Times change and theater companies change with them. For the last couple of years, St. Petersburg's Gypsy Productions has been the venue for one flawed production after another. Everything that could ruin a performance turned up there: miscast actors, meaningless scripts, ugly sets and costumes, sloppy direction.
Sometimes I wondered whether I should be attending Gypsy shows at all. They were so often amateur, so consistently third-rate. True, there were a few exceptions — Martin Sherman's Bent, for example, and Charles Busch's Psycho Beach Party. But for the most part, you could pretty much bet on a Gypsy show to disappoint. And you had to wonder whether this company would ever turn the corner.
Ladies and Gentlemen: Gypsy Productions has turned the corner.
It started a few weeks ago with Lee Blessing's Independence. This complicated family drama was beautifully acted and sharply directed. Though I'd seen the play before at the Tampa Bay Performing Arts Center, the Gypsy version was a revelation.
And now, with Peter Mercurio's Two Spoons, Gypsy is offering us a tightly staged production that's as professional as anything you'll find at American Stage, Stageworks or Jobsite. The script is wonderfully literate (if not very important); the acting is superb; the design is attractive. Two valuable experiences in a row can't be accidental: Director (and artistic director) Trevor Keller is finally demanding top quality from his fellow artists.
And in a way, it's happening at just the right time. Because the Suncoast Resort, Gypsy's home for the last years, will soon be closing down and the company will have to move to a new venue. When it does — and assuming that these recent improvements will hold up — it can leave behind its checkered past along with the Suncoast space. And it can make a new start in top form as a company that matters.
Several things matter about Two Spoons, and if the plot isn't one of them, it still provides an opportunity for first-class work by a team of artists. The play is about two lovers, Larry and Steve, who have a 3-year-old adopted son and who are about to get married. Before they do, they take a trip to Philadelphia where there's a convention on the subject of HIV/AIDS. Larry works for an organization that provides food, shelter and counseling to wayward gay youths, and hopes to improve his effectiveness with information learned at the conference.
But it's not this momentous subject that author Mercurio highlights. Instead it's Larry and Steve's chance meeting, at their Marriott hotel, with a handsome stranger known only as Butt Boy. In a steam room, Butt Boy masturbates for the two shocked onlookers; and then Larry has the courage to invite him up to their room. He shows up, the three men have sex, and then it's time to return home.
But this brief ménage à trois has changed the men considerably, and Steve begins to lobby for a marriage that is, if not open, at least a little "ajar." Even a rude awakening to their own insignificance in Butt Boy's eyes can't stop them from discovering that a chance encounter may have changed everything.
Now, this may not be much of a story, but author Mercurio's dialogue is so polished that you can't help but enjoy it for its efficiency and intelligence. You also have to like his many story-telling devices: characters speak directly to the audience (Steve and Larry), suddenly appear in daydreams (Butt Boy), predict their whole life's trajectory even though they've hardly learned to talk (3-year-old Matthew).
Sex scenes are suggested with some clinches and a strobe light, and embarrassing interruptions — a numb leg, a growling stomach — occur with perfectly credible frequency. As for the son that the men share, he's talked about with all the love and terror that parents anywhere might have for a toddler in a permissive society.
Mercurio's not much of a phrase-maker, but occasionally his lines are memorable — as when Steve says of the three-way: "It's like we cheated on each other with each other." Or, at a skeptical moment: "Once you get married, you become related. Who wants to have sex with a relative?"
The acting is also impressive. Best of all is Daniel Harris, who's beginning to look like one of the best performers in the Tampa Bay area. Building on his fine showing some months ago in Twilight of the Golds, Harris as Steve easily dominates the show with his rapid-fire delivery and overall joie de vivre (is he really having as much fun as he appears to be?). Mark Myers as Larry is a worthy foil: He's more deliberate, a little stolid, the partner who keeps the relationship grounded.
The unfortunately-named Butt Boy is played by Donnie Engle as a mysterious male model, short on words, self-absorbed, sensual; and Steve Malandro as Matthew (an adult playing a child) is funny and unpredictable.
Trevor Keller's direction is kinetic, as fluid as Mercurio's script, and the simple set, by Keller and Harris, is just right for the small Suncoast stage. Keller scores again — assisted by Daryl Epperly — with the attractive, felicitous costuming. All in all, this show looks as good as any Gypsy has ever presented.
I recently asked Keller if Gypsy would continue after the Suncoast closes. He said that after all his company has been through, he's not about to stop producing. I was glad to hear it: Gypsy Productions has now evolved to the point where it's making a real contribution to the Bay area arts scene.
And there's good stuff to come: in August, Joe Orton's meditation on anomie, What the Butler Saw, and in October, Moisés Kaufman's tribute to Oscar Wilde, Gross Indecency. Both are justly celebrated. I'd hate to lose the opportunity to see either.
And now I have reason to believe that each will receive the loving attention it deserves.
This article appears in May 16-22, 2007.