Frank Beacham's Journal

Revisiting Orson Welles is a Reminder of Vast Change in the Arts

I moved to New York City nearly 19 nears ago in large part due to Orson Welles. Through a strange set of circumstances, I was lucky enough to work with the great man during the final year of his life in Los Angeles. After his death in 1985, I came to New York to interview the living members of the Mercury Theatre Company for a documentary on Welles. I fell in love with New York City and eventually moved here.

The New York City I was attracted to was of the 1930s. To hear the exciting stories I was told by the Mercury actors, I thought those wonderful times still existed. Like so many before me, I was lured to the city by a false dream. One soon learns they have to make their own dreams come true in this town.

On Sunday afternoon, I was reminded of this again by Timothy “Speed” Levitch, the legendary New York City tour guide, who gave an Orson Welles tour of the Broadway area as a promotion for Me and Orson Welles, the new film opening this week. Though I had been an executive producer of Cradle Will Rock, a 1999 film about Orson, I had never walked the streets to see where Welles had actually worked.

Timothy “Speed” Levitch, performer and legendary tour guide. Photos by Frank Beacham

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Sadly, there was little to see. Just as theatre itself exists only in the memories of those who witness it, Levitch reminded us that very little of Welles’ New York of 1937 is now left. “Just like us, the city goes through constant transformation,” Levitch said. “That’s why there's almost nothing of old Times Square left. The city has been destroyed and rebuilt 5,000 times already. As we walk along the concrete of the city, think of it as the skin of a living being.” It was an interesting way to think of constant change.

 

As we walked past the Marriott Marquis, Levitch reminded us of the 1985 massacre when three Broadway theatres were torn down to build the huge hotel. Hilariously, however, Levitch noted that three of the hotel’s “homogenized, plastic conference rooms” are each named for among the most radical, socialistic, innovative minds in American theatre: Clifford Odets, Eugene O’Neill and Thornton Wilder. Only in New York!

 

As we approached the site of the original Mercury Theatre at 110 West 41st Street, where Welles and the Mercury produced the modern dress Julius Ceasar—the subject of the new movie—I was saddened. It's now a dreary, nondescript office building. This Wednesday, after all these years, a plaque is finally going up to mark the location as a historic site.

Orson Welles brought innovation and daring to American theatre. The Mercury’s mission was to break the fourth wall and “scratch the nervous system of its audience.” It was an exciting, provocative period of Broadway that is now long gone. To relive the experience today, the closest we can come is to see movies like Me and Orson Welles.

At least, in our dumbed down society, films like this are still being made. Bravo to those who still celebrate great artistic vision. There’s so damn little of it anymore. 

Christian McKay as Orson Welles in Me and Orson Welles

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It says a lot about New York City in 2009 that it took the promotion of a movie to finally install a plaque marking the original site of Orson Welles’ Mercury Theatre. But finally, Thanksgiving week, it happened. It was part of the hoopla for the opening of Me and Orson Welles. In the photo is Christian McKay and Zac Efron, actors from the film. 

The scene of such a burst of creativity should have been on every tourist map for 50 years. But it was lost. Finally, for those who want to know, the place—now a dreary office building—is marked at 110 West 41st Street. 

A Different Side of Wallace Shawn at the New Yorker Festival

My taste in theatre is not mainstream. I love the experimental theatre that came out of the 1960s, when plays broke the “wall” between actors and audience and shocked us with bold ideas, rather than mindless entertainment.  

As a Southerner, I’ve grown up to appreciate the sophisticated works of Tennessee Williams. The plays of August Wilson and David Mamet have resonated deeply with me. Today, my favorite contemporary playwright is Wallace Shawn.

My Dinner with Andre was my first encounter with Shawn, who is the son of William Shawn, the late editor of the New Yorker. But it was Andre Gregory’s 2000 production of Shawn's The Designated Mourner in an abandoned men’s club in Lower Manhattan that made me see the true genius of Shawn’s theatrical productions. His production of The Fever a few years later and his recent book of Essays really sealed the deal for me.

Because both The Designated Mourner and The Fever were made into feature films means they are available to anyone. But their content insures these masterpieces will be seen only with those who want to take a deep bite of truly compelling theatre. They explore Shawn’s love of human creature comforts (coffee is a major thread) while examining the oppression and torture of others who supply him his lifestyle. Shawn calls his writing “a cat and mouse” game with him playing both sides.

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Last night, Shawn talked about the serious side of his life in an interview with critic John Lahr at the City Winery as part of the annual New Yorker Festival. Shawn talks about the bohemians and radicals who taught him at the Putney School, the private liberal arts high school where he got a dose of "high self-esteem."

His first play was written on a whelm, after seeing an ad for a playwriting content. In 1970, Shawn met Andre Gregory, who has directed several of his plays. This is where Shawn developed his radical approach to the presentation of theatrical works outside the normal confines of the traditional theatre. The Fever, for example, was presented in private homes for audiences of only 12 people in its early days. 

His Designated Mourner was heavily enhanced by its location in the crumbling old multi-story men’s club. In that production, the tiny audiences were led through the building as participants in the play. At one point, audience members actually ate a small meal with Shawn and Gregory. It was a theatrical experience I’ll never forget as long as I live.

Last night, Shawn told the story of two young actors who gave their limited impressions of winos on skid row. Gregory didn’t discourage them, but gave them an assignment. They had to actually live on skid row for a few days, drinking the cheapest wine available. Then they would return to the next class and do the scene again. This time, Shawn said, it was different because their performances were rooted in the life they had learned on the street. This, he said, is essential to good acting.

Many people in the New Yorker Festival audience knew Wallace Shawn only from the light comedic roles he plays on television. That’s so sad. Because this man offers far, far more to those with open, curious minds. I urge anyone who likes to think to dig into his work for a rich and rewarding experience.

Wallace Shawn Writes His First Book of Essays

Since the 1981 film, My Dinner with Andre, I have been a big fan of Wallace Shawn’s work. In 2000, a year after I moved to New York City, Shawn and his directing partner, Andre Gregory, produced The Designated Mourner in the city and I somehow got an opening night ticket. Held in a derelict former men’s club in the Wall Street district and limited to 30 audience members each night, the play was one of the most remarkable theatrical experiences of my life. Nothing since has topped it.

Shawn and Gregory, I learned that night, know how to break the walls (and rules) so common in theatrical productions. The production moved about multiple floors in the old building—then under construction—and the audience was seated on old Salvation Army chairs. I won’t go into details here, but the play is set in an unnamed country where repressive forces encroach upon—and then eventually do away with—the intelligentsia. Perfect Shawn material!

A few years later, I saw Shawn perform in The Fever, another amazing work that challenged how I view everyday common objects. In fact, I have not been able to drink a cup of coffee again without thinking of that play. Let’s just say that Shawn challenges conventional ideas about theater, power, sex, class, and, most unsparingly, liberal complacency.

This week, the actor-playwright released his first book of non-fiction essays. I’ve just started it, but so far I’m blown away by Shawn’s provocative insights. Not only is this man a great writer, but he’s one of the few real public intellectuals left in our dumbed down culture.  The book is simply called Essays. However, the ideas he expresses are not simple at all.

     ---Wallace Shawn signs Essays for readers at the Barnes & Noble store at Lincoln Triangle on Sept. 1, 2009.  Photo by Frank Beacham

Uncommonly Good August Wilson Play on Broadway

I recently saw August Wilson's wonderful play, "Joe Turner's Come and Gone," in the Lincoln Center production now on Broadway. I prepared for it in advance—reading the play and exploring the themes addressed by Wilson in this second of his ten-play series portraying black life each decade through the 20th Century.

What a payoff! Joe Turner, first of all, was the brother of a Tennessee governor who kidnapped blacks early in the last century to work on his chain gang for seven year's hard labor. He is not a character in the play, but represents racism in the South after blacks were supposedly freed from slavery. 

This was Wilson's favorite play. I can certainly see why. It's a rich, poetic rift on racial and African life in the last century. The cast is remarkable, but Roger Robinson as Bynum Walker, was a standout. He's an African rootworker—a conjurer who has the power of the Binding Song. He acts as a spiritual adviser to those who live in a boarding house in Pittsburgh in 1911. 

Bynum tells Herald Loomis, who was captured by Joe Turner, that he has forgotten his song and must find it and sing it to become free again. After slashing himself with a knife, Herald discovers his song.

In my opinion, August Wilson is one of the greatest playwrights of the 20th Century. My favorite of his plays, "Gem of the Ocean," was one of the great theatrical events I've ever witnessed. With so much commercial junk on Broadway these days, I hope "Joe Turner" finds a worthy audience. It's a rich show that deserves our attention.

It was a Sunday afternoon, in December, 2004, when I walked out of a Sunday matinee. I looked across the street to another theatre and saw a man standing there alone. I instantly recognized that it was August Wilson. Amazingly, I was the only one to notice him. I crossed the street and introduced myself. He was quite friendly and told me he never liked to watch the endings of his plays. He had come outside in order to avoid the end of the premier of "Gem of the Ocean." Once the show was over, and the street filled with people, he allowed me to take his picture.