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Theater review: Roustabouts' True West at Diversionary Theater
Well, looky here: a play set in the west about Western movies
I was fortunate enough to attend the San Diego Theater Critics Circle’s Craig Noel Awards as a guest earlier this year, so I can attest that they do not give an award for Best Performance by a Body Part. But if they did, Jason Maddy’s belly would surely be nominated for how well it serves the actor is his portrayal of Lee, the overbearing, underperforming older brother in Sam Shepard’s play about — well, it’s there in the title.
Lee’s belly has such presence, slipping out from beneath his tank top, announcing itself from the get-go as something that will not be contained by convention — or conventional clothing. It exudes such power as it hovers near the face of little brother Austin, seated miserably at his little table in front of the typewriter that shields him from Lee's reality. It suggests such a magnificent capacity: a belly can hold the rude world and its rough experience, and also the vast quantity of beer it takes to stomach same. Lee’s seen some lean times — he’s here at Mom’s place after a rough stint in the desert, he’s stuck outside car-crazed LA without a car, and his chief source of income seems to be selling TVs he steals from careless rich folks. But his belly endures, richly and roundly. To paraphrase Big Daddy in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof: “Yes indeed, this man has life in his belly!”
Against Maddy’s mighty middle, David McBean’s Austin has two chief defenses (well, three, depending on how you count these things): his eyebrows and his voice. He’s no match for Lee in the brute strength department (which makes for a strange moment late in the proceedings), and many of his little shifts in expression and tone are lost on his sibling rival for Hollywood’s affections. But they score plenty of points with the audience. Austin is by turns testy, terrified, tender, and taunting (the latter after getting thoroughly trashed), the supposed success story who sets out to help his bum of a brother, then finds himself horrified when he succeeds. It's all there in the arch, the knit, and the modulation.
All that is to say the actors here do very good work embodying the roles set out on Lee’s idea for a gen-u-wine modern western: “Each one separately thinks he’s the only one that’s afraid. And they keep ridin’ like that straight into the night. Not knowing. And the one who’s chasin’ doesn’t know where the other one is taking him. And the one who’s being chased doesn’t know where he’s going.” They may be sitting in a kitchen instead of roaring through the Texas panhandle in trucks pulling horse trailers, but they are out there on the frontier, where a man has only his wits to keep him alive. (Mom’s on vacation in Alaska.)
Except it isn’t quite the frontier anymore. It’s changed since they were kids, been built up and civilized. (Come to think of it, Mom’s closer to the edge of things than they are, and she knows it.) And Lee and Austin are more embodiments than characters. The former slides too quickly from menace to mewling once he runs into trouble. The latter springs too quickly from the principled refusal of easy money to a desperate bid to escape all responsibility. By the time the final showdown arrived, I got the feeling they were there to serve Shepard and his notions of the true West more than the story at hand. Still, The Belly vs. The Brow is a helluva matchup.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Theater review: Roustabouts' True West at Diversionary Theater
Well, looky here: a play set in the west about Western movies
Theater review: Roustabouts' True West at Diversionary Theater
Well, looky here: a play set in the west about Western movies
I was fortunate enough to attend the San Diego Theater Critics Circle’s Craig Noel Awards as a guest earlier this year, so I can attest that they do not give an award for Best Performance by a Body Part. But if they did, Jason Maddy’s belly would surely be nominated for how well it serves the actor is his portrayal of Lee, the overbearing, underperforming older brother in Sam Shepard’s play about — well, it’s there in the title.
Lee’s belly has such presence, slipping out from beneath his tank top, announcing itself from the get-go as something that will not be contained by convention — or conventional clothing. It exudes such power as it hovers near the face of little brother Austin, seated miserably at his little table in front of the typewriter that shields him from Lee's reality. It suggests such a magnificent capacity: a belly can hold the rude world and its rough experience, and also the vast quantity of beer it takes to stomach same. Lee’s seen some lean times — he’s here at Mom’s place after a rough stint in the desert, he’s stuck outside car-crazed LA without a car, and his chief source of income seems to be selling TVs he steals from careless rich folks. But his belly endures, richly and roundly. To paraphrase Big Daddy in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof: “Yes indeed, this man has life in his belly!”
Against Maddy’s mighty middle, David McBean’s Austin has two chief defenses (well, three, depending on how you count these things): his eyebrows and his voice. He’s no match for Lee in the brute strength department (which makes for a strange moment late in the proceedings), and many of his little shifts in expression and tone are lost on his sibling rival for Hollywood’s affections. But they score plenty of points with the audience. Austin is by turns testy, terrified, tender, and taunting (the latter after getting thoroughly trashed), the supposed success story who sets out to help his bum of a brother, then finds himself horrified when he succeeds. It's all there in the arch, the knit, and the modulation.
All that is to say the actors here do very good work embodying the roles set out on Lee’s idea for a gen-u-wine modern western: “Each one separately thinks he’s the only one that’s afraid. And they keep ridin’ like that straight into the night. Not knowing. And the one who’s chasin’ doesn’t know where the other one is taking him. And the one who’s being chased doesn’t know where he’s going.” They may be sitting in a kitchen instead of roaring through the Texas panhandle in trucks pulling horse trailers, but they are out there on the frontier, where a man has only his wits to keep him alive. (Mom’s on vacation in Alaska.)
Except it isn’t quite the frontier anymore. It’s changed since they were kids, been built up and civilized. (Come to think of it, Mom’s closer to the edge of things than they are, and she knows it.) And Lee and Austin are more embodiments than characters. The former slides too quickly from menace to mewling once he runs into trouble. The latter springs too quickly from the principled refusal of easy money to a desperate bid to escape all responsibility. By the time the final showdown arrived, I got the feeling they were there to serve Shepard and his notions of the true West more than the story at hand. Still, The Belly vs. The Brow is a helluva matchup.
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