audience choice by allowing us to focus on the various elements at play. While one may instinctively pay closer attention to the film being projected, there are guaranteed to be moments when the eye wanders to the ensemble setting up for the next scene (a fascinating process), or the principal lovers interacting when they are off-screen (a particularly beautiful through-line). In an age where theatre is constantly trying to reinvent itself and distinguish itself from film, The Deconstructive Theatre Project takes the opposite approach and creates a hybrid experience that never sacrifices the magic of the movies, the rush of live theatre, or the cathartic experience of clear and simple storytelling. In a city as vast as New York, where entertainment choices are in no short supply, the decision making can be the most difficult part. During the short run of The Orpheus Variations there should be no other choice and no other ticket to buy; for any other experience cannot compare, or be as memorable.  

Personally speaking, my chief purpose in being the “Other” Ben is to bring generosity and fairness to criticism, and – as our friend Mr. Baldwin so aptly puts it – to assess “what [the play is] attempting to do and how close [the play] come[s] to pulling it off.” This is an art that was practiced by critics like Brooks Atkinson, George Jean Nathan, Walter Kerr, and Frank Rich (to name a small handful). While Brantley does not totally disregard the tenants of his forefathers, they frequently fall to the wayside when he focuses on one major element of a production – which in not an uncommon practice for Brantley. It is precisely for this reason that I think of Ben Brantley as “the people’s critic.” Why? Because he responds to what audiences are told to based on a production’s marketing. If there is a celebrity’s name above the title, odds are that 70% of his review will be about said star. While this does not result in a balanced critique of the show, it usually satisfies the curiosity of the masses.

Baldwin’s statement that Brantley, “is not a good writer” is neither insightful, nor is it good writing ironically. To make such a bold comment without any supporting evidence is just as unfair as saying “Alec Baldwin is not a good actor, the end!” (which to my knowledge Brantley has never done…at least not so directly). One of Baldwin’s key arguments is that Brantley does not practice legitimate theatrical criticism, and honestly, I doubt I could find another critic who would disagree. Ben Brantley is chiefly an entertainer who critiques theatre; he is the Rock of Ages of theatre criticism – fun and catchy when reading, but lacking in overall substance. It would seem that Brantley is more concerned with selling newspapers than selling theatre tickets. But maybe we all would feel that way if the New York Times were cutting our paychecks.

The play begins in the early 2000s when two daughters (played by Marsha Stephanie Blake and Carra Patterson) inherit the house of their recently deceased grandparents. Blake, who delivers an astonishing performance as Hannah, lives in said residence with her husband and children, and despite years of growth and urbanization, they remain the only African-American’s in a wholly white community. Their anxiety is aggravated when an elderly Irish couple, the Donovans, reveal they are the ones who actually hold the title to the house. Greenidge weaves together the 2000s with scenes from the 1950s that show the young grandparents, the Taylors, to be an affluent and educated African-American couple on the rise. The Donovans, on the other hand are a family struggling to support themselves and their six children through menial labor and taking in laundry. What occurs is a once common transaction known as “Ghost Buying,” wherein African-Americans put up the money to purchase a house, and a white family, like the Donovans, carries out the deed. Eventually the property is turned over to its rightful owners who become settled in their home and in a neighborhood that may not initially have welcomed them with open arms, let alone with a Jell-O mold or a warm bundt cake. These antiquated racial tensions have been salted over since the 50s, but it is impossible for the play’s contemporary counterparts to uproot all the weeds that still spring from this hatred. If the juxtaposition of these specific periods coupled with the story of African-Americans buying homes in Caucasian-dominated neighborhoods sends the reader reeling into Clybourne Park déjà vu, well so be it. Truth be told, the production could probably benefit from a few more years of distance to spare the play this obvious comparison, but Greenidge’s work, supported by the first-rate cast, under the guidance of their director Rebecca Taichman is good enough to stand on its own two feet. The second act is more rewarding than the first half, which is oddly absent of tension despite the high stakes prospect of losing a home and being unwanted by one’s community. Make no mistake; the first act is still engaging (no mind-wandering on this end) but it is as though the burner has just been turned on--the pot will not start to simmer until after the intermission. However, the play comes to a full-on boil in a second act scene when a bitter Mrs. Donovan (Amanda Quaid) tries to threaten and extort the quaffed Mrs. Taylor (Eisa Davis) because she disrupts the “natural order of things”. Watching these actresses go toe-to-toe over issues of entitlement and “borrowed luck” hits the very core of Luck of the Irish and surely will light the fire of many theatre goers who disavow outmoded beliefs of privilege based on ethnicity, income, sexuality, religion, etc. Greenidge's play is not naive, she lets us know that there is still work to be done, but you know we've come a long way when Lincoln Center Theater subscribers are excited to watch this white lady get taken down. At this point I feel obligated to inform the reader that the night this critic attended was an early preview performance, and it is very possible—and I wish them all the luck of my Irish ancestors—that the few kinks will be ironed out so the final product is as crisp as one of the shirts Mrs. Donovan disdainfully launders.