Reviewed 2/19/05
Larry Kramer’s groundbreaking The Normal Heart is just as vital and important a play today as it was in the mid-80s. This indictment of the foot-dragging that occurred in both the straight and gay communities in New York is in no way dated. How could it be? The numbers may have grown exponentially, but it is a chronicling of fear and ignorance that is as relevant as it is disturbing. Kramer’s Cassandra-like Ned Weeks (Joey Moore) could be shouting down any number of stupid current events, even much of the government’s still-ignorant policy on AIDS research. That it’s being revived not only in New York, but here in Phoenix by the rabble-rousing Stray Cat Theatre is proof that what was once considered too polemic to survive the shutting down of the bath houses and raising awareness of the crisis is still a vibrant work of art. There would be no one else I would entrust with this work but Ron May, a director with a strong mix of social awareness and artistic flourish. However, despite some excellent directorial choices, a central conceit is so badly mishandled that it threatens to overwhelm the entire offering. The production that shouts itself raw survives its lack of modulation, but not without undermining what could have been a much more powerful show.
Weeks is at the center of the initial explosion of AIDS within
the gay community in Lower Manhattan long before anyone knows what this mystery
illness is and how it is spread. Inspired by an abrasive Doctor Brookner
(Polly Chapman), he establishes an organization to raise awareness, but he
finds as much resistance from members of his own community, such as the closeted
bank VP Bruce (David Weiss), gay activist Mickey (Benjamin
Siemon) who is
afraid of losing the ground gained following Stonewall, and his own partner
Felix (Scott Campbell), a fashion writer for the New York Times who hesitates
pushing the agenda in such a rigid organization. Weeks is driven by a fear
of weakness, and his own argumentative nature threatens to topple his multitude
of good works.
From the amazingly effective opening image through the impressively
blocked and executed lightning-fast scene changes to the excellent stage
pictures, including one divinely inspired choice in the latter scenes of
the play, May is in control of his production as one expects from this trooper.
However, he and Moore start the anger and shouting levels of Weeks at 110%
from the very beginning of the play, which does not allow for much raising
of stakes. Moore’s Weeks is so standoffish and loudmouthed so early
that it’s impossible to tolerate his character, despite the importance
of his crusade. There’s no possible way that Weeks and Turner get together
based on the ugliness of their first date. Moore has all of the bravado but
none of Weeks’ charm, something that is evident textually in the early
sections of the play. With no modulation to the screeching, the audience
might readily join the resistance against him.
This central flaw, though, is balanced with so many great performances around it. Campbell’s Felix is full of life. He lives in the moment. Weiss’ Bruce is endearingly conflicted and captures the tightrope walking of those trapped within the system. Siemon fluidly presents Mickey’s rise and fall. I especially enjoyed Samuel E. Wilkes’ offering as self-proclaimed “southern bitch” Tommy; he treads lightly near stereotypes, but he breathes deeper life into them, filling out to three dimensions. To a lesser extent, Chapman’s Brookner suffers from the same lack of modulation as Moore, but in her character it is to be expected and she does find moments that let her soften her charge. As Ned’s brother, Scott C. Jeffers is asked to screech at and with Moore, but he grasps the tender moments well.
Dori Brown’s unit set is haunting, a mix of implied and starkly real furniture before a backdrop of the type of chalk-image lower Manhattan skyline one used to find scrawled on the paths of Washington Square. Erik Michael’s lighting is full of nuanced moments and choices. Justin DeRo’s costumes take me back to my high school days with baseball tees, polo shirts, and straight-legged jeans. Benjamin Monrad’s sound design is at times a bit loud, but full of prescient choices.
The opening Saturday night audience offered this production a standing ovation. With so much right about this show, it’s unfortunate that there’s one nearly fatal flaw. I still strongly recommend this play for all that it accomplishes.
