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TIME: Almanac 1995
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<text id=89TT1873>
<title>
July 17, 1989: Star Time In Central Park
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989
July 17, 1989 Death By Gun
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
THEATER, Page 91
Star Time in Central Park
</hdr><body>
<p>By William A. Henry III
</p>
<qt> <l>TWELFTH NIGHT</l>
<l>by William Shakespeare</l>
</qt>
<p> The surest way to persuade a movie or TV star to appear
onstage for minimal pay is to offer a juicy part in Shakespeare:
the prestige seems to be all but irresistible. That stratagem
has worked time and again for producer Joseph Papp for the 33
summers that he has staged free shows in New York City's Central
Park. Rarely if ever has it reaped him a richer harvest of
celebrities than in the Twelfth Night that opened this week.
</p>
<p> Michelle Pfeiffer, an Oscar nominee this year for Dangerous
Liaisons, makes her stage debut as the grieving countess
Olivia. Jeff Goldblum (The Fly) is her pettish steward Malvolio,
John Amos (Roots) her drunken uncle Sir Toby Belch and Gregory
Hines (The Cotton Club) Toby's companion in ribaldry, the jester
Feste. Stephen Collins (Tattinger's) is the duke who desires
Olivia, and Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio (The Color of Money)
the girl-masquerading-as-a-pageboy sent to plead his case. Among
other screen and stage stalwarts rounding out the troupe is
Charlaine Woodard (Ain't Misbehavin') as the merrily scheming
maid Maria.
</p>
<p> The risk in relying on an all-star cast is that it rarely
melds into a stylistically consistent ensemble. Big-name actors
tend to resist direction or, if willing to cooperate, prove
unable: they lack stage training and technique for the classics
or succumb to the heebie-jeebies of stage fright. Director
Harold Guskin, a noted acting coach, has coaxed his players into
charm and clarity in telling myriad tales of mistaken identity,
most of which turn on the interchangeability of gender.
Mastrantonio lacks the requisite androgyny but is otherwise
faultless. Woodard, one of four black leads chosen in admirably
color-blind casting, excels at seductive banter, and Andre
Braugher is thrillingly intense as a pirate who risks his life
to help a shipwrecked princeling. Hines serves mostly as a
vaudevillian onlooker whose antics are a reminder that he is the
premier tap dancer of our day.
</p>
<p> But Guskin either had no larger vision of the play or could
not express it. The performances clash in tone and degenerate
into monologues and star turns, all but devoid of emotional
connection save in the first tender flirtation between Pfeiffer
and the disguised Mastrantonio. By far the worst offender is
Goldblum, who seemingly has no clue about his character. In a
blatant pitch for cheap laughs, he relies on grimaces and
gestures from The Fly, topping them off with a pantomime of
catching and eating some insect. At best the show skitters along
the surface of a script rich in unexplored depths. If A
Midsummer Night's Dream is the most perfectly plotted comedy in
the English language, Twelfth Night may be the most profound:
its main subjects are death, madness, the delights of cruelty,
the self-deluding and dreamlike quality of sexual attraction,
the randomness of justice. Guskin's troupe makes the play merely
sprightly, an ingratiating but seemingly minor work.
</p>
</body></article>
</text>