November 2019
My
companion of the evening, a female friend, seemed to have some moments of
rueful recognition of the male-female dynamics in Linda Vista, the new play by Tracy Letts, in the current Broadway production imported from Steppenwolf in Chicago. And when, in
Act Two, the payoff to the lead female character went as it ought to, for the character's own best
interest, she nodded with her own self-satisfaction, and a barely audible,
"M-hm."
What
makes this notable is a little
exchange we had previously, during intermission. We'd both been enjoying
the
play, though she seemed tacitly unsure where to land with it, and I
offered, "It's a very 'guy' play, isn't it? "Yes," she nodded,"it is."
The locale is the San Diego
community of the title; the guy it's about is Wheeler (Ian Barford)—witty, irascible, surly, his own worst enemy and completely self-aware (until he isn't)—a 50 year old divorcee, a washed-up
(he thinks) photographer, consigned now to working in a camera shop for a pig
of a boss (Troy West) who loves to
share his salacious thoughts about female employee Anita (Caroline Neff). Having just moved out of his ex's garage to his
apartment in the complex, he's somewhere between I don't know any women with whom to socialize and Please do me a favor and don't try to fix me up. But his longtime
friend Paul (Jim True-Frost), and
Jim's wife Margaret (Sally Murphy)—who
used to date Wheeler, back in the day, over 25 years ago—think they know
something about him, and get him to a karaoke bar (the mere concept embarrasses him) to meet Jules (Cora Vander Broek),
with whom, against all odds, he hits it off. There is another, younger
character named Minnie (Chantel Thuy)
I'd rather not particularize, as that constitutes a spoiler; but I name her by
way of mentioning the actress, which I feel obligated to do, because the entire
ensemble is top notch—under Dexter
Bullard's equally top notch direction.
There are probably underlying themes
to the play that I'm not yet grappling with—other than an exploration of the
many ways in which even the smartest, most objectively sensitive of men can sometimes
be constitutionally disposed toward screwing up the best things in their lives—but
only because the character portraits and situations are rich enough by
themselves, consistently unexpected and fresh, to keep you engaged in simply
relating to them, either via your own experiences, the experiences of people
you care about, or a relieved flash of there
but for the grace of [fate / common sense / God / thinking twice] could have
gone I. Linda Vista could almost be classed a tragedy of manners, if it
weren't for a dollop of potential redemption…and its being so consistently,
belly-laughably funny.
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