by
Michael Dresdner
The cast of 12 Angry Men Photos by Kate Paterno-Lick
Here’s
the good news/bad news, folks. I won’t be reviewing 12 Angry Men at Lakewood
Playhouse (you decide whether that’s good or bad news) because I am in the
cast.
Instead,
I’ll supply a peek behind the testosterone curtain and reveal what it is like
to be in a man-cave of this magnitude; a play with nothing but men in the cast,
and thirteen of them at that.
But
first, I need to deal with the fear and loathing comment.
Truth be
told, the normal theatrical fear has been eliminated in this play thanks to one
cast member who shall remain nameless. I’ll get to him in a minute.
By fear,
I refer to every actor’s greatest dread: “going up.” It means being on stage in front of an
audience with no earthly idea what your next line is. The silence is deafening.
This is
the stuff of literal nightmares for most actors. My own personal version, which
I normally have at least twice with every show I do, has me in the wings, knowing
my entrance is nigh, not only with no idea of my lines but no clue as to the
nature of the play itself. I grab other actors and ask them “Can you at least
tell me what this play is about, so I can make something up?” About that time I
usually wake up and quickly remind myself that someday I’ll grow up to be a
reviewer and will no longer have to suffer these night sweats.
At any
rate, that can’t happen in this show. Why? Because one cast member has,
remarkably, memorized THE ENTIRE PLAY and adroitly inserts the correct line
whenever anyone goes up. We all love him for it, but most of us think he’s
actually a flesh-toned robot, since no real human could do this. He’s like the
Deep Blue of live theatre.
The best
part of any all-male cast is the notable lack of backstage drama, something
that varies with the composition of the cast. At the “way too much drama” end
are plays heavily populated by a mixture of both sexes of hormone-infused
teenage actors. Plays like that should issue seatbelts, because trust me,
they’re a rocky ride, replete with the angst-ridden lovelorn forever donning sack
cloth and ashes because of the fickle affections of fellow thespians.
In the
middle are the normal mixed-gender plays, with their olio of mild flirting,
awkward conversations, and dressing room fights over whether it’s way too hot
or way too cold, who owns the makeup that eight people have now used, and
whether or not you have a legal right to a particular spot at the mirror simply
because you’ve adorned it with something of yours in a theatrical version of
peeing on one’s territory.
This
play has none of that. Instead, there’s an odd mix of helpfulness and the
obligatory male, insult-laden banter, delivered with more affection than
vituperation. We may be 12 Angry Men on stage, but we’re frighteningly amenable
in the green room. Perhaps the contrast is part of it; several people, notably
jurors #3 and #10, release plenty of rage on the boards in what must be a very
cleansing ritual, and almost everyone gets to pop off at least once.
Maybe
that’s the real secret behind creating good theater; balancing the natural
lunacy of actors with a healthy outlet for their mishegas. (It’s a Yiddish word meaning “craziness.”) That and
plenty of air freshener.
At any
rate, what has emerged onstage is a surprisingly good version of a surprisingly
good play. Although I have a hard time seeing it fairly from the inside (I see
mostly warts and flies), I’m told by those I respect that it is a damned good
play indeed.
Perhaps
you should take their word for it and come see for yourself. Hey, you can
always come back to this blog and post your comments if you disagree too vehemently.
12 Angry
Men
Feb. 21
through March 16, 2014
Lakewood
Playhouse
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