June 2, 2005

"That was veddy, vedy bad."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx- Leonard Pynth Garnel

London - It's not easy to be that bad. So congratulations to Val Kilmer and the entire team behind the stage version of The Postman Always Rings Twice here in London. Wow. Just so impressive.

There is a reason why any conversation about this James M. Cain novel always centers around the sex. There isn't a whole lot more there. It can be fairly interesting in the layering. The beautiful young small town girl who comes to Hollywood, realizes she is not going to make it and is surrounded by sharks and escapes in the arms of a strong-willed Greek man into the flat desert around where Palmdale is now. Slowly, but surely, she comes to despise her escape and the man who was, for a short while, he savior, but is now the instrument of her premature entombment. Worse, Nick constantly reminds her of her status as a beauty by being ever vigilant about expressing his love and lust for her. As with most youth, what gets you out does not get you off.

When the young (at least, younger than her husband) grafter comes rolling in, puffed up by the freedom of his utter failure, he fits her need as half lover, half mark. Their sexual relationship is also complex. For him, it is virtually his only possession. For her, it is the next escape hatch. The power of lust - for more than just sex - leads to murder. It's nothing new, but there is a lot to work with.

Unfortunately, this production is more interested in set design than in the underlying story. I guess the novelty of a flying car in a small stage production is really special... but this effect (the car doesn't really fly, but rather comes through the top floor of the two floor set and hangs there for a while) ends up perpetrating one of the most pretentious and unsuccessful pieces of metaphor I have ever seen on stage... our star being sweated for a murder under the headlights of the car in which the deed was done. If you think that's clever, bully for you and book your tickets. But for me, it was a true groaner... especially once it played out and I understood just how ineffectual the maneuver was.

And I have to say, Val Kilmer is just awful in this performance. For every moment he's up there, you are aware that he is so much better as a film actor, where his looks really count and the camera can catch small nuances in his performances. Here, he not only looks lost much of the time, but he doesn't exude the sensuality that the play calls for... not even to the degree that he is a man who believes in his sensuality.

I'd actually be quite willing to believe that a man who is not Val-Kilmer-handsome could wander into a desert diner, see a sex bomb and engage in a seduction that he sees as sure. That is some of what Nicholson played, doing the role at an age almost as old as the husband character. (You may remember that John Colicos got career-best raves for his performance in the film.) Here, Kilmer is a loser in every way. Maybe he, as an actor, is assuming that his looks will prevail and that he doesn't have to play them. But from his cornpone, on-and-off southern drawl to his unconvincing flip flopping on his illicit partnership to the central problem, conveying to the audience what he is really up to in this journey - and believe me, the script does him no service there - it is just a mess.

(Side note: Want to know why Jason Patric never became a movie star? Because he never accepted his looks, except in his one great movie role - not his only fine performance - in Neil Labute's Your Friends and Neighbors, in which he played an evil seducer.)

Equally as frustrating as Kilmer's sleepwalk is the sheer boredom of this piece. As I wrote, sex is the anchor and it is a mixed negative bag. The female lead here, Lucy Bailey, is lanky and attractive, but we don't get the knockout sexuality that has allows everyone who sees her immediately in on the joke. (Correction, 6/4: Lucy Bailey is the woeful director of the show... the female lead is the unfortunate Ms. Charlotte Emmerson.) We get the requisite kitchen counter scene - though it is mid-dinner - and while there is a lot of pawing and grinding, the closer is supposed to be Ms. Bailey removing her panties. Who knows and who cares whether one looking carefully could glimpse actually nudity? But mostly, that moment fails to catch real fire, shocking the audience with the notion that people are having sex on stage rather than making them feel anything. In fact, the only full frontal nudity in the show is by The Greek, who is hairy, but quite fit, hardly fulfilling the "oozing grease" metaphor that is thrown at him. Of course, he doesn't actually have to be grotesque for her to hate him and hate having sex with him. In fact, it is more interesting if not. But with a play so surface as this one, the audience is not helped to any such insight.

There is no sex in the second act... only more bad acting. (I was actually quite alright with the couple at the diner and would be pleased to see them in future work that might allow their talents to be shown.) Again, there were too many tones going on. While Kilmer and his gal were going introspective, the on-stage DA was chewing furniture like it was breath freshener at a high school dance.

But mostly, there was that fucking car.

The damned thing even got its own curtain call as it crashes through the floor a second time just to make sure we knew how much they paid for the effect.

But again, nothing in this play was good enough or could have been good enough to overcome a really weak, boring script. Recently revisiting Double Indemnity, I was reminded just how much could be done with a long held glance. The audience will do much of the work for the playwright... if he/she just gives them the chance.

Here, I kept waiting to understand the reason why this writer, director and team of professional actors wanted to waste months of their lives on this story. What would make this Postman different than the other Postmen? Where was the win? And the answer... there is none... at least not one that I can decipher.

There is a lot to work with... and the only thing that got worked over here was my wallet.

Tomorrow, a look at The Producers... without stars. It was a fascinating experience and made me think of a lot of things about the power of big moments in stage and films and just how an audience is won over... because even with no one they knew in the cast (the near-revelation was Gordon Sinclair Lewis from Gregory's Girl... terrific here) the show absolutely killed. That said... it wasn't the same show. Good or bad or neutral. We shall discuss on the morrow...

E-ME. Have I mentioned that my life is really advantaged sometimes?