ENTERTAINMENT TODAY,  5/11/01
by Travis Michael Holder

Orson’s Shadow  
Black Dahlia Theatre

As I mentioned last week, the Joint is Jumpin’ in LA theatrical circles just now and local theater lovers are reaping the rewards. And although it premiered at Chicago’s Steppenwolf and played the Old Globe in San Diego and the Williamstown Theatre Festival last year, the Los Angeles debut of Orson’s Shadow at the Black Dahlia is one of the brightest, funniest and freshest of the abundant crop of artistic wonders gracing LA stages as our long, hot and power-challenged summer approaches.

This is the third play by Austin Pendleton, the veteran actor, director and prolific member of Steppenwolf, previously author of Uncle Bob and Booth. Those two more modest earlier works prophetically signaled the advent of what should now be recognized, if the Gods of Theatrical Distinction aren’t asleep on the job, as an important new playwrighting talent. Like hearing the strains of the future West Side Story wandering throughout Leonard Bernstein’s score of On the Town, Pendleton’s abilities as a playwright come of glorious age with Orson’s Shadow. Not only is this play insightful, intelligent and cleverly constructed, it is absolutely side-splitting hilarious.

Taking place in 1960, the quirky premise is that the late theatrical prodigy and world-class monster Orson Welles (Robert Machray) has been asked to direct Lord Laurence Olivier (Jeff Sugarman) in a London production of Ionesco’s absurdist allegory Rhinocereos at the Royal Court Theatre. And ludicrous as that idea itself might be, Pendleton’s play is based—albeit loosely—on fact. Brought together by film critic and longtime Welles supporter Kenneth Tynan (Andrew Ableson), had not the thunderous clash of enormous egos stopped the project from ever reaching fruition, this would indeed have been Welles’ final work for the stage.
Also along for the bumpiest of artistic rides are both of the women in Olivier’s life, his soon-to-be ex-wife Vivian Leigh (Dreya Weber) and the woman cast opposite him whom he would stay with until his death, Joan Plowright (Geraldine Hughes). From the beginning, when Welles confides to Tynan that he blames Olivier for helping kill his career in Hollywood, it’s not hard to anticipate calamity; as the world’s most recognized thespian promptly starts to question Welles’ staging, major fireworks soon ignite. Welles quietly, rationally begins a delicious monologue by first pointing out that both men hate the play itself. “You don't like it, I don't like it, but we're smart men, Larry, we can make it work,” he suggests. “And if we're going to do that, we have to reach a decision about who's directing it and I think it says here I am the director, all right?  All right, then. And if you have to love your character, love him… or can you only fall in love with kings who break the hearts of their best friends and narcissistic vaudevillians who imitate American blues singers when they hear their sons have died?”
There are more red herrings and emotional slamming doors in this play then Noises Off, but told through the voice of a wise ol’ theatrical veteran like Mr. Pendleton, the tenuous and overwrought process of creating dramatic art is both outrageously teased and made crystalline clear to audiences for the first time since The Royal Family. “I mean,” argues Welles, “there's no suspense whatsoever in this stupid play because it's clear from the beginning that everyone in town is going to turn into a rhinoceros and only our brave little loser here is going to stand alone. And if you can tell me how to build suspense with that, if you can tell me how to keep an audience emotionally and intellectually interested in that, I promise you, Larry, I'll go down on you.” Instead, however, all zippers stay well zipped—and Welles is eventually fired.

Directed with precision and a wonderful flair for comedy by the Dahlia’s Artistic Director Matt Shakman and produced by Firefly Theatre Company’s equally committed Artistic Director Steven Klein (who hilariously doubles as Sean, the dimwitted and occasionally starstruck Dublin-bred assistant to Welles whose main interest is meet Abbott and Costello and to know if Welles really schtupped Rita Hayworth), this production is testament to the fact that noteworthy theater can be created in a tiny space and on an equally tiny budget. The cast is unwaveringly splendid, with the kind of performances throughout for which award shows were created.
Ableson is particularly delightful as the stuttering Tynan, Sugarman is completely disarming as Olivier, and Hughes is dead-on perfection as Plowright, but overshadowing (no pun intended) the uniformly fine ensemble work is the towering performance of Machray as Welles himself. At once petulant, heroic, impertinent and obnoxious—but never for a second forgetting that under the surface of this sadly broken and eccentric giant beats the heart of a great genius—his performance is a true marvel. As first runner-up to play Welles in this production, this is one time when I can say with total honesty from a truly unique perspective that I left the theater thrilled that they cast someone else, because no one could possibly have been better than Machray in this role, not even moi. Ouch.

This exceptional small-scale LA debut so pleased Pendleton that he personally hosted a seminar recently at the Black Dahlia to discuss his piece and even created a few new script pages to try out here, inspired by the excellence of this local presentation. When Orson’s Shadow opens off-Broadway this fall, I wouldn’t be surprised if Klein and Shakman are included in a “Special Thanks” section of the program. I doubt if the New York mounting could possibly be better than this. For tickets, call (323) 525-0070.