Several of us from the A.R.T. trekked down to the big apple yesterday for the presentation at the end of a one-week workshop kindly hosted by the folks at The Public Theater. The cast – which all of us present hope will be the one that will come to Cambridge – was assembled in front of their scores, with a pianist and a conductor. Diane made a brief speech, and the music began…. and WHAT a ride it was! The cast was phenomenal, voices ranging from the big handsome Philip Boykin singing the role of the King with the deepest bass baritone voice to the absolutely adorable 12-year old Chris Borger, who not only sounds like an angel, but performed with the poise and the self-assurance of a total pro. And the amazing Lavon Fisher-Wilson, who brought the house down with her “let a little sunshine in”…. we were practically dancing in the aisles. And… last but not least, there was “Big Daddy” himself, David Alan Grier, a sort of master of ceremonies, story teller, who tied all the proceedings together with a great sense of humor and improvisation. I was not familiar with the music of composer Deirdre Murray, but I could not sit still, totally enveloped in the rhythm, the buoyancy and enthusiasm of the cast, and those voices!!!! I cant wait for rehearsals to begin here in Cambridge in the fall…
I’m writing from the first night of tech rehearsal. Sitting inside rehearsal rooms for the past few weeks, I had no concept of just how enormous the scale of our production is. Mamet’s plays are typically performed on unit sets with simple lighting instruments, set pieces, and props. Our version of Romance uses a string of giant moving set pieces, gyroscoping lights, stage blood, and smoke machines. At first glance, this gear is better suited to a rock concert than a Mamet play.
But once we began running sequences from the show, I realized just how well the massive scale of our productions meshes with the ambitions of Mamet’s text. The A.R.T. is known for Mamet works like Oleanna, a realistic, two-character piece that takes place in a tiny office. But Romance is a larger-than-life farce. Actors throw roasting pans and insults across the courtroom with reckless abandon. We’ve thrown in plenty of tricks, zany sound effects, and even a strip-tease or two.
Scott’s staging also takes advantage of one of the text’s greatest strengths: a great sense of farcical acceleration. At first glance, the play’s opening scene is nearly free of farce. It could easily be a scene from this week’s episode of Law and Order. Slowly but surely, Mamet tightens the screws. Polite disagreement turns into schoolyard name-calling. A wisecracking judge becomes a pill-popping maniac. An ordered courtroom descends into comic chaos.
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