Thornton Wilder's The Emporium (c) Marc J. Franklin
Theater: Thornton Wilder’s The Emporium
At Classic Stage Company
Some plays need to be seen for the novelty of it all, and that is certainly the case for Thornton Wilder’s The Emporium, the never-performed (in his lifetime) full-length play by Thornton Wilder (1897-1975), whose two most well-known plays, Our Town (1938) and The Skin of Our Teeth (1942) won Pulitzer Prizes and are still widely produced (the former was on Broadway last season and the latter was just adapted into a musical). Even the prologue to its New York premiere at CSC, written by Kirk Lynn, who was the one who pieced together the hundreds of pages of Wilder’s many drafts into what we’re seeing now, seems mostly to play into the audience’s curiosity of what this play could be about and whether it should have stayed in the proverbial desk drawer. The answer to the last question is unfortunately more yes than no. Like Stephen Sondheim’s underwhelming Here We Are, sometimes the writer knows the quality of their work better than their admirers who understandably are hungry for any morsel of artistic output (this theme is explored in Steven Soderburgh’s recent film, The Christophers). Unlike posthumous masterpieces like Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s Journey Into Night or E.M. Forester’s Maurice, The Emporium was never finished, and although there are plenty of interesting ideas floating around the story of an orphan whose American dream is to work for the nebulous and mysterious titled, big city department store, it never coalesces into a workable metaphor. The Emporium is the almost unattainable dream of the few willing to achieve it, while everyone else with no such ambitions, can be sated by the other department store, the popular but less refined Craigie’s, the name of which is uttered more times in the play than the name Antrobus in The Skin of Our Teeth.
Thornton Wilder's The Emporium (c) Marc J. Franklin
To help the audience even more after the intermission, Lynn provides another prologue for the second act that gives us what he believed Wilder’s theme of the play is. Even with this helpful hint, The Emporium never really comes to life. The acting is first rate, especially the character actors Candy Buckley and Derek Smith, attacking their various roles with admirable gusto. Joe Tapper as John, the orphan, and Cassia Thompson as his love interest are charming, but their characters’ motives and actions are never fully realized, leaving them a bit stranded in the whole allegory. There are also three audience members (Eva Kaminsky, Mahira Kakkar, Patrick Kerr) who arrive late to the show (we’ve all been there) and soon become the Greek chorus in the play. Who they turn out to be, however, is the only surprising and interesting element to the finale. Director Rob Melrose keeps things moving at a nice pace but never provides an assured point of view to the material that is sorely needed. The set by Walt Spangler is impressively bold, Cat Tate Starmer’s lighting is appropriately austere and Alejo Vietti’s costumes feel timeless (although I prefer Craigie’s green palette over The Emporium’s signature blue). Thornton Wilder’s The Emporium never makes its case for existing, but there are certainly some classic Wilder bon mots to enjoy for literary posterity.
Kenrex (c) Manuel Harlan
Theater: Kenrex
At the Lucille Lortel Theatre
Through luck of timing, Jack Holden, the British actor who has created one-man shows for himself, won the Olivier for Best Actor in a Play for Kenrex, beating out his bigger-named competition (Bryan Cranston, Tom Hiddleston, Sean Hayes) a few weeks before its U.S. premiere. And after seeing this exciting actor tear through his true crime drama (co-written by the director, Ed Stambollouian), it’s easy to see why the mostly unknown actor on this side of the pond, was able pull off the surprising win. With a major assist by John Patrick Elliott, the show’s composer and onstage one-man band, Holden plays most of the inhabitants of the small town of Skidmore, Missouri, in 1981, terrorized by Ken Rex McElroy, who, after a head injury, has become unpredictable and violent. The play is told in flashbacks by David Baird, the county prosecutor in charge of a case that will hopefully put Ken Rex in jail. McElroy has two allies: Trena, his underaged wife, and Richard McFadin, his lawyer, who has always gotten Ken Rex off any time one of townsfolk (like the mayor, the local butcher, the owner of the town’s only bar) brought police charges against him. Holden, who reminds me of an amiable, younger version of Taron Edgerton, does a masterful job keeping all of the over 30 characters clear for the audience, giving the most distinct style to the monstrous Ken Rex, contorting his body and lowering his voice to a menacing growl.
Kenrex (c) Manuel Harlan
I just wish the play itself invested more time on what made Ken Rex tick, because as is, he is drawn no deeper than a horror movie antagonist like Jason or Mike Meyer. I also wanted to know more about the motives of the lawyer McFadin and why he continues to get this menace-to-the-community off the hook. Holden’s best work is portraying the no-nonsense female bar owner who had a friendly relationship with Ken Rex before things turned south quickly. Stambollouian also incorporates too many theatrical tricks to unnecessarily distract the audience, with blinding lights and decibel-defying sound cues (bring earplugs, if you have any loud sound aversion), and also having Holden run the entirety of the stage at least five times over during its unnecessarily long runtime. Stillness would have kept the tension up just as effectively as all this craziness (see Diedre O’Connell’s mostly seated in a chair, Tony-winning performance in Dana H.). Like the crime itself, Kenrex left a bad taste in my mouth, with a helplessness comparable to an unchecked political bully in our current landscape. Holden’s performance will leave you breathless; the play itself, however, is less provocative.
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Broken Snow (c) Shirin Tinati
Theater: Broken Snow
At Theater 71
Ben Andron’s Broken Snow belongs in the tradition of Sam Sheppard’s plays in which toxic masculinity infects a family to the point of dysfunctionality. In this case, it is the legacy of Kris (Tony Danza), a two-bit criminal whose last con involved milking an elderly woman of her savings, and everything his son James (former SNL cast member Michael Longfellow) finds out about him after his death. As James is searching the ramshackle house of Kris’ last residence, he runs into Steven (Tom Cavanagh of TV’s Ed), a law-enforcement agent who has been investigating Kris and is looking for clues too. The two men don’t trust the other, which is fair as each has secrets that will eventually be revealed, as guns and violence are on display until they realize their common denominator: Kris. Danza, who starts the play off with a reflective, poetic monologue about life and snow, is playing against type here, rarely trying to be funny or ingratiating as his other roles needed, giving Kris a gravitas that, while palpable, doesn’t really explain the crazy things he does later in the play. One of those life lessons he imparts to his son James (in a flashback to when he was a young kid) is so insidious that one wonders how James survived adolescence at all. Steven has also had his run-ins with Kris throughout his life, which resulted in a morbid fascination with this minor criminal. Andron’s play is certainly lively with conflicts, but he relies too heavily on the trick of roundabout dialogue with little essential facts. While Danza’s part of the play relies on a lot of philosophical reflections, the meat of Broken Snow lies between Cavanagh and Longfellow, where the drama resides, and two actors have a fun time sparring with each other on Scott Adam Davis’s rundown set. Director Colin Hanlon keeps the tension at a slow burn, and the production ends up being an engaging drama.
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