BWW Reviews: John Logan's RED at American Stage

"Maybe I'm speaking a lost language to your generation. But a generation that does not aspire to seriousness, to meaning, is unworthy to walk in the shadow of those who have gone before, I mean those who have struggled and surmounted, I mean those who have aspired, I mean Rembrandt, I mean Turner, I mean Michelangelo and Matisse...I mean obviously Rothko." --Rothko speaking to his employee in John Logan's RED

Several people seem to think that I work for some weird Anachronism Police. Yes, I get hot under the collar when something is mistakenly brought up in a historical time period where it does not belong. I groaned in Oliver Stone's Born on the Fourth of July when "American Pie" played on the radio in a sequence set in 1967 (the song came out in 1971). There was no reason for picking this tune; the song didn't even help the scene. Or how about in last year's wonderful Burnt Part Boys at freeFall, when characters pour Quake cereal in their bowls in 1962, three full years before Quake would be on any grocery store shelf? (I know why director Eric Davis did this--the joke about miners eating cereal with a miner mascot on the cereal box is clever and too good to pass up--however, an anachronism is still an anachronism, especially when it's not necessary to the story.)

I don't mind some anachronisms, especially when the artist calls attention to it. I love how Quentin Tarantino uses one of my favorite songs of the 1980's, "Cat People (Putting Out the Fire)," in his World War 2 film, Inglourious Basterds. (I wouldn't have loved it if the song happened to be playing over the radio, however; but Tarantino used it ingeniously, as he did with Jim Croce's "I Got a Name" in Django Unchained.) Many anachronisms are due to artistic license; without a change in the timeline, the playwright or the director finds himself or herself trapped in a corner and cannot find a way out. In his introduction of Angels in America, Tony Kushner lets us know that he changed the date of Roy Cohn's death to suit his dramatic needs, which works for the story's structure.

I guess all of this leads to RED, John Logan's dynamite Tony Award winning play about Abstract-Expressionist Mark Rothko, currently playing at American Stage in St. Petersburg. This is one of the tightest, smartest, yet accessible scripts of the past decade, but yes, there's a huge anachronism smack dab in the middle of it. Even though the show is set in 1958-1959, Rothko rails against Pop Art and Andy Warhol's Campbell Soup cans in the same year when The Four Seasons opens in New York (1959). The problem is, those soup cans would not be created and would not set the art world on fire until years later (1962). But artistic license sometimes must be paid, and it works here, even though my Trivial Anachronism Radar buzzed off the charts. For me it momentarily halts the show, and I just have to go with it. In the end, and in this instance in particular, it didn't hurt the drama, and structurally it proved necessary (the show can't conclude in 1962 and be as effective), so some creative timeline nudging is necessary and forgivable. Especially in a show of this caliber.

RED takes place at that key time when Abstract Expressionism and its proponents (Mark Rothko, Jackson Pollack, William de Kooning, Barnett Newman) would be eclipsed by the next best thing in the art world, Pop Art. As Rothko says (but maybe doesn't want to believe regarding himself), "Everything worthwhile ends. We are in the perpetual process now: creation, maturation, cessation." Pollack has been dead a couple of years, and Mark Rothko was the leading, surviving cheerleader (or last grasp) of Abstract-Expressionism. He might take pride in having stomped Cubism to death ("The child must banish the father. Respect him, but kill him"), but he cannot accept his own artistic mortality at the hands of the "vapid" pop artists.

RED begins with a single red dot in the darkness--the ember of Rothko's lit cigarette. From there on, color matters, the color of the paintings as well as the colors that are spread out all through the dialogue, especially the title color: "What does 'red' mean to you?" Rothko screeches at his employee at one jolting point in the show. "You mean scarlet? You mean crimson? You mean plum-mulberry-magenta-burgundy-salmon-carmine-carnelian-coral? Anything but 'red!' What is 'RED?!'"

The show turns out to be both an art history lesson and a character study, a debate between two sides (the intellectual versus the touchy-feely) and a loving tribute to art itself. It's a beautifully written ode to the idea of change, using this specific moment in time and Rothko at its center. The production at American Stage is simply stellar, beautifully directed and staged by Karla Hartley.

I've seen photographs of Rothko and watched interviews of him, and Gregg Weiner has him down pat. He matches up to the real deal physically, not that that's the most important thing (inhabiting the soul is what is needed and that's what Weiner certainly does here). This is a wonderful, thunderous portrayal of a passionate intellectual on fire. Rothko's art breathes and he looks at his works as children. Sure, the actor may go to This Is Spinal Tap's level "11" more than necessary, but he's always in the moment, always entertaining. You can't help but be mesmerized by his characterization of Rothko, horrified at times, but mostly in awe. Awe of what? Rothko's talent of course, but mostly his words and his philosophies, his outlook that art is a living being, not just some "over-mantle" still life. He is a bully and a snob, where even natural light doesn't suit his needs (God is second rate in the lighting department, according to Rothko). But the artist is a giant, thinks of himself as a giant, and Weiner plays this aspect to the hilt. It's a towering performance, bigger than life. Best are his eloquent rants, some that we can easily empathize with: "Everyone likes everything nowadays. They like the television and the phonograph and the soda pop and the shampoo and the Cracker Jack. Everything becomes everything else and it's all nice and pretty and likable." And he spews the word "likable" out of his mouth like a cuss word.

Rothko's art takes work from the viewer to appreciate. It's art to be respected, studied, discerned. But it's not "likable" per se, like Picasso's work is likable, or Dali's. (Logan's play, on the other hand, is exceedingly likable.)

As Ken, Rothko's employee (not student, as Rothko keeps reminding him, even though we know better), Andrew Joseph Perez mostly underplays his part, which works well in his sparring with Weiner's Tasmanian Devil. Perez's monologue about the death of his parents is exquisite, and he too is always in the moment, but more reactive and therefore more down to earth. (He represents all of us in the audience, questioning, wondering, listening, and reacting.) There's just one instance where I could see the actor, not the character, with Perez's performance. Fairly early in the show, when the character first mentions the color "white," he then turns to the audience in a very serious Eugene O'Neill kind of moment to tell us some more, "It's like the snow...outside the room where my parents died." I know he's supposed to be looking at the paintings here, but it doesn't come across that way. It looks like he is stepping out of himself rather than just letting it happen (as he does later in the play). Perez is too good an actor for this (brief) ham-fisted forced moment. Luckily, it was just a minor roadblock in an otherwise moving performance.

Jerid Fox's set is extraordinary--workmanlike, cluttered, yet still spacious for the actors to move about. Various representations of Rothko's work are on either an easel or leaning against a wall, and the tinted windows near the ceiling of the studio rightly look like something in a church rather than an artist's work space (which is appropriate, considering the way Rothko views his art). The lighting, by Phillip Franck, is powerful, especially in a moment where all the lights come up in alarming starkness. Jacqueline Padgett's costumes suit the play well, with Rothko donning black on black near the end, which is quite significant to Rothko's character (it's also maybe a bit too obvious): As the artist worries of black swallowing his art, his world, there he is, being swallowed by his black clothing.

There's a lot of great theatre going on right now from every local venue, and American Stage has added its winner to the list with their galvanizing production of RED. Even better, they have a play that you will discuss heatedly, debate intensely, long after you drive away from your parking space.

RED plays thru June 21st. For tickets and for more information, please call (727) 823-PLAY (7529).