Review - Master Class: The Lioness in Winter

Barbara Walsh may not be a world famous performing artist but she's damn convincing at playing one in Paper Mill's sparkling new production of Terrance McNally's Master Class. With only four weeks of preparation after scheduling conflicts forced announced star Kate Mulgrew to withdraw, Walsh's well-balanced mixture of poise, regality, insecurity, wit, intelligence and compassion bring a captivating portrayal to this intriguing and comical character study of an acclaimed artist no longer is possession of the tool through which her artistry earned its acclaim.

McNally sets the play in 1971, six years after Maria Callas has retired from the opera stage, when the great dramatic soprano has been hired by Julliard to teach a semester of Master Classes. Individual students would take turns on the recital hall stage having their talents placed under a microscope by the critically caustic instructor while an auditorium filled with hopefuls would quietly observe. While the play takes place during the course of one class, the author illuminates his central character through a pair of internal monologues; one describing a past triumph at La Scala and another remembering her tempestuous relationship with Aristotle Onassis.

We in the audience are the quiet observers as she opens the class by asking if everyone can hear her and then ignoring any attempt to respond. Voicing her distain for microphones, she scolds, "People are forgetting how to listen. If you can't hear me, it's your fault. You're not concentrating." (The sentiment takes an unintentionally satirical turn since amplification is used for the large Paper Mill auditorium.)

Under Wendy C. Goldberg's direction you can always see the sadness and sincerity beneath the teacher's harsh criticism. When the audience laughs as Walsh's Callas calls for another pupil with, "Next victim," you can see the quick satisfaction she gets from the crowd's approval. Lines like, "How can you have rivals when no one can do what you do?" are spoken with innocent inquisitiveness. When Callas is truly moved by the performance she pulls out of one student, Walsh effectively hints at the character's frustration at no longer being able to do the same.

While the main character's dominance over the evening makes the piece feel at times like a one-person show, the star is surrounded by a very strong supporting cast. Lauren Worsham seems like a lamb thrown into the lion's den as her initial student, Sophie. "I'm very fiery," she explains with an adorably pert, apple-cheeked eagerness to please. Though Sophie can barely let out the first note of the sleepwalking aria from La Sonnambula before the teacher is criticizing her lack of preparation during the piano introduction, she diligently (an ineptly) tries to copy her idol's physical moves and facial expressions with endearing results.

Mike McGowan plays tenor Tony with the confident, leading man swagger of a singer whose role model is Mario Lanza. Callas demeans his attempts to charm the audience and tries to draw a legitimate acting performance from his Tosca solo. Sarah Uriarte Berry makes a strong transformation from a student so intimidated by Callas' criticism of the way she's dressed that she must leave the stage to throw up, to a commanding presence who uses her disgust for the diva to fuel a roaring performance as Lady Macbeth.

In smaller roles, Andrew Gerle has his impish moments as accompanist Manny and Ryan King keeps the proceedings earthbound as the stagehand who doesn't take abuse from anybody.

Set designer Alexander Dodge shrinks the Paper Mill stage to a wood-paneled recital hall nearly filled by a grand piano. He and lighting designer Josh Epstein pull off a neat moment in transforming the stage to a performer's view of the audience at La Scala. Add Anne Kennedy's early 1970s fashions (particularly the long vest for Ms. Callas) and you have an immensely enjoyable production of a pretty terrific play.