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| James DeMarse, Sharon Laughlin, Andy Robinson. (Photos: Zodiac,) |
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| Katharine Dunfee, John Glover. |
Robert Montgomery was
a third-year Yale Drama School student when his play, Subject to Fits, based on a classic 19th-century Russian novel by
Fyodor Dostoievsky, was produced in New York. Robert Brustein, then Dean of the
Drama School, had seen a workshop staging and turned it down as a possibility
for his own Yale Repertory Company. The director, fellow Yalie A.J. Antoon,
soon became a Public Theatre stalwart.
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| Andy Robinson, Jason Miller. |
Montgomery’s program
notes said this was drama “smacking of The
Idiot, dreaming of The Idiot, but
mostly taking off from where The Idiot drove
it.” The play suggested a style of “realistic surrealism,” wrote Martin
Gottfried, in its fragmented, episodic structure and bizarre characters, at the
center of which is the Christ-like Prince Myshkin (Andy Robinson). Instead of a
straightforward plot, Montgomery offered what Stanley Kauffmann called “states
of being,” his purpose being to “put Dostoievsky’s theme through the mind of a
young Christian today, to trace the question of possible good, expressing
through the fact of the songs and distortions, the modernity of his inquiry.”
Characters retained
from the novel include Rogozhin (Jason Miller, later to write That Championship Season; succeeded by
John Glover), anything but a saint; Natasha (Sharon Laughlin), the temptress;
Lebedev (John Mahon), Aglaya (Katherine Dunfee), and Madame Yepanchin (Jean David),
among several others.
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| Andy Robinson (in box) and company. |
Because of the lack
of conventional narrative material, several reviewers were convinced the theatregoer would
be confused unless he had a close familiarity with the novel. Walter
Kerr, for instance, found only the brilliance of Antoon’s staging and the
excellence of Montgomery’s music strong enough elements to hold him in his
seat. Though the skull-teasing script was “tantalizing . . . , provocative and
strongly self-possessed,” he warned, “casual theatregoers beware.” Also less
than inspired was Edith Oliver, for whom the show was “theatrical without being
especially dramatic—a kind of ballet with words that is intermittently
interesting for about one quarter of its two acts.”
On the other hand, a
passel of critics, led by Clive Barnes, were excited over the play. Barnes sang
his praises for this “mad, mad play that is a joy to encounter. It is a
cerebral play of dazzling intellectuality, manic wit, and calm literacy.”
Reviews like this may have helped Montgomery win a Drama Desk Award for Most
Promising Playwright.
My frequent plus-one of pre-Covid days,
Ken Glickfeld, one of the best cue-callers in the business, was the stage
manager.
Dostoevsky lovers (or even Dostoyevsky ones) might, if they are masochistic enough, wish to peruse my comments on a 2016 adaptation of the play, with the simplified title of Idiot.
Next up: Sugar
