PLAYBILL ON OPENING NIGHT: The Country Girl Welcome to the (Same) Theatre
By Harry Haun
28 Apr 2008
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Morgan Freeman, Frances McDormand, Chip Zien and Peter Gallagher, Anna Camp, Lucas Caleb Rooney, Remy Auberjonois and Mike Nichols.
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| photo by Aubrey Reuben |
Theatre lovers united April 27 at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre for a chewy slice of backstage strife, which Clifford Odets cutely and bucolically called The Country Girl.
The older first-nighters recognized the rallying place as the beloved old Royale, and they were reminded of the spirits that still inhabit the building by the d้cor of the last scene a star dressing room only a few feet away from the one it purports to be.
Plastered about the place are posters of the Royale's past attractions Laurette Taylor in The Glass Menagerie (peddling subscriptions to "The Homemaker's Companion" to friends unfortunate enough to answer the phone), Martita Hunt in The Madwoman of Chaillot, Margaret Rutherford in The Importance of Being Earnest, Paul Robeson in Othello a production that cost Desdemona (Uta Hagen) her marriage to Iago (Jose Ferrer), Queenie Smith in Every Thursday, John Barclay in The Pirates of Penzance
This particular evening belongs to Frank Elgin (Morgan Freeman), who is making a triumphant comeback, after a few alcoholic backslides and confidence meltdowns that have made mortal enemies then lovers of his entire support system, his wife Georgie (Frances McDormand) and his director, Bernie Dodd (Peter Gallagher).
Suddenly feeling like the most useless person in the audience, director Dodd retreats to Elgin's dressing room where he finds Georgie blithely knitting. He can't help but ask why she isn't out front watching her husband fulfill his finest hour.
"On opening night," replies Georgie, "I don't need to sit out there with all of those nabobs and critics." In delivering the line this particular evening, McDormand stepped slightly outside of it, cocked her head to the side and looked at the audience.
It brought the house down, and she was still fielding compliments for it hours later at the Tavern on the Green after-party. "I had to do it," she giggled. "I had one night, right? That's the only chance I get. Our maestro was very, very pleased about that."
"Our maestro," of course, was Mike Nichols, who hasn't directed a drama on Broadway since Death and the Maiden in 1992 and a revival since Uncle Vanya in 1973. But Odets' 1950 lace-free valentine to theatre life carried special resonance for him: "I always wanted to do this play, even when I was a little kid," Nichols said on opening night. "I don't know why. I just like it. I like the idea. I like the idea of the great actor being a big baby, too. I was looking a long time for Morgan and I to do something together, and so was he. He found a movie that didn't work for me so well, so I got him interested in the play. That's how we started, and he wanted Frances and I said, 'What a great idea!' I wanted Peter because we had worked together in the past."
Elgin's festering insecurities would seem to run counter to Freeman's image of manly assurance, so why would he want to take on the role? "Why not?" he shot back after the opening performance. "I don't know. I'm not supposed to know. Mike says, 'Let's do it.' I say, 'Okay, it must be one of his bold moves.'" It has to be said that, from the beginning, the actor doesn't coast on his solid screen persona. From the moment he tentatively steps on stage to audition, his brow is ruffled with concern, and he's all too quick to chuck it all. "Well, see? I was told I was coming on too strong." From first to last, he surprises.
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Diane Sawyer, Julia Roberts, Amy Adams, Steve Martin, Ellen Barkin, Lily Rabe and Denis Leary with Ann Leary.
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| photos by Aubrey Reuben |
In the title role that won a Tony for Uta Hagen and an Oscar for Grace Kelly, McDormand delivers a multi-level performance a self-effacing and supportive wife who remains steadfast even when her weak and panicked husband portrays her as a manipulative heavy. "You ride him like a broom," concludes Dodd. "You're a bitch."
Gallagher completes the triangle as the hard-nosed director who myopically confuses the good Elgin with the bad one because of his own anguished past (a bitter divorce and a boozy father). "You can't do much if you don't have a great part, and I finally have a great part," he said. "It's the second time I've worked with Mike. [They did the original Broadway production of The Real Thing together.] That was the draw for me. For 24 years, I was hoping I'd get another chance. I adore Morgan. Frances and I have worked together before in movies 'Short Cuts,' 'The Player.'"
Remy Auberjonois plays the oft-forgotten man of the theatre, the playwright, and does it with Odets-style hair. "I'm doing my best echo of Odets. I'm not doing him per se, but physically I knew I had the curls so I figured why hide my light under a bushel?" Auberjonois got to speak with Walt Odets, the late author's son who was around for a week in the rehearsal room and witnessed the result on the final critics' performance, and they talked about the kind of playwright Odets was presenting here. Auberjonois said, "Every time my character leaves the room, Morgan's character says, 'I love that kid. Not a spot of ego in him.' And I think that was Odets' little joke about himself.
"I think Odets has given this playwright an insightfulness, but I also think he's got a naivet้ that's fun to play. He's that thing he's a writer, he observes, he sees people, he gets people, but then there are whole things that, as people do, we don't get." Continued...
