steve's notebook

(Sept. 20, 2010)

Sometimes you want to let thoughts percolate. Sometimes you forget the pot on the stove. Two months ago, I caught A Little Night Music again, the first Friday after it reopened with new stars Bernadette Peters and Elaine Stritch. In the spirit of the first time, an assortment of thoughts that haven’t yet burned away:

It’s funny! Back in December, there were funny moments, but the show as a whole was a little heavy, a little too far on the serious side of the spectrum. Some of that was the newness of the run, the performers not having become sufficiently comfortable to relax. But now, there were certain scenes—the first Egerman home scene in particular—in which the whole approach felt livelier, the direction changed from Chekov to Molière. The pace picked up.

Leigh Ann Larkin toned it down, cut back on the accent she hadn’t mastered last time, pushed less. Halved the number of vowels she stuck into “meanwhile.” Not bad now. Ramona Mallory fell too far past that delicate line Anne walks, landing in yippy dog territory. Hunter Herdlicka still seems to be employing autistic as Henrik’s primary character trait. And doing awful things to that B. (Or is it a B flat?)

Erin Davie landed a few great moments last time. The “school for retarded girls” line. She’s now figured out the rest. Still more visibly wounded than most Charlottes, but she’s getting the laughs too. The combination works well. Aaron Lazar added in a pointed dynamic change on the final note of “In Praise of Women” that, while skillful, was kind of silly. Yes, the character’s pompous, but that’s goofy.

Hanson. Playing more for comedy, maybe pushing a little too hard for it, but the kind of thing time settles. Less resonance in the “considerably less ancient” bit. Playing against Peters, the approach is less realizing-it’s-not-over than successfully-catching-that-last-chance. The sunburn in Malmo—the sense of their shared history—was a more tangible force. The last scene isn’t so much about renewed vitality as before, but the more standard recovery from a lifetime of muddle. I don’t remember the dreamy “Desirée” ending the trio being quite so erotically focused before, the groping and all.

And the women. Because it’s all about the women.

I forgot that Bernadette is an actress. I mean, obviously. But she hasn’t really tackled a real role in years and her concert performances are more about emoting and personality than acting. But she knows what she’s doing. And she’s funny! I was losing it during the Desirée’s digs scenes. Evidence suggests she’s since cut it, but for “I’m a wolf,” she pulled out one of her storybook voices and I died a little. And during the robe exchange, I swear that some of those lines were being read by Madeline Kahn. Sometimes she pushed a little much too, but that was hard to separate from her general approach.

Peter is older than Zeta Jones, obvs. So, she’s taken her cue from the line about “shoddy tours,” and found a reason why Desirée is still kicking around the provinces, why her mother is so concerned about assuring her a little security. Her Desirée is not a great actress. She’s enough of a name to headline posters as “The One and Only”, but you get the sense that Desirée is at best the Stephanie Powers of Sweden. What’s shared with Zeta Jones is a defensive front, acting Desirée in real life too. She protects herself by playing life as a scene. And when she’s uncomfortable, it’s even more pronounced. And not the most intelligent. That’s new. She’s a bit slow to catch onto the hip bath lie and as her nerves grow, she becomes broader and broader in playing herself. Which is great comedy, but also where it runs the risk of too much. And when the facade is dropped in the “Send in the Clowns” bedroom scene, the contrast is greater than CJZ. The mask bigger, but also, as is Peters’s specialty, loads more vulnerability.

And this scene is why I say Peters is an actress. It starts off fairly typically. Desirée has Fredrik alone, confesses her purpose for having him there, reaches out to see if he will save her. But when Peters starts the song, despite his speech, she’s still not sure if that was a rejection from Fredrick. She’s not just expressing betrayal and hurt, there’s still some hope hanging on so she has an intention to play: can I still get him, can I hook him? And this then makes sense of Fredrick’s mid-song lines. This is where he’s made up his mind, where she becomes sure she’s failed. And then the betrayal–her very last chance to do something right, gone!–and the hurt. And the tears. And holding that last note so softly up to the button. And my tears. The song is her Desirée moment.¹ And then, their last scene. Desirée rushes out to cradle the stunned Fredrick. She’s been hurt, but it doesn’t diminish her feelings for him. And it’s actually quite a while before she finds out about Anne and Henrik. I never noticed that before. And even then she still doesn’t know what this means for her. And, FINALLY, she realizes she’s going to be saved after all. Peters mines the script and finds a richer emotional topography than, very possibly, certainly than memory is giving me, any other Desirée.

And then there’s Stritch. Stritch, Stritch, Stritch, Stritch, Stritch. That opening week was tough. The memory issues. I hear it’s gotten much better. I think we may have been there for the worst of it. Evidence indicates that other performances even that week were less rocky. This one was hard. Sometimes it was small enough to be funny. “I shall tell you … weird stories of the Baron de Cignac, who was to put it mildly … … weird.” But there were pauses. Long pauses. And places where she was getting really stuck, even with prompting. And the fear, and frustration, and anger in her eyes. I don’t think Macwas breathing for a few minutes in there. And what really killed me were those times when it really clicked, when she found a moment of solid footing, and you could see there was a brilliant interpretation underneath it all, scuttling on the rocks of age.

She mentioned in one of her pre-opening interviews how central the mother-daughter relationship was to her approach. Here is an Mme. Armfeldt who loves her daughter too much to let on. Desirée is getting older; life in even her shoddy tours is becoming less certain. And so Mme. worries. She worries that Desirée is going to wind up alone. She knows the strength that takes—she’s alone—,knows that Desirée doesn’t have it. And it pains, so much. So she keeps her daughter at bay—is bitchy, mean. And she suffers by it. Add this to Stritch’s own suffering and this Armfeldt gets very dark. ²

But there’s more. It’s not just her worry for Desirée that’s hurting her. At this point, basically, it’s everything. She sees the world changing around her and she doesn’t know where that leaves her; she’s lost and frightened. And again, covering up with a hard exterior. Like mother like daughter, these facades. Gingold or Lansbury’s “Liaisons” are delivered with bewilderment, bemusement, disappointment. Stritch is full of anger and judgment. She’s a lone tower standing on a stormy plain.

It’s possible Peters might be doing something definitive with “Clowns,” but there’s no doubt that Stritch is definitive in her Wooden Ring speech. Here, she’s finally forced to question herself. Out of the mouths of babes, truth. And realizes she’s wrong. This memory isn’t just wistful or sad; it breaks her. This is why she dies. She finds a unity and throughline in her approach that I’m in awe of.

And like Peters, she too reaches into both extremes. As dark as she is, there are also moments that are indeed “wickedly funny.” Her delight at making Frid carry her around. That smile as the dinner party falls apart (shades of Colleen Donaghy). And my favorite: the complete deadpan on “Raisins. … Liaisons!” Because that lyric is the lamest non-joke ever and she knows it. And this is the only time I’ve heard it get a real laugh.

And I wish I had some great concluding thought, but whatevs. This shit was sitting on the back burner for two months. You’re lucky if it’s still edible. And I realized I’ve switched metaphors.

1. Actresses have their strongest Desirée moments in different places. For Zeta Jones, it was vitality of the last scene. For Juliette Stevenson, it’s the pre-“Wife” digs scene. Natasha Richardson, the scene leading into “Clowns:” “what the hell are we laughing about?” Pretty sure “Glamorous Life” has never been anyones. ↩

2. A taxonomy of Armfeldts: Elaine’s variety is the dramatic, dark. Zoe Caldwell is dramatic, less dark; Vanessa Redgrave was dramatic, unfocused. Hermione Gingold is the head of the comic vein; Barbara Byrne the lesser variety. Angela Lansbury the dotty side of the grande dame school, Regina Resnick the butch. Claire Bloom not really sure what she’s doing. ↩