It must have seemed like a good idea. After all, American history from the 1950s through the '80s is rich in events: the Korean War, the Cold War, the New Frontier, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the Vietnam War, student radicalism, Watergate, the Iran hostage crisis, and the fall of communism in Russia and East Europe, just to name the most obvious high (or low) points. And through it all, we Americans have been divided into left and right, Republican and Democrat, radical and conservative, Johnson and Goldwater, freak and straight. So why not imagine a pair of twins, Myra and Myrna, who represent this split in American thinking, who roam through the decades on different sides of the ongoing debate, and who, in spite of all their differences, still have to recognize their ultimate identity. Sure, a play about these sisters could point out the fundamental tensions in modern America while reminding us that even our most extreme opposites are still our blood relatives. Set it in a small town like Mineola, New York, and everyone'll know it's really about Everywhere, U.S.A. Add comedy and a little sex, and the show just can't miss.It must have seemed like a good idea.
Problem is, Paul Vogel's The Mineola Twins misses most of its chances. For example, playwright Vogel has almost nothing to say about the Eisenhower, Nixon and Bush Sr. years in which her comedy takes place. She convinces us early on that the twins are diametrical opposites — Myrna just wants to be a housewife raising 2.5 children, while Myra hangs out in Greenwich Village, buying beat poetry for a dime — but once this opposition has been established, the two sisters never meet (aside from a brief moment when the play's almost over), never argue a single position, never force us to contemplate how our own beliefs are implicated.
What they do, instead, is talk: long, loud monologues of self-description that eventually become tiresome. There's nearly no suspense at all, no drama in the sense of conflict, no appeal to the heart or demands on the mind. Still, the play is mildly entertaining: there's a cartoonish originality in the writing here, even when there's little depth. Further, the Jobsite Theater production is bright and cheerful, and actress Katrina Stevenson plays both twins with admirable skill. So even though the show is essentially unsatisfying, it does offer a few pleasures, including some moments of fine acting. To put it another way, you'll be bored, but not terribly. And though you may not laugh, you'll smile.
There is a plot to Mineola, mostly to demonstrate the different life-paths of the two sisters. When we first meet conservative Myrna, she's a high school girl committed to maintaining her virginity, while beatnik-wannabe Myra has a reputation for sleeping with everything in pants. The '50s turn into the late '60s, and now Myra's allied with a revolutionary group that's just robbed a bank, while Myrna's a married woman, living in Great Neck and getting out the vote for Nixon. The '60s become the '80s and Myra's a lesbian working for Planned Parenthood while Myrna's the host of a conservative radio talk show who spends her spare time bombing abortion clinics. Both twins have sons, and in each case the son is the political opposite of his mother. And occasionally the two sisters' paths do cross — for example, when Myra sleeps with her sister's fiancé, or when Myrna arranges Myra's escape from the feds.
But it doesn't add up: Vogel never convinces us that the two sisters really share anything important, or represent two sides of a single inheritance. Still, Stevenson turns in a winning performance — at least at first, until Vogel gives her one monologue too many and we realize that we're becoming impatient with all the verbiage.
A more interesting casting choice is Roz Potenza as Myrna's boyfriend Jim. Why director David Jenkins cast a woman in this role is unclear — it doesn't have the logic of such gender-bending in say, Genet's The Maids or Caryl Churchill's Cloud Nine. But even more unclear is why Jim, who should be conformity itself, is conceived by Jenkins/Potenza as a dorky whiner in oversized glasses and a ridiculous haircut. In any case, Potenza is much more convincing as Myra's lover Sarah.
As sons Kenny and Benjamin, Chris Holcom is just fine, and as FBI agents and movers of props, Kevin Spooner and Kari Keller are likeably silly. Jenkins' direction emphasizes caricature rather than character, and the result is that there's finally just too much exclaiming, too much jumping about the stage, too many broad gestures. But Brian Smallheer's pop-art set is colorful and germane, Jenkins' costumes are a lot of fun — especially Myra's bell-bottoms with American flag patches in the '60s sequence — and Rick Criswell's wigs are remarkably effective in distinguishing one decade from another. The sound design, by Jenkins and Spooner, helpfully features familiar songs from across the decades.
It's hard not to compare The Mineola Twins with Vogel's Pulitzer Prize-winning How I Learned To Drive. The latter play, with its combined themes of coming-of-age and sexual abuse, is all about ambiguity and gray areas, while Mineola is mostly about hard edges, primary colors, the sharp division between this lifestyle and that one. Not surprisingly, the more interesting play is the one that examines the uncertain, equivocal, incalculable areas of life. Where human experience is mysterious, we'll gladly investigate it for two hours in the theater; where it's sharply defined, a three-minute cabaret sketch is often enough.
It must have seemed like a good idea: examine the divisions in American life from the '50s to the '80s.
But in The Mineola Twins, Paula Vogel only calls those divisions by name.
Nothing is truly explored.
And nothing is illuminated.
A Promising Space.
Fragmentary and episodic as it is, the new production by Alley Cat Players contains much that's good: fine acting, intelligent direction and satisfying design, to be precise. Moreover, the show takes place in an attractive, raw new space that could easily become a favorite of Tampa Bay area audiences.
The unwieldy name of the play in question is Mollie Bailey's Traveling Family Circus Featuring Scenes From The Life of Mother Jones. Its authors are Megan Terry and JoAnne Metcalf, and it offers pretty much what the title suggests: a few scenes from the life of circus leader Mollie Bailey and her family, and a few looks at the career of labor organizer Mother Jones. Neither narrative gets enough stage time to become really satisfying, and the play ends more or less in the middle of both actions. So if you depend on a substantial, well-balanced script for your pleasure, you're gonna be disappointed.
But if you can look past the script to other elements of the show, you'll find much to be glad about. To start with the acting: Noreen Maier-Hartley is luminous as strong and loving Mollie Bailey, and Ned A verill-Snell as her infatuated husband Gus couldn't be more charming. As Mother Jones, Clare Ward is simply splendid, exuding righteous indignation with the fierceness of a Biblical prophet, and the other seven actors, representing the Bailey family and various circus members, are all vivid stage presences. Jo Averill-Snell's direction is deft and daring — she seems to improve as with every show she stages — and the cast's costumes, attributed in my program to the director along with Kay Pearson and "the Company," are wonderfully imaginative and colorful.
But the real star of the show is the new theater space at the NT Village Music Garden in downtown Tampa. As skillfully lighted by Lloyd Pearson, this "black box" is just large enough and ingratiating enough to make you glad you're a spectator. Mollie Bailey's set isn't much — a circular area enclosing three platforms — but this unfinished space, with its large brick wall at the back, has the capacity to make even a modest set look good.
Kudos to Alley Cat for discovering downtown Tampa's NT Village Music Garden.
Mollie Bailey's an odd play. But Alley Cat's new space is unqualified good news.
Performance Critic Mark E. Leib can be reached at mark.leib@weeklyplanet.com or 813-248-8888 ext. 305.
This article appears in Jun 10-16, 2004.
