Critics' Reviews

 

By Dennis Brown - Riverfront Times
Published: February 27, 2008

Theresa Rebeck's barbed comedy The Scene, which opens HotCity Theatre Company's season, takes some broad swings at the ostensibly jaded, surreal, vituperative world of media celebrity. The nasty script pokes cruel fun at winners and losers, climbers-up and hangers-on. It strives to persuade us that the only true pleasure left in the world is trashing other people. But even after the stilettos have been plunged and the venom spit, it's unclear as to whether we've entered the satiric milieu of Molière or the soapy domain of One Life to Live.

Act One begins at a Manhattan power party. In order to avoid the degrading chore of having to shill for himself among the rich and famous, Charles (Peter Mayer), a once-popular but now-unemployed actor, is hiding out on the high-rise terrace with his pal Lewis (John Pierson). Without warning, Hurricane Clea (Jennifer Nitzband) sweeps into their world, eager to wreak untold havoc. Newly arrived from Ohio, this busty Buckeye is doing some networking of her own. She's still too green to realize that Charles and Lewis are in no position to help her. The cartoonish Clea is an easily excited, hypersensitive maze of narcissistic amorality. Her often incoherent blather is punctuated by question marks and exclamation points. Clea may well be, as Charles describes her, an imbecile. But she's an amusingly sexy imbecile, which cuts her a lot of slack.

It's no betrayal of the plot to reveal that in time the seemingly superior but spineless Charles will be seduced by this succubus. But in Act Two the levity vanishes. Knowing that his workaholic wife Stella (Kate Frisina) will be at the office booking guests for a TV talk show, Charles brings Clea home for an afternoon of uninhibited sex. At this point the viewer must make a choice: Is Charles a fool beyond our caring or merely a cog in an obviously contrived story line? Though the reason for Stella's premature return home is never explained, it's only a matter of time until we hear her inevitable footsteps.

What occurs next is not only the best-written scene in The Scene, it is the evening's sole truly original exchange. Stella is predictably stunned, Charles is predictably humiliated, but Clea — fasten your seat belt — is unashamedly brazen. She refuses to leave. For a few delirious minutes, anarchy reigns. Anything is possible; that's entertainment.

Alas, the play must proceed. (No way is the efficient author going to allow it to extend beyond two hours.) When Clea leaves Charles and Stella to themselves, she carries with her all hope for surprise. As directed by Chuck Harper, we end up with an evening of toe-the-line, by-the-book melodrama, which seems to be at odds with the script's satiric ambitions. Nor is the production served by a set that lacks any élan or even a sense of place.

Although Rebeck would have us believe that she knows whereof she writes — that The Scene is drawn on what she herself has seen at too many gatherings of the glitterati — a safer guess is that she spends most of her evenings at home studying old flicks on Turner Classic Movies. Her plot borrows liberally from The Blue Angel, Of Human Bondage, All About Eve and A Star Is Born. One of her key twists has been lifted directly from Dinner at Eight — the difference being that the doomed John Barrymore character is a lot more empathetic than the boorishly self-absorbed Charles.

Incredulously enough, the vixen Clea is a lot easier to — if not care about — at least be intrigued by: She is a 21st-century spinoff of Fanny Hill. Not only does Clea suck the very life out of Charles; rightly or wrongly she also sucks the energy from the play. Is that what is intended here? Hard to tell. 

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By Sarah Broslaugh - Talkin' Broadway

Beneath the glittering surface of The Scene, Theresa Rebeck's piercingly funny new play, lurks an old-fashioned morality tale which winds inexorably to a conclusion both entirely predictable and utterly shattering.

The moral of this story? Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.

You've probably met someone like Charlie. He used to be somebody, now he's nobody, and he interprets his diminished status as evidence of the general decline of western civilization. Charlie's an actor who hasn't worked for 15 years: the wicked, wicked world of show business, which once embraced him, no longer seems to require someone of his integrity and stature. In fact, the entire modern world has become so shallow and corrupt that it can no longer appreciate the subtleties and complexities which are the very core of his being.

Despite the global nature of this diagnosis, however, Charlie is not really concerned with the state of the world. He could live quite happily in the world as it now exists if he could just get his career back on track. What Charlie wants above all things is to be offered a role appropriate to his character and station in life. When that offer arrives, and it is indeed both what he wished for and what he deserves, the shock of recognition is sufficient to finally slap some awareness into his self-deluded soul.

The instrument of Charlie's downfall and enlightenment is Clea, a curvaceous young lady whose charms are on full display in a series of little black dresses into which she seems to have been poured. Clea's Valley Girl speech patterns and apparent country-girl innocence ("I just got here, what, like six months ago?") belie her insatiable ambition and allow middle-aged men to delude themselves into thinking that she would find their sagging bodies attractive. Charlie's wife Stella, an attractive but clearly middle-aged woman who pays the bills by working at a job she doesn't particularly enjoy, sizes Clea up immediately: "She looks good in black and can't speak the English language. She'll do just fine in Manhattan."

Rebeck has referred to The Scene as a retelling of Somerset Maugham's Of Human Bondage, but to me it seems more like an updated version of Death of a Salesman, in which the consequences of worshipping the Great American Dream of success are recast in a glitzier, more contemporary context. The fact that Rebeck's characters are wittier and dress better than Miller's is an added bonus that can be enjoyed without detracting from the gravity of her concerns. Certainly you don't have to be in show business to appreciate The Scene: the same issues of ambition, integrity and loyalty are common throughout modern society.

HotCity's production of The Scene, directed by Chuck Harper, captures both the surface glitter and the underlying seriousness of Rebeck's play. Peter Mayer as Charlie creates a character which is by turns exasperating, infuriating and heart-breaking. It's a tribute to his strength as an actor, as well as to Harper's direction, that Charlie remains the play's central focus and is not overshadowed by the much showier role of Clea.

Jennifer Nitzband gradually reveals the underlying complexities in the character of Clea, a role which seems at first glance to be one-dimensional. Her Clea initially deludes the audience, as well as Charlie, into dismissing her as a good-looking but dim young woman who exercises minimal judgment in her choice of sexual partners. When she allows a glimpse of what lies beneath her attractive surface, the effect is chilling.

Kate Frisina, as Charlie's wife Stella, adopts a more understated acting style and provides the play's moral center. She's a decent and hard-working woman who has always played by the rules, qualities which leave her able to witness but not intervene in the impending disaster which threatens to destroy her carefully constructed life. John Pierson also takes a lower-key approach to Lewis, best friend of Charlie and Stella: he can be as expressive listening to one of Charlie or Clea's monologues (and as self-centered characters they do have a tendency to go on a bit) as they are in delivering them.

All the action in The Scene takes place in various New York apartments, and Lauren Dusek's set design allows changes of location to be carried out quickly by rearranging furniture and changing wall decor. Costumes by Scott Breihan are simple yet effective, and are particularly good in indicating Charlie's estrangement by his slightly inappropriate clothing. If you've ever shown up at a party wearing khakis while everyone else is dressed entirely in black, you know exactly what I mean.

The Scene will be performed by HotCity Theatre at the ArtLoft Theatre, 1529 Washington Avenue in downtown St. Louis, through March 8. Ticket information is available from the company website at www.hotcitytheatre.org/ or from the box office at 314-289-4060.

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Reviewed by Chris Gibson - KDHX

In The Scene, author Theresa Rebeck utilizes a simple story of marital infidelity to satirize our celebrity conscious society. We live in a time when reality television still fills the airwaves, and ordinary people routinely humiliate themselves for a chance at fame or fortune. Rebeck's script follows a married couple whose careers in the entertainment industry have taken divergent paths where success is concerned. Dark in tone, but filled with humor and truth, the play manages to deliver drama and comedy in equal measures.

Charles is an actor who's on the downside of his career arc. When he encounters the cartoonish Clea at a Manhattan party, he's initially repelled by her stream of consciousness ramblings. But, seeking solace with his friend Lewis after having lunch with a producer he can't stand, he stumbles upon Clea again. Stirred by his passionate anger, and perhaps envisioning a meal ticket, she makes a play for Charlie. When he succumbs to her superficial charms his life spirals downward, along with his marriage.

Peter Mayer plays Charlie as a man on the brink. He wants to work, but he's unwilling to be subjugated by people he sees as inferior. His monologues are grimly funny and cynical gems, fueled by his vitriol and self loathing. Mayer gives a bravura performance that's riveting entertainment. We know he's on a course of self destruction, and yet we can't avert our gaze.

Jennifer Nitzband plays the contradiction that is Clea and gives a solid performance. Alternating between grating stupidity and amazingly accurate psychobabble, she manages to make her character believable and vacuous at the same time. Her transformation from ditz to praying mantis isn't completely unexpected, but is deftly portrayed. Nitzband also handles the physicality required of the part, wildly humping away at Charlie, while only partially clothed at the beginning of Act Two.

Kate Frisina brings depth to the role of Charles's wife Stella. She's just as much a victim of Clea as Charles is, but there's the feeling that she aided in her husband's alienation by her unconscious acts of emasculation. It's certainly clear early on that she's oblivious to his lack of interest in adopting a baby from China, due to her infertility. Having her character in slacks, in direct contrast to Clea's collection of little black dresses, also emphasizes who wears the pants in their relationship.

As Lewis, friend to both Charlie and Stella, John Pierson makes the most of an underwritten role. He's only given a couple of scenes to really work, but he convinces, especially when consoling Stella after Charlie walks out. You know he'll make a pass at her because he's already subtly communicated his affection.

Chuck Harper's direction is excellent, with the talented cast focused and intense throughout. The show maintains a nice momentum with nary a stumble or misstep to be found, even as it shifts in tone from one act to the other. Lauren Dusek's scenic design is simple and functional, with a brick wall background providing a blank canvas to hang art or posters on to set a mood. Michael Sullivan's lighting is effectively executed as well.

The Scene is fascinating, dramatic and occasionally hilarious. Be aware that it also contains adult themes and frank language.