BROOKLYN BOY REVIEWED
BROOKLYN BOY
Reviewed by Jeffrey R Smith of the San Francisco Bay Area Theatre Critics Circle
Currently the Ross Valley Players are presenting BROOKLYN BOY: a father-son reconciliation story told by playwright Robert Margulies.
While the tale may have a Yiddish patina, beneath its veneer and at its core it is a story told with nearly infinite renditions and permutations both Gentile and Jewish.
George Lucas, leaping into the future and outer space, told a similar story using Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader as his principals.
While Manny Weiss in this play may have denied his son Eric Weiss a sense of recognition, Dastardly Darth unapologetically lopped off Likeable Luke's hand with a light saber—fortunately for his love life, it was Luke's left hand and bionic hands were FedEx'ed about the cosmos like stardust and Victoria's Secret.
At its psychological center is a gnawing piece of inevitable irony: while Mom dishes out unconditional love, Dad expects a little something in return: up front no less.
As it turns out, Dad is the person who goads, taunts and provokes us to become who we are.
Mom may be our security blanket but Dad is our electric cattle prod.
When this critic borrowed an airplane from the United States Navy and flew it home to show Mom and Dad, Mom was at least marginally impressed; Dad pretended (I think he pretended) to be unimpressed: "Its so small," were the words he used to trivialize my accomplishment.
While Mom would be happy to learn that we were living safely and comfortably in the Land of the Lotus Eaters, Dad wants us tilling the rocky soil of Ithaca, producing bumper crops, raking in the farm subsidy and delivering the harvest to the commodities exchange for a killing AND distinguishing ourselves in battle at Troy.
While MR Margulies does make his point, he inches his way along, waxing a bit too prolix in doing so.
MR Margulies is into high-definition: he favors lots of fine literary brush strokes—as opposed to broad ones—to detail his high-resolution story.
Fortunately great acting, intelligent casting and rock solid directing by Phoebe Moyer keep this Aspidistra flying for its well-intended two hours and twenty minutes.
Matthew Lai delivers a masterful and no doubt strenuous performance as Eric Weiss: a writer who has made his way to eleven on the bestseller list, with no encouragement from Dad.
Most of the comedy emanates from Timothy Beagley (as Ira Zimmer).
Ira is the boyhood friend of Eric.
In contrast to Eric, Ira seems to have been earmarked for mediocrity right from the day he returned home from the family moyl (mohel).
Ira represents the identity that Eric is trying to sidestep.
As is the case in these identity sagas, the more one tries to shed his or her preordained identity or fate, the more one assumes it.
Think of Oedipus.
If you enjoy quality performances and well-crafted scripts, this play is for you.
If you are working for a living, as opposed to feeding off a trust fund like an aphid, you might see it on Saturday night—as opposed to Friday night: just to be certain that you are sufficiently refreshed, both mentally and physically, when the curtain goes up.
For tickets call 415-456-9555 or visit www.rossvalleyplayers.com.
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