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Shooting Up the Charts
by Marlon Hurt
The Name of the Play is Talking Heads reviewed March 10, 2005
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There are two basic camps in the debate over art's purpose. The first, basically idealist, argues that art should enlighten. The artist's sacred duty is to present the truth of our reality, or, at the least, the truth of the artist's reality, no matter how bleak or brutal.
The second camp, however, tends more toward escapism. It contends that reality in all its misery is ever-present. Why use art to deliver a second dose of it when art is the only means most people have to momentarily step out of it?
In Marc Spitz's new comedy, The Name of This Play Is Talking Heads, now playing at Under St. Marks, the two factions again take up this never-ending skirmish. The difference here, as opposed to the debates that ceaselessly appear in publications and programs devoted to the arts, is that one of the two parties has the added rejoinder of a loaded firearm.
The battlefield, appropriately enough, is the studio of a TV music channel where a typically vapid segment, called the "Top 100 Most Rockatrocious Moments in Rock History," is being taped. (Think of such watersheds of vulgarity as Jerry Lee Lewis marrying his teenaged cousin, or the revelation that Michael Jackson's penis is multicolored, to use just two of the examples Spitz himself cheerily points up.)
The idealist thrown into this escapist stronghold is Pete (Brian Reilly), a writer for Headphones magazine. Initially under the impression that he has been invited on the show to share his knowledge of music and the culture surrounding it, he is quickly disillusioned when he sees the channel's staple comedian, Frankie (Matt Higgins), being force-fed his opinions by Tom (James Eason), the show's director. However, Pete's disillusionment quickly gives way to outright rebellion—with unexpectedly violent results—when Tom tries the same act on him.
As ripe for comedy as this simple and oh-so-familiar battle of wills sounds, especially given Spitz's bona fides as a writer for Spin magazine and sometime analyst on just the type of "best of" shows he skewers here, The Name of This Play never really comes together. Considering that the cast is talented, the script is frequently funny, the directing is clean, and the design elements keep the piece moving at a steady clip, I can only chalk it up to the old adage about high-quality ingredients that nevertheless fail to make a worthy meal.
Still, thin fare though it is, The Name of This Play does occasionally manage to tickle the palate. Reilly, as the idealistic Pete, often strikes the right balance of moral posturing and naïveté. And Higgins is frequently entertaining as the soul-dead Frankie. Also engaging is Valerie Clift as the make-up girl Dolly, whose interest in life's larger questions stops at her powder brush, and Brian Normant as the straight-faced technician Stiv, who benefits from some of Spitz's finer comedic flourishes. (We know most techies are stoic by nature, but making him a Buddhist and having him daydream wistfully about being a woman is surprisingly perfect.)
The best work of the night, though, probably belongs to Eason as Tom. At first, Tom seems to suffer from the same absurd lack of self-awareness as his employees. But, as the play progresses, Eason effortlessly transforms the character into a wonderful, if totally manic, intellectual and philosophical foil to the quixotic Pete.
Also making much out of relatively little is Shoko Kambara's set, which convincingly suggests a TV studio from little more than a plush chair and Stiv's control board. A live camera focused on the chair's occupant and fed through a small monitor at Stiv's left—the screen of which is easily visible to the audience—provides the pleasant finishing touch.
It goes without saying that the dispute over art's purpose will continue to rage, for, as Stiv might proffer, neither the idealists nor the escapists are right, or both are. And though Spitz's contribution to the debate fails to burn as brightly as it should, it does set off promising sparks. So, if nothing else, The Name of This Play Is Talking Heads might be considered a warning shot that promises better things to come.
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Under St. Marks
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Category: Comedy
Written by: Marc Spitz
Directed by: Andy Goldberg
Produced by: Laura Wagner, Jonathan Lisecki, Kirsten Ames
Opened: March 3, 2005
Closed: March 26, 2005
Running Time: 45 minutes
Theater: Under St. Marks
Address: 94 St. Mark's Place
New York, NY 10009
Yahoo! Maps Directions
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Tickets: $15.00
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Creative Team
Written by: Marc Spitz
Directed by: Andy Goldberg
Produced by: Westbeth Theatre Center
Light Designer: Rie Ono
Set Designer: Shoko Kambara
Costume Designer: David Tabbert
Cast
Valerie Clift as Dolly
Brian Reilly as Pete
Matt Higgings as Frankie
James Eason as Tom
Brian Normant as Stiv
Crew
Stage Manager: Ana Marie de Quesada
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