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A CurtainUp Review
The Grand Manner
It must have seemed like an idea worth pursuing: the young Buffalo-born theater -infatuated Gurney, a high school senior in boarding school, is on a brief holiday in New York. It is February 1948 and Pete has just seen a performance of Antony and Cleopatra. He is awed, of course, by Cornell's acting. More memorably and importantly, he is overjoyed that he has been granted a few moments in the theatre's green room with Buffalo native Cornell (she was actually born in Germany in 1893, but raised in Buffalo). As designed by John Arnone, the faded Victorian elegance of the green room, furnished in tired red plush velvet and strewn with oriental rugs is a knockout. Would that Gurney's eagerness to share with us a cherished but brief encounter with the actress dubbed "The First Lady of the American Theater" had resulted in a knockout of a play. It doesn't come close. What we do get, however, is a modestly pleasant play with some smart people, a few snappy lines, but no surprises. It is, under the slick and polished direction of Mark Lamos, a respectable trifle in the Gurney canon. At 80 years old, Gurney can look back on his plays, many of which sentimentally and humorously revealed a specific life style among the upper crust WASPs of Buffalo, New York, and feel that he has been duly credited as one of that culture's most insightful and critical dramatic observers. The play begins with a brief prologue in which the young Pete (Bobby Steggert) gives us his exact recollection of his very brief meeting with Cornell. This segues smoothly into the more melodramatically dramatized fantasy that Gurney has conjured up: an initially cordial interchange between himself and Cornell (Kate Burton), but overseen by Cornell's personal manager Gertrude (Brenda Wehle). What develops is an opportunity nicely taken by Gurney. It is also somewhat of a so-what-ish event for us, except for the casual name-dropping of the who's who in the profession and a few revelations that are really no revelations to anyone in the profession or anyone even close to it. Cornell at 55 is aware of her age and has begun to doubt her ability to please her audiences and most of all to keep playing in "the grand manner." There is chatter between them about whether Pete' adoration of her fails to see what she thinks are the inadequacies of her performance. There are brief moments when Burton suggests the grandness that Cornell symbolized. She more often merely displays a superficial charm and a demeanor that insinuates self-importance. But there is not a moment that her voice and the way she speaks her own lines, and those of Cleopatra (in a closing scene) that do not give away her own limitations in capturing the essence of the Cornell of record and of legend. Burton has given many admirable performances, but she is, as Cornell, out of this diva's orbit. She is, nevertheless, beautifully gowned by Ann Hould-Ward. As grandly mannered (in every sense of the word), as is Burton's Cornell, the supporting cast is quite diverting. In reality, many stage stars of yesteryear (notably the Lunts) in order to stay in the spotlight, insisted that secondary roles be cast with second tier players.) Happily, this is not the case for this production. Steggert, whose Broadway debut in the revival of Ragtime and his recent performance in the off Broadway musical Yank!, earned him plaudits, is disarmingly cocky and naively endearing as Cornell's extremely astute and observant young admirer. One of the more enjoyable moments in the play has Peter questioning a cut in the text of a particularly "raunchy" line. The deleted line is the work of Cornell's husband/director/manager/producer Guthrie McClintic (Boyd Gaines) whose bombastic arrival about midway in the play enlivens what has been an altogether too polite and uneventful tête-à-tête. While it isn't a surprise that Gaines, a multi award-winning actor (Gypsy, Journey's End, Twelve Angry Men), gives another vivid performance as Cornell's formidable, passionately involved and concerned protector, he uses McClintic's devotion to Cornell as a testament that somehow isn't in the least compromised by his homosexual advances toward young Peter. If anyone cares that Cornell was a lesbian and was as much in love with Guthrie as she was with "Gert," it gets its share of the many playfully and ruefully disclosed admissions that dot the dialogue. Brenda Wehle plays tough and talks turkey with an affectionate bite as Gert. Nothing is so serious or so comical in Gurney's play that we are inclined to either believe or disbelieve what we see or hear. The Grand Manner may not have aspired to the more arresting themes that prompted Gurney's more recent plays but it measures the value of total honesty against patented artifice with the gentle cleverness and almost quaint articulateness that has made Gurney a deservedly lauded playwright in the grand manner.
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