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TIME: Almanac 1995
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TIME Almanac 1995.iso
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020491
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0204410.000
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1994-03-25
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<text id=91TT0233>
<title>
Feb. 04, 1991: Glimpses Of Looniness
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1991
Feb. 04, 1991 Stalking Saddam
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
THEATER, Page 62
Glimpses of Looniness
</hdr><body>
<p>By William A. Henry III
</p>
<qt>
<l>ASSASSINS</l>
<l>Music and Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim</l>
<l>Book by John Weidman</l>
</qt>
<p> When the ever venturesome Stephen Sondheim said his new
musical would portray people who killed, or tried to kill, U.S.
Presidents, even fans of his acerbic wit and nonpareil
invention wondered how such a show could be put together. The
work that opens off-Broadway this week amply, at times
brilliantly, demonstrates how. The question that lingers is
why.
</p>
<p> Assassins is a sketchbook, sparse and almost forgettable in
its musical elements, dominated by skits that would have been
too extreme for Saturday Night Live in its heyday. The linking
idea is that assassins constitute a sort of club, with past and
future killers inspiring one another in a grand conspiracy.
This mildly provocative notion is made silly by being rendered
literal: the opening features a carnival shooting gallery and
then a kind of time-warp barroom where John Wilkes Booth meets
John W. Hinckley Jr., where Leon Czolgosz, killer of William
McKinley, encounters Giuseppe Zangara, attempted murderer of
Franklin Roosevelt. In the climax, Booth and the others show up
in Dallas to persuade Lee Harvey Oswald to shoot John F.
Kennedy instead of killing himself.
</p>
<p> The tone of these scenes is windily self-important, the
intellectual content embarrassingly slight. Even worse is the
inherent contradiction between deploring the folk mythification
of assassins and sustaining that very process by having a
singer-narrator twang knowing ditties about the killers.
</p>
<p> But Assassins also offers funny, astutely varied glimpses
of looniness, the finest being a park-bench chat between
attempted assassins of Gerald Ford: Lynette ("Squeaky") Fromme,
a Charles Manson disciple who is all passion and intensity; and
Sara Jane Moore, a former mental patient, who in Debra Monk's
stunning evocation is all matronly giggles and chilling
folksiness. In other ably written scenes, Victor Garber brings
condescending grandeur to Booth, Terrence Mann finds earnest
simplicity in Czolgosz, Greg Germann gives a dorky sweetness to
Hinckley, and Jonathan Hadary evokes hysterical egomania in
Charles Guiteau, killer of James Garfield.
</p>
<p> Still, for all its wit, the text (by John Weidman,
Sondheim's collaborator on Pacific Overtures) has no obvious
topical resonances--and probably could not, given that the
authors view assassination as arising from thwarted ambition
rather than any ideology or cause. As satire, Assassins is
pointless: it attacks people who have no defenders. As pop
sociology, it makes points about fame, envy and media culture
that were made far more richly in John Guare's The House of
Blue Leaves. One is left wondering--not least because of an
imagined conversation between a would-be assassin and composer
Leonard Bernstein--whether Sondheim's personal interest lies
in the borderline between obsessive fandom and murderous envy.
That topic might yield a far better show.
</p>
</body></article>
</text>