Edward Albee’s The Zoo Story is about the alienation of urban humans and their desperate need to make contact. It’s about other things too: the fear that God may have abandoned us, the adoption of cruelty as a form of self-defense, the strange interchangeability of sadism and masochism. It was The Zoo Story that first made Albee famous as a playwright, and 42 years later, this relatively short one-act — it only lasts 50 minutes — is still powerful and provocative. If you believe in theater as an art form, if you’re willing to be challenged by the plays you see, you won’t want to miss this brief but satisfying production.The Dog & Pony production of The Zoo Story — which I saw in a dress rehearsal — is about Peter, an upper middle-class, middle-aged man, and Jerry, the intruder on Peter’s quiet day in Central Park. Jerry, who at first seems a typical bum, wants to talk about some things: about having “been to the Zoo,” about the death of his parents, about the squalid rooming house in which he lives.
Peter tries, somewhat weakly, first to remain aloof and then to maintain a friendly interest. But Jerry becomes more adamant: Now he wants to tell the story of “Jerry and the Dog,” about the vicious canine that his landlady owns and about his various attempts to either placate or kill the beast.
The surprisingly wrenching story finally makes Peter lose his cool, but there’s worse to come: a verbal and physical contest that leads to a shocking climax. Afterwards, we have to wonder: Was it this that Jerry desired all along? Has Peter offended Jerry, or has he liberated the anguished man from his loneliness and despondency?
Thanks to Elizabeth Brincklow’s lucid direction and the acting of Dan Moyer and Jim Wicker, these questions resound long after the final curtain. Moyer particularly is impressive as the unpredictable, ambiguous, needy but threatening Jerry. Moyer’s Jerry is a question mark, potentially dangerous but oddly sensitive, at one moment a bully, at the other an awkward supplicant.
Wicker’s Peter, on the other hand, is insistently “normal,” wanting nothing more than to smoke his pipe, read his book, and feel comfortable. One could wish that there were a few more dimensions to Wicker’s portrayal, that we could more easily sense in him the family man and the businessman. But the most important thing about Peter is that he’s a stand-in for the audience, for our discomfort with vagrant Jerry, our suspicion and fear. And Wicker performs that function nicely, allowing us to project ourselves onto him and to experience Jerry along with him.
The design, like the acting and direction, is simple in the best sense. Karla Hartley’s set — nothing more than a park bench spackled with light as if through trees — and Kay Campbell’s costumes, including Peter’s oh-so-conventional gray sport coat, further emphasize the clarity of Brincklow’s direction. This is a production to think with, one that offers us a carefully etched, well-defined event and leaves us free to interpret it.
And it’s a production that encourages me to think the best about Dog & Pony. There are probably a score of American playwrights, from Albee and John Guare to Sam Shepard and Tina Howe, whose work seldom turns up on Bay area stages, but who have important, even unique visions to share with us. Now there’s reason to think that Dog & Pony is going to commit itself to such scripts — and that finally Tampa will boast a company devoted to quality plays above all.
Time will tell. Meanwhile, try to catch this remarkable one-act. And find out why, after more than four decades, it still makes a powerful noise.
Too Little Too Often A bit of good acting, some clever directing and an attractive set still can’t make Trace of Arc, the latest Alley Cat Players production, more than a dud.
The problems with Trace (which I saw in a dress rehearsal) are its script and most of its acting. That script — by Ali Smith — is first of all tedious and then simplistic; it reduces human questions of the most challenging moral complexity to the level of See Dick Run. Then there’s the acting which, though impressive in a couple cases, is mostly one-dimensional and amateurish. So if the drama doesn’t lose you, the thespians probably will.
The nicest thing I can say about Trace of Arc is that it’s well intentioned. Its author wants us to give up mindless consumption and dedicate ourselves to righting wrongs, protesting injustice. This is a commendable position with obvious moral weight.
The problem is the childish level on which Smith presents it. She imagines a small town being polluted by a nearby plant. Tracy and Jackie, two young townies, work at a supermarket near the plant. An angel named “Conscience” tries to make the girls hear her message: that the life they lead is a sham, that there’s a problem in the community (and the world) that they should be addressing. Finally, the angel makes herself heard. But will Tracy and Jackie listen? Or will they continue to believe in the phony world of “Wonderstore”?
I’m probably not communicating just how silly the writing is — aimed, I would estimate, at an impressionable 10-year-old. But on to the acting: Two actors do a good job. Teresa Elena Gallar, as Conscience, is nicely impassioned and appropriately distraught. Bridget Roney as store owner Mrs. Lord is a perfect cartoon ogre, which under the circumstances is just right.
But Crystal Haralambou as Jackie is only convincing in the play’s last moments. And Clara Haight as Tracy is only charming, not persuasive. Finally Jo Averill-Snell as various consumers is a somber, hard-to-hear mystery.
Director Mary Ann Bentley nicely solves the problems of the small Silver Meteor Gallery space, and Brian Smallheer’s green grocery store set is one of the most ingratiating I’ve seen in this venue. But it’s not enough, not by a long shot.
I’m all for social activism. But don’t tell me everything else is phony. Love, work, religion, art — all a sham?
There’s much more to life than this Trace of Arc.
Contact performing arts critic Mark E. Leib at mark.leib@weeklyplanet.com or call 813-248-8888, ext. 305.
This article appears in Sep 11-17, 2002.
