'The Piano lesson'

'Georgia'

Peter W. Hicks' set is excep-
11 you ever had goin' for you lescent on uppers. It's a whiz-bang
is talk," says Berniece to her_ performance. As Berniece, Elain tional and Debra L. Wicks has di-
rected with great sureness
brother Boy Willie in Mead- Graham is austere, hostile
for the vernacular and
ow Brook Theatre's The Pi- and, in the remarkable
THEATER
rhythms of life. If, finally,
ano Lesson. As August Wilson, the scene with Lymon late at
the ultimate scene does not
night in the
author, knows full well,
kitchen when loving turn one's heart, it's only because
talk is one powerful tool.
feelings can escape the Wilson has written a play about
And it's a tool he applies
corset of anger, warm- domestic and racial trauma and
vigorously to this story of
ly tender. A fine perfor- wants to resolve it with an assist
a young man who comes
from a ghost. I don't believe in
mance.
up North to Pittsburgh in
Strong, dignified, ghosts and I'm not sure he does ei-
1936 with a load of water-
comic by turns, the cast ther—it's a theatrical technique
melons he and friend Ly-
of supporting charac- that becomes an event which may
mon will sell. Boy Willie
MICH AEL H.
ters is in trustworthy leave some untouched.
also wants to sell the piano
MAR GOLIN
Finally, The Piano Lesson is
hands: Ron Bobb-Sem-
in his sister's house—the
SPECIA L TO THE
ple, Daniel Whitner, there in its talk, its jokes and in
setting for the seven scenes
JEWIS H NEWS
Tamika Lamison, Dan- Berniece's personal crisis, resolved
and two acts—to help him
ny Robinson Clark and in front of our eyes, her hands
buy land at home. The
problem is that the piano is carved Diarra Oni Kilpatrick as stuck to the piano keys. Never
mind the fake brimstone and sul-
with the images of their family Berniece's daughter, Maretha.
As Lymon, Anthony Lamont is fur—her soul is saved.
from slave times, a memento mori
Qt..)
of bondage, love and survival, and especially fine as the young, naive
Berniece does not want to part trucker. The kitchen scene with Eric A. Payne and Diarra Oni Kilpatrick
Berniece is a beaut, in part be- are featured in Meadow Brook Theatre's
with it.
Now Wilson doesn't quite sit us cause Lamont somehow makes production of August Wilson's Pulitzer
down and point this out. Nope. In- the ambiguity of love and lust and Prize-winning drama The Piano Lesson,
stead there are scenes of the tenderness merge.
through March 3.
men besides the two interlopers,
Willie has a couple of uncles—and
they talk. Of old times, supersti-
tions, memories, minor triumphs.
Sure as shootin' though, what
gets revealed is that Berniece's
soul is in jeopardy. It's locked up
in anger, and Boy Willie, by threat-
ening that link between her true
self and the prickly, unloving
woman she's become, has set in
motion momentous events.
With all that talking and some
singing as well, an impeccable cast
is required. This has been provid-
ed.
Eric A. Payne plays Boy Willie,
volatile boy-man with a willful
laugh and the energy of an ado-

Rated R

A

TH E DETRO IT JEWIS H NEWS

'Drinking In America'

70

I

t's a concept. Not a high con- the Theatre Company, Universi-
cept. Medium high: 17 mono- ty of Detroit Mercy.
In the first half, many of the
logues about men stuff. By
Eric Bogosian, Drinking in men are sad or weak in the legs,
America is less about actually a product of a mind softened by
swallowing the hard stuff, than years of chauvinism. In this sec-
about being drunk. On power, tion, Jim Shanley is vulnerable
in his rage because he's momen-
powerlessness, anger or fear.
Some of the men in the mono- tarily impotent. Until his anger
logues—lasting from a minute or turns him on; and then there is
so to several—are choking on sadism in his girlfriend's future.
John Hawkinson is won-
their own spleen; some are
derfully funny in "No
on endorphin highs be-
THEATER
Problem." He may even
cause they're in constant
believe himself, but we
pain. A few are just plain
pitiful. Mary Bremer, the direc- don't.
Other deft characterizations
tor, guides them simply against
a backdrop of a collage/mural of (among many) are Ed Guest, as
ad slogans and labels by Mark a mature man in a bathrobe who
Choinski, in this production of should know better, and Will

T

he sense of desperation that
suffuses Georgia from be-
ginning to end is suffocat-
ing, but that is not
necessarily a flaw. Rather than
retreating into platitudes that
might make for a lighter-hearted
treatment of a classic sibling ri-
valry, the film relentlessly focus-
es on the tragedy of the
untalented and the unwashed.
Sadie (Jennifer Jason Leigh) is
a wanton soul who craves success
as a singer, but more than that,
needs her sister Georgia's ap-
proval. The serious but untortured
Georgia (Mare Winningham),
who made it as a folk singer with-
out artistic struggle, has carved
out a life of suburban bliss in the
house where she and Sadie were
raised. As much as Sadie needs
her and as often as she summons
up the patience to deal with her,
Georgia never really sets aside her
contempt for a sister who is
drunk, stoned and broke most of
the time.
That is where the film may suf-
fer the most: It is very difficult to
sympathize with Sadie, even
though it is easy to feel sorry for
her. She is a classic wreck hiding
under tattoos and bangles and
heavy black eye makeup. Her
voice is scratchy and flat — more
suited to punk —but her exuber-
ance and wild vocal interpreta-
tions show she takes the risks
Georgia won't.
In one scene, she does a song
Georgia wrote, turning the cho-
rus into a violent diatribe against
a former lover. Georgia, who has
joined her on the stage, is kind

Not that Bogosian
believes this of women
in his heart. But he
knows that some men
do, and that they de-
ceive themselves, al-
lowing sexism and
degradation into their
lives. If nothing else,
this series of mono-
logues skewers men
and is a ripe field for
male actors.
In the second half,
the weirdos and the
Young, who arouses
Left to right, Drinking In
psychos take center
our pity with his sad-
America cast members
stage. Here, too, some
sack tale. Then his
Rashid Mausi, John
monologues are ad-
sad story ends up as Hawkinson, Ryan Carlson dressed to someone
and Lynch Travis.
a con game for sex-
imagined on stage-of-
ual services. Not only
ten, but not always a
are there no women
woman-and to the audience.
on stage, but the ones who are
One of the highlights is Joe
imagined or suggested are saps, Hickey's "Shining Star," which in
fools, harpies, victims.
five minutes gives up half the plot

enough to save her look of pity,
anger and embarrassment for her
sister until she leaves the stage.
We understand perfectly why
she would be irked at Sadie's hor-
rid attempt to upstage her.
But Georgia is not very sym-
pathetic, either. Although it's easy
to see why she is at the end of her
rope with Sadie, she is too self-con-
tained, almost smug.
It is the two central male char-
acters in the film, Georgia's hus-
band Jake (Ted Levine) and
Sadie's caretaker/husband Axel
(Max Perlich),
who grab us
MOVIES
with their hu-
manity and pro-
vide the only relief from the gloom
and doom. Unlike his wife, Jake
is able to see Sadie as a whole
woman and to have that drink
with her, even if Georgia won't.
Axel, a freckle-faced delivery boy
with few of his own ambitions,
moves in with Sadie because he
senses she needs him and, for
some crazy reason, believes her to
be a great talent.
As usual, Jennifer Jason Leigh
is so deep into her role she is un-
recognizable, but perhaps she goes
too far. She never loses Sadie's
slurry vacuousness, even when
she is not stoned. Mare Winning-
ham turns in a flawless perfor-
mance as Georgia, a woman you
would love if you didn't know her.
Georgia works as a meditation
on the kind of psychic pain that
can tear apart families and ruin
lives. It does not work as a cathar-
sis.

— Julie Edgar

ofDead Man Walking. This man
is scary. In his own quiet, arro-
gant way, Tim Alvaro's stud is
appallingly attractive.
Again and again Bogosian
sticks it to us in the violence and
vileness of macho run amok.
(Comic relief is briefly present in
Askia Smith's obnoxiously funny
aerobic routine.)
Generally creditable, skilled,
and finally, acute portraits are
handed out by this cast of men.
Last, but not least, is the inspired
and scary preacher of Charles
VanHoose. He tells us we're all
going to hell. But this hate-mon-
gering preacher is my idea of hell
— a symbol of rottenness in the
'90s: bigots in pulpits. Thanks,
Bogosian, for reminding me.

ck. ) Q.!)

—Michael H. Margolin