Review - Somewhere Fun

Jenny Schwartz's Somewhere Fun, receiving a splendidly performed and whimsically mounted production from director Anne Kauffman at the Vineyard, is one of those plays where an author's traditional response to the traditional post-viewing question is, "Well, what do you think it means?"

Nobody asked the playwright, "What does it mean?" at the talkback after the performance I attended, but her explanation of how she simply gave the play its title from the name of her previous work-in-progress that wasn't going well and how numerous references to The Wizard of Oz came out of the fact that she likes The Wizard of Oz suggests a "Let's see what happens if I do this" approach to playwriting. As a result, Somewhere Fun is certainly an evening of "Why not?"

The surreal tone of the piece manages to charm despite some of the narrative's horrific details. There's a scene where a son must identify his dead mother when all that remains is her skull. Another character had her face bitten off by a dog as a child. And another aridly concludes from her lot in life, "Everything happens for a reason. With the exception of anal cancer. Words to live by."

But Schwartz's involved and entertaining wordplay, elocuted with ping-ponging alacrity, defines characters through loosely connected scenes by the way they communicate. Kate Mulgrew's annoyingly loquacious real estate executive Rosemary begins the play with a verbal aria at a chance meeting on Madison Avenue with a disinterested Old Acquaintance, "From a hundred thousand years ago! When the world was in black and white! When the world was in black and white, and I still had a waistline! Remember? Evelyn? Remember my waistline?"

Evelyn, a role that has Kathleen Chalfant strongly resembling the character she created Off-Broadway in Wit, is a wry-tongued intellectual combating self-pity; taking whatever time she has left to get to know more about her pregnant aid (Maria Elena Ramirez), going so far as to ask her to make a video of her family at their home (which the audience watches), while cruelly ignoring her faceless daughter (Brooke Bloom). In an earlier scene, Bloom is the oblivious police officer trying to get the son played by Greg Keller to hurry up and identify his mother's remains, snapping out pamphlets to try and ease his grieving.

Through it all, Schwartz does prove to have a way with words. Those who would prefer those words to add up to clearer storytelling would best find their fun elsewhere.

Photo of Kate Mulgrew and Kathleen Chalfant by Carol Rosegg.

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Though I'll admit it strikes the ear rather oddly to hear a character referred to as another one's slave in a play set in 1930s Manhattan, that's just one of the risks involved when transporting Shakespeare into a more modern setting. Nevertheless, director Daniel Sullivan's zippy new Delacorte Theater production of The Comedy of Errors hits the ears and eyes just right for 90 minutes of good laughs and snazzy dancing.

The poster advertising Eddie Cantor in Roman Scandals displayed outside a movie theatre on scenic designer John Lee Beatty's Edward Hopper-ish streetscape places the action in 1933 and choreographer Mimi Lieber's nifty dance ensemble (J. Clint Allen, Reggie Gowland, Brian T. Lawton, Michael McArthur, Rachel McMullin, Adrienne Weidert and Jessica Wu) plunk coins into a jukebox and warms up early arrivers with some terrific jive and swing moves; continuing with dance breaks during scene changes throughout the evening.

The ancient Greek City of Ephesus, which in this case seems to be located somewhere around Hell's Kitchen, has had a long-standing grievance against the City of Syracuse (tourists from upstate) and unhappy Syracusan Egeon (adorable Jonathan Hadary), unaware of their harsh laws, is condemned to die at the day's end merely for setting foot in town.

Doing the condemning is a duke, terrifically played by Skipp Sudduth with Runyonlike menace, surrounded by his gun-toting henchmen. Pleading for mercy, Egeon explains how he's been searching the world for his long-lost children; a set of identical twins, each named Antipholus, and another identical pair, each named Dromio, who were adopted to serve the others. One of each, along with Egeon's wife, was separated from him at sea in their infancy, and the twins who remained with him have been long gone in a search for their brothers.

So, with the set-up neatly in place, this group leaves the stage and the antics get crazier when Antipholus of Syracuse (Hamish Linklater) and his slave Dromio of Syracuse (Jesse Tyler Ferguson) enter the picture, unaware that their twins reside in that very town. As written by Shakespeare, another set of actors normally play their counterparts from Ephesus, but Sullivan has the boys pulling double duty.

The inevitable complications arise when Adriana, the put-upon wife Antipholus of Ephesus (Emily Bergl as a tough, gum-chewing dame), mistakes the Syracuse visitor for her cheating husband, and sets off to win back his affection with a hot night of passion. But it seems her brother-in-law is attracted to her sweet, bookish sister, Luciana (Heidi Schreck), who would never betray her sibling, yet can't deny she suddenly has feelings for Antipholus she's never had before. Meanwhile, Dromio of Syracuse is mistaken by a household cook (Sudduth in drag) for the man she fancies.

The confusion doubles quickly when Linklater and Ferguson switch to playing the boys from Ephesus, who come to think the world around them has gone mad when Antipholus is locked out of his home by a wife who thinks he's already there and a jeweler demands payment for a purchase he's yet to make. Both fellows display crackerjack comic timing and free-flowing command of the text, with the impish Ferguson being the butt of physical gags while Linklater's erudite characters stammer and bluster in baffled bewilderment.

But despite the abundance of pratfalls and knockabout shtick, including a bit involving an exceedingly misplaced serving of spaghetti, the comic highlights come in their handling of Shakespeare's verbiage; particularly a saucy scene where they describe the cook's globe-like figure in geographic terms and a masterfully paced monologue for Linklater where he incredulously recaps the insanity of the day.

Merry good fun and a snazzy time.

Photos by Joan Marcus: Top: Hamish Linklater and Jesse Tyler Ferguson; Bottom: Heidi Schreck and Emily Bergl.

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