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September 24 -- I wish I had time to write at length
about Ivo van Hove's production of The Misanthrophe at New
York Theater Workshop. I'm a big fan of the Flemish
director's work, especially his crazy deep productions of Streetcar
Named Desire and Hedda Gabler at NYTW. This one
didn't disappoint. It's completely insane and inventive
theatrically and interpretively, with a terrific leading
performance by Bill Camp (Ben
Brantley is right -- he gets better year by year). For all
the scenic chaos and flying condiments, for all the snazzy
video and people walking around with every manner of
electronic gadgetry -- Moliere's characters as they inhabit
the 21st century -- I was left really upset and raw with its
depiction of the necessary dance of love and lying,
self-preservation and self-deception. I went with my friend 
Walker Jones, a wonderful actor who just got done appearing in
The Bald Soprano at the New Jersey Shakespeare
Festival. Standing out front I ran into Andrea Stevens, my old
editor from the NY Times Arts & Leisure section,
and she introduced me to Charles Isherwood, who was taller and
handsomer and sleeker than I'd imagined. It was opening night,
so a stellar crowd of theater insiders. We sat next to the
great actress Roberta Maxwell and her partner Lianne; Roberta
is doing a play by Thomas Kilroy called The Shape of Metal
that I wish I had time to see, but it's closing this weekend.
Linda Chapman had invited us upstairs to the party, but I was
feeling too raw from the show to make party small-talk, so
Walker and I went around the corner (bumping into our old
classmate from Boston University, Bruce MacVittie, walking his
dog) and sat at the Wine Bar reading aloud to each other Ivo
van Hove's fascinating essay
on The Misanthrope. I'm not sure everything he thought
about the play quite shows up onstage, but the combination of
the essay, the play, the production, and the performances
makes for one of the richest theater experiences of the year
for me.
see previous
entry here
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