Some Play About a Bird part II

If you miss this production, please, please don't slash your wrists.

In fact, count yourself among the fortunate.

Dreary, bleak, and dull are only the first of many many MANY words that come to mind when describing not only this PLAY, but this particular production.

The moral of the story seems to be "the hell you know is a WHOLE lot better than the hell you don't--and if you go chasing after that 'greener grass' there's a VERY good chance you'll spend 85% of the second act sitting around in a mostly bare drawing room with peeling, mouldy old wallpaper saying, 'Remember how much happier we were back when we thought we were so unhappy? Yeah. Those were the days.' (kills self)".

Not a bad bit of moral.

It's precisely the same moral Dorothy learns at the end of the MGM version of 'the Wizard of Oz' ("If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I'll know not to look any further than my own backyard...because if it isn't there I never really lost it to begin with") although the film's moral is a bit of a false one since MGM's Dorothy wasn't running away from home to seek fame and fortune (as Nina does in "the Seagull") but to protect the life of her dog from the dog-hater who lives down the street ("He practically gave me rabies!").

So props to Anton Chekov for cranking out a rather vivid life lesson that we all should take to heart.

However, unlike Dorothy who got to learn this lesson by leaving the dustbowl and going on a fun-filled adventure in a technicolor world of whimsy and weirdos, we must trudge through three hours of checking our watches and wishing "The Drowsy Chaperone" was still playing as this play more than adequately fulfills the stereotype set forth in that old Gershwin tune, "With love to lead the way I found more skies of gray than any Russian play could guarantee". And like the title of that song, this play was Not For Me.

I mean, I know the economy is in the pits or whatever, but couldn't we TRY to make the lake scenes a LITTLE pretty? We have to sit through three hours of this. Can't we have one set piece that's not in muted tones? Everyone's talking about how absolutely gorgeous the lake is, but all we get is a couple of ham-tacular and, at times, anachronistic actors (I'm looking at YOU, Kristin Scott) telling us how pretty it is as they look out over the audience with a dirty blank wall behind them and a pair of grotesque, withered 'Nightmare Before Christmas' trees framing them. And we just have to take their word for it that it is, in fact, breathtakingly beautiful out there.

For goodness' sake. Broadway uses the audience for so many things--lakes, oceans, sunrises, sunsets, Bali Hai, the Titanic--I'm about ready to demand we be listed in the program as part of the set.

But the gravest offense of all...

This production features the first performance I've EVER seen that made me--I'm NOT kidding--physically gag when the actor opened his mouth to speak. No, really. I actually gagged at this one point when he started speaking and I wasn't ready for it. His voice was so unpleasant, his characterization so appalling, his costume so dreadful...the whole package, the whole kit 'n' kaboodle...everything about this guy's performance was enough to make me very nearly throw up in my lap.

I'm not exaggerating. And Lawd Geeziz, I wish I wuz.

I'm not going to say whose performance it was as I don't want to hurt this actor's feelings when he google searches himself (and we all DO). But if you've seen it, you KNOW who I'm talking about.

Go see the Rockettes instead. I'll take those long legs over Russian drear and dispair any damn day of the ding-dong decade.