Friday, January 3, 2014

199. Review of THE FINAL VERSION (January 2, 2014)


199. THE FINAL VERSION

 
I’m almost tempted to ignore this play and pretend it never happened; that way no one’s feelings get hurt and everyone can simply go on with their business. But, since getting to and from the Nuyorican Poets’ Café, located on E. 3rd Street between Avenues B and C, on the night of this winter’s first snowstorm, was such an effort, I feel obligated to say at least a few words about it for the record, especially since the playwright, Ishmael Reed, and the director-leading actor, Rome Neal, both have had distinguished careers, Mr. Reed as a prolific writer of fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, and Mr. Neal as both an actor and director. Unfortunately, this was one of those cases where the extensive achievements listed in these artists’ program bios seemed totally out of whack with the astonishing inadequacy of the work currently on view.
 
 
From left: Dawn Murphy, Rome Neal, Temesgen Tocruray. Photo: David A. Powell.

            THE FINAL VERSION, set largely in 1965, deals with the life and work of a fictional black writer, Lee Ransom, played by Mr. Neal, and provides an overview of the place of black writers in American literature from the 1930s through the mid-1960s; the emphasis is on the activities of black writers within the world of American communism, and the play is little more than a barely dramatized series of political diatribes that attempt to explore the plight of black artists in a society dominated by white capitalists. The ongoing stream of disputation muddied the plot for me to the point that my original report erred in certain plot-related facts, but much of that plot revolves around Lee’s moral dilemma after having chosen financial success by eliminating two communist characters and modifying a third character in a book he wrote in 1939; in 1965 he is offered the chance to publish the full text of the original work. Apart from that the play is really little more than a series of political arguments in which characters—including the characters in the novel—stand and deliver speeches directly to the audience, even when speaking to other characters. Famous names are dropped, kicked, tossed about, stepped on, and otherwise disposed of in dialogue and rhetorical addresses that succeed in showing off Mr. Reed’s considerable erudition about the history of mid-century communism and its place in black American society, but fail to do more than express lots of provocative anecdotes, sexual, political, and otherwise, about the famous people mentioned.

            For over two hours, in two acts with an intermission, the audience is barraged with references to Richard Wright, Carl Van Vechten, James Baldwin, the Kennedys, Martin Luther King, Jr., Marxism, Trotskyism, Leninism, Joe McCarthy, Langston Hughes, Zora Neale Thurston, W.E.B. Du Bois, Vietnam, Lyndon Johnson, Paul Robeson, the Soviet Union, Stalin, William Styron, and numerous other contemporary names and political topics, all of it wrapped in a production sadly lacking in professional polish.

            I can understand that a lack of funds requires a production using no set other than black curtains, a couple of small platforms, a formal chair for Lee Ransom to sit in, and a few bar stools. I don’t mind that June Terry’s costume designs do the best they can on a tiny budget to suggest the periods shown, even if they aren’t the most authentic or high quality in execution. I can detect in several of the performers acting abilities that, under other circumstances, might not appear so wooden and unconvincing. But I cannot understand how Mr. Neal, with all his experience, could have forgotten that a play requires shaping, blocking, pacing, movement, face to face interaction, and the picking up of cues. He himself constantly seemed to be struggling to remember his lines, and I was hoping that the flask his character keeps nipping at throughout the play (Lee is referred to as a drunk) contained nothing stronger than water.

            Perhaps a more resourceful director could have made something of this rambling rehearsal of once polarizing political positions. The final moments, in which a character called the WASP (Stephen Powell) delivers a scathingly satirical denunciation of contemporary capitalism, is certainly viable in this era of the one per centers, THE WOLF OF WALL STREET, and OWS. But if Mr. Reed believes politics on the stage can only be expressed through rhetorical speeches, and not through the give and take of believable characters in compelling circumstances, then I certainly hope that this is the final version of THE FINAL VERSION.

[Incorrect facts about the plot mentioned in the original version of this review were corrected by Mr. Reed, whose corrections have led me to revise accordingly. I offer my apologies for the original mistakes.]