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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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time
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071789
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07178900.040
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1990-09-17
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THEATER, Page 91Star Time in Central ParkBy William A. Henry III
TWELFTH NIGHT
by William Shakespeare
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.
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.
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.
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.