By Kent Mancuso
“Magic Time” is the term used to describe that special moment in theatre when the performance and the audience are held together for an otherwise indescribable moment, whether of laughter, sadness, joy or exhilaration. The magic is especially precious in the intimate setting of a community theatre, when a group of local actors whom you may have seen in dozens of previous performances come together to create a special moment that transports you from your seat into their experience onstage.
It’s precisely this kind of magic that popped out of a hat at Beari Productions in Middle Village this last weekend during their current short run of Neil Simon’s 20-some-year-old comedy “I Ought to Be in Pictures.” The play focuses on a Brooklyn teenager’s search for her deadbeat dad, currently a drinker and gambler who is living clear across the continent in Hollywood — a loser film-writer with no future except at the race track.
This is the Neil Simon of “Broadway Bound,” “The Good Doctor” and “Biloxi Blues” — the tender, bittersweet Neil Simon, rather than the rollicking wizard of wild comedies such as “Laughter on the 23rd Floor.” Formula, yes! There is the quick glib talk, sprinkled with laugh lines that bring a smirk or a belly laugh, even at the most sensitive moments. Things never get too deep, although the father can be portrayed as very, very dark — a loser with potentially only one way out.
Put aside the disjointed, sprawling 1982 film with Walter Matthau and Ann Margret, although fans of Margret are not likely to forget the descent into self-deprecation that she conveyed. Simon’s original play was written for just three people: father (Herb), daughter (Libby), and father’s latest lady-friend (Steffi). When the lights go out and the spot comes up on three talented performers who bring these very human people to life, who develop real chemistry together and hold you with them every step of the way, that’s magic.
I am a big fan of watching characters develop and reveal different aspects of their on-stage personalities. And Beari Productions’ performance, under the knowing hands of director Ted Frank, was all about character development, filling my appetite to over-brimming. I simply have to single out Lin Cerulli, as Steffi, who was such a different take on the role from the film’s Ann Margret.
A very lovely lady, but of a different physical type than Margret, Cerulli showed charm and restraint for much of the play, but let all hell break loose in her bitter plea to have a life with Herb. I was deeply touched at the dark and desperate undertones of her delivery and could only say that I should have expected no less from this fine local performer, who turned in some lovely performances with Colonial Players in Hollis Hills recently, the true revelation of their production of “Harvey” and welcome addition to “You Can’t Take It With You.”
As Herb and his daughter, Rene Bendana and Marlene Frank developed great rapport, from the difficult moments of their first meeting after 16 years through to her painful learning about her father’s true nature. Bendana portrayed Herb as an affable rogue whom Libby could not help but love — very much at first like an oversized teddy bear. A somewhat nervous performer, Bendana paces back and forth a great deal, sweats on stage a helluva lot, and tends to lose articulation at excitable moments. However, he tends to weave this “style” into his character’s personality, in this case, using it to express Herb’s emotionally low self-esteem to convincing effect.
To get Libby through the tough early part of the play, Marlene Frank developed a sassy, cute approach, giving overt gestures and facial expressions, almost in a choreographed style, to each line. Although she held onto this style a bit too long for my taste, the director made sure that she dropped it to reveal a more sincere means of expression for the really big moment — the important talk with “daddy” about sex, and indeed, about her own being. The hugs and tears, although à la Simon glib, were well placed to provide an emotional climax for their relationship.
And as emotional as everyone was on-stage, Herb and his director might have gone a little deeper into the dark, sardonic recesses of this man — particularly in the scenes where he reveals to his daughter his penchant for race tracks and also when he speaks to his ex-wife and son over the phone. These are the darkest moments, from which he can only rise — or lose it altogether. Sad, teary? Yes, but not quite painful enough in the pathos department. Also, Libby might have given more feeling to the moment of realization that her father was a loser, possibly the same realization that her mother had had 16 years earlier.
Minor suggestions to an overall superior performance; indeed, the finest performance of the current season, which began with so much promise and has been somewhat disappointing. I heartily urge all fans of great community theatre to attend any of the performances this coming weekend at Trinity Lutheran Church, 63-70 Dry Harbor Rd. (intersection of Dry Harbor and Road and Penelope Avenue), Friday and Saturday at 8 p.m., and Sunday at 4 p.m. Call 736-1263
Speaking of magic, I also was quiet pleased with the cute, quirky review, “It Happened in Hollywood” put on by LFB Productions at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church, 262-22 Union Turnpike. I apologize for the late notice, but the original press releases indicated an Oct. 5 opening. I arrived to find no show, and learned that the original opening weekend had been canceled. The performance I eventually attended was tuneful and zesty, with a cast of “thousands,” including some faces I recognized from other local productions. If the story-line was dopey, at least it provided a means to string together some really good singers and dancers — and getting all these people together for a show is magic indeed. Call 917-658-8928 for news about future productions.
PS: Apparently some readers have noted that my recent review of DCT’s The Hollow was rather severe. I would invite those readers to re-read the review, to see that I was quite congratulatory to the overall production, as well as to the generally talented cast, singling out several actors for exceptional performances. The nut to crack was the interpretation — or rather misinterpretation — of Agatha Christie’s fine play. In my former life as a college instructor of British literature (including drama), I have lectured quite a bit on Christie’s works. I have seen scores of productions of most of her plays and am indebted to those productions that take her works seriously … and will be quite direct to those groups who trivialize her contributions to literature and the stage.
