Julian's at the HeritageProofSat.Julian'sFlorida Studio Theatre
1241 N. Palm Ave.
Sarasota
941-366-9000
Through Feb. 8
8 p.m. Tues.-Sun.
2 or 5 p.m. Sat.
and 3 p.m. Sundays.
$26-$28Sat.$$$$
Julian's at the HeritageA Christmas CannoliSat.Julian'sSilver Meteor Gallery
2213 E. Sixth Ave.
Ybor City
813-818-0991
Through Dec. 28
8 p.m. Thurs.-Sat.
3 p.m. Sat.
$10, $7 Thursday nightsSat.$1/2performance
There's something magical about good theatrical acting. Film acting's different: It's easy to seem special when you're 10 feet tall in two dreamlike dimensions and speaking through state-of-the-art speakers while a carefully composed soundtrack plays behind you. But the actors in the theater are stubbornly real, and it should be the easiest thing in the world to remember that they're just flesh and blood craftspeople, folks like you and me simply doing a job before they return to their real apartments, real worries, real lives. It should be easy…
But when a theatrical performer happens to be terrific at what she does, all logic evaporates and the magic happens. Suddenly you can't distinguish between the actor and her character, suddenly it just doesn't matter that she's in a set designer's box, wearing the same costume for the 26th time, and saying the same lines she said last night. Fine theatrical acting puts an end to the actor/character distinction, leaves you convinced that this person is just the same on- and offstage, and makes it impossible to believe that other humans could play the same role. There's something at work here that's more than technique, more than talent. For want of a better name, it's got to be magic.
An actor named Debra Funkhouser has the lead in David Auburn's Proof at Sarasota's Florida Studio Theatre, and I feel obligated to report that this is one of those performances. The diminutive, far-from-charismatic Funkhouser plays Catherine, a strong-willed, unpredictable young woman whose father is a mentally unstable mathematical genius. In Funkhouser's capable hands, this portrayal is about as complicated and as genuine as any "real" person has ever been. Funkhouser's Catherine is just quirky enough to make us fear that she too may fall victim to mental illness. She's also compassionate, short-tempered, sardonic, sexually aggressive, subject to distrust, depression, despair and great joy.
We can believe that she's chosen to play guardian to her father just as we can accept that, after an apparent remission of his illness, she might decide that it's time she left him. And when the man who's supposed to love her challenges her honesty, we can feel, right along with her, her rage and her hurt. Because that's another effect of high-caliber acting: It gets inside us, breaks through our disbelief, makes us feel, makes us care. And with the help of Debra Funkhouser, we care a lot about Catherine.
Of course, part of the credit has to go to playwright Auburn. While Proof boasts no fireworks, it's a good, solid play with an old-fashioned respect for straightforward storytelling. Set in Chicago, it tells about the days following the death of Catherine's father Robert (George Tynan Crowley), days when Robert's student Hal (Scott C. Reeves) is investigating the 103 notebooks that the genius left behind.
It seems that most of the writing in the notebooks is gibberish — the meaningless, indecipherable ravings of a madman. But Hal is determined to study each and every jotting in case one of them turns out to be as revolutionary as the proofs that made Robert's career many years before. And Hal has another reason for visiting Robert's house: He's attracted to Catherine, also a student of mathematics, whom he first met several years earlier. When Catherine's sister Claire (Debra Whitfield) arrives on the scene, matters get more complicated. Claire can't hide her suspicion that Catherine has inherited their father's instability, and it doesn't take much to get the two sisters yelling at each other. Then a discovery is made: Hal finds a proof that may be devastatingly right. But whose proof is it? According to Catherine, her father couldn't possibly have written it. …
It's a good, original tale mixing family drama and detective story with themes of feminism and what you might call socio-epistemology (How do we know whom to trust? What makes us believe another person?). And though Funkhouser shines brightest, two other actors also turn in generally excellent performances.
Reeves as Hal is credible as a young mathematician on a mission, a part-time nerd who also plays drums in a third-rate rock band. And Whitfield as Claire is the very image of the "sane" sister, the one who works at a normal job, has a steady relationship and a conventional psyche. Only Crowley is not quite convincing as father Robert (seen in flashbacks). He's a gruff, bearish presence who never manages to convince us of the great man's intellect — or madness.
Kate Alexander's direction is top-notch. She's particularly good at showing us how civil conversations can turn into shouting matches. Tim Baumgartner's set, a meticulously detailed, blowzy back porch, couldn't be better. Costumer Marcella Beckwith is, as always, inspired — in this play she quietly reminds us that scientists aren't fashion plates. And John Gromada's sound design, like Tom Sturge's lighting, nicely sets — and subtly changes — our moods.
You won't be blown away by Proof; it offers no deep revelations or stunning coups de thétre. Instead it's that rare thing: a sturdy, honestly constructed work with credible characters and an absorbing mystery. It's also something else — an opportunity for a young actor to excel in a leading role, the role of intelligent, intriguing, conflicted Catherine. Fortunately, FST found that performer in Debra Funkhouser. As a result, the play makes a lasting impression.
Oh Waiter …
It must have seemed like a good idea: update Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol to 1946, make Scrooge "Scungili" and his acquaintances all Mafia types.
But Joe Pauly's A Christmas Cannoli, at Ybor City's Silver Meteor Gallery, is just too loud and too predictable. The jokes are silly at best, not funny at worst. And how many times can we hear "Bah frickin' humbug" before we just want to scream, "All right, we get it!"
Best features: the urban backdrop by Pauly and Lenny Germinario, actor Mike Malono as a narrator and waiter, and Bill Smith's surprisingly rich sound design.
The rest ought to be silence.
Contact performing arts critic Mark E. Leib at mark.leib @weeklyplanet.com or call 813-248-8888, ext. 305.
This article appears in Dec 25-31, 2002.