Review - It's... Exit The King

No dear playgoers, it has not come to pass that some smart producer put up a quickie, low-budget revival of Spamalot in the Barrymore Theatre and tried cutting costs by removing all the songs. But there's definitely a Pythonic style in the look and text of Ionesco's Exit The King as co-adapted by Geoffrey Rush (who also stars) and Neil Armfield (who also directs). You can sense it in the way Brian Hutchison, as a faithfully detail-oriented armored guard, dutifully announces each royal occurrence as it happens, correcting himself, when necessary, with bellowing authority ("The King is dead."... "The King's alive."... "Long live the king."). It's there when AndRea Martin, as a sullen, much-abused servant, makes a comic production out of trying to keep the monarchs' royal robes draped straight, and it's abundantly present when Rush, as the 400-year-old King Berenger, who is down to his last 90 minutes of life ("When the play is over you'll be dead."), kicks up what's left of his heels in a silly little dance.

Of course, this is all quite appropriate for Ionesco's absurdist 1963 text, which pre-dates John Cleese, Eric Idle & Co. by a smattering of years (and might very well have been an influence). Unfortunately, the serious undertone of a man's refusal to face his own mortality (The king's crumbling mind and body is paralleled by the dilapidated state of his monarchy and palace.) doesn't quite surface often enough before the very effective finish, leaving its share of slow spots in the two-and-a-half hour production. But the evening's crown jewels shine brightly, even if the showcase can use a bit of polish.

Rush, wearing purple-striped pajamas over his regal robes (There's a neat children's theatre whimsy to Dale Ferguson's costumes and backdrop tapestries) romps through his man-child role with glee without ever losing hold of his once powerful figure's (stealing fire from the gods and writing The Iliad are among his accomplishments) gradual physical and mental decline. As his first wife, Margeurite, Susan Sarandon plays it straight for the night, being the necessary grown-up amidst the antics. Her brittle wryness toward her husband, who favors his pretty, younger wife (Lauren Ambrose as a dim, overly emotional bimbo), softens though, when the inevitable finish finally sets in.

AndRea Martin exhibits superior clowning skills and pathos as the hardship-ridden servant who faces her meager life matter-of-factly, Brian Hutchison pings the one note of his role with comical consistency and William Sadler adds to the festivities as a vaudevillian doctor.

Although Rush and Armfield manage to sneak in a contemporary reference (The royal washing machine had to be pawned to cover the treasury bail-out.) they admirable avoid any temptation to shade their central character in George W. Bushian tones, despite snickers when mention is made of a long, economy-draining war. On the other hand, if they had favored that direction, a slightly altered translation might have made an excellent vehicle for Will Ferrell's Broadway debut.

Photo by Joan Marcus: Susan Sarandon, William Sadler, Geoffrey Rush, Lauren Ambrose and AndRea Martin

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