I decided to find out if the reactions to the show were really that negative, and walked over to the theater around intermission last night. The scene was, in fact, pretty brutal. I basically haven’t seen a theatrical exodus that large since sitting through a community theater production of Clue: The Musical in Northern Michigan. I don’t want to ruin it for anyone, but the handicapped Eastern European with a stutter did it.

Anyway,  I was able to catch some of the fleeing attendees last night and find out what was exactly so bad about the show.

Evan Prizant, a local film student, couldn’t quite pin it down. “I can’t figure out what was so boring. It’s really slow. Really slow.” His friend Sydney agreed. “Everybody’s leaving. There are definitely not this many smokers. I have yet to know anyone who’s stayed through the second act.”

Zane Dowty, who was visiting from England, said that he felt “that they did kind of gut the whole racial dynamic of the original play which is a powerful part. The whole point is kind of diminished.”

Dowty is referring to the fact that the character of Othello in the current production is played by a Hispanic actor rather than a Black one. However, in a slightly more significant change, this actor, as well as the rest of the company, spends most of his time on a bed made of televisions or chatting on his Blackberry. Maybe Iago was just jealous because Othello had more BBM contacts.

But the most depressing moment of the night was when Peter Sellars himself came out to urge those who’d managed to make it past intermission to occupy the now empty seats in the front of the theater. “Move up. Please move up. The closer you are, the better. It’s a better experience.”

He continued pointing to the seats that almost 2/3 of the audiences had vacated. “All these seats up here are empty, please move forward.”

Photo via NYTimes

The show was presented by the “Tisch New Theatre,” a sorely needed new program aiming to provide non-acting NYU students the chance to perform. Of course, organizations such as CAST and Gallatin Theatre Troupe already exist to fulfill such a purpose, but these group’s productions are on a much smaller scale than the one attempted last night at Skirball. Indeed, the last thing one could say about “Mrs. Markham” was that it scaled anything back. The problem was that the scale was a little off.

Before the show started, an announcer informed the audience in a thick British accent that it was time to turn off their cell phones. It was immediately evident that this was going to be a British farce with a capital B for “bother.” As the night progressed, it was as if Topshop had opened a day early. Unfortunately, however, the performers’ success at maintaining their British accents was about as diverse as their majors. What the cast did have in common was a steady rhythm and an ability to project well. If that rhythm had eventually settled into one conducive for comedic timing, it would have been a great thing, but the unity of the cast was still admirable.

Everyone knows a farce is in the timing. As many sex jokes, double entendres, and puns there may be, if the timing is off, they all fall flat. Seeing as the plot to “Mrs. Markham” is something akin to setting “Noises Off!” in a brothel, there was definitely no shortage of these first three elements. The reason not all of them worked, however, was that there was a lack of contrast provided by the energetic performers. One of the more sardonic characters could have been used to balance the ceaselessly fast-paced shenanigans, but the opportunity was lost. Rather, the actor’s voice remained in one register the entire show with many of his witty lines not registering at all.

In the second act, the play’s timing picked up surprisingly with the introduction of new cast members and a succession of tightly written scenes. Also, the clothes started coming off which was reason enough to stick around. The shock of seeing a naked woman on stage in a latter scene landed a punch many earlier tossed aside witticisms failed to.

Though the nudity was a blast, the play still had some problems. As one character highlighted another’s supposedly “gorgeous clothes” he pointed towards a pair of ill-fitting trousers, an authoress suddenly appearing at the end of the play stole many winning moments but a vague physicality seemed to fluctuate between ages, and characters were constantly huffing and puffing after not really running anywhere. The play then abruptly ended with reconciliations seeming similarly unearned.

At one point during the show, a character declared: “I’m going to hate myself in the morning.” That is definitely not how one felt after attending “Mrs. Markham.” On the whole, the play was one that you recognized the fun in and wanted to love, but couldn’t quite bring yourself to, similar to an episode of Gossip Girl. I think the Tisch New Theatre is filling a large void on campus with what they’re trying to accomplish and I applaud them. I just hope the next show they choose will provide an experience less like going to a band concert and only being able to hear the brass section.

Eric (Todd d’Amour) is unemployed and struggling at the center of a strange, subtle love triangle. When his girlfriend Beth (Esther Barlow), an artist, returns from a six-month trip to Italy, Eric must distance himself from his friend Jared (played by the playwright, Michael Rubenfeld) in order to devote more time to his rocky relationship with Beth.

Initially, the nature of Eric’s friendship with Jared, a slacker editor of documentaries about genitalia and excrement, is ambiguous. Over beers, the two men profess love for each other; Jared stares at Eric with what looks like romantic longing. Says Eric, “I’m not abandoning you, Jared. I’m simply incorporating Beth back into my life.” A kiss seems imminent, but it does not occur. Instead, Jared reminds Eric that, when they say goodbye, they are “always hugging,” and so they embrace.

The tension amplifies as Eric and Beth attempt to make love for the first time in six months. The scene is painfully, hilariously awkward, revealing how out-of-sync with each other the couple has become. Even cuddling seems unnatural; Eric rests his head on Beth’s breast as though it’s in his way, interfering with his comfort. One wonders—would he be more comfortable with a man? With Jared?

Eric’s dependency on Jared grows more evident as he plies his friend for relationship advice, including sex tips. Beth finds the men’s emotional intimacy disturbing. Finally, Eric determines that the three of them should bond via tabs of ecstasy. This ludicrous idea results in the play’s most hysterical moments (suffice it to say that the line “She lives on in the roast,” could not be funnier). Under the influence, emotions heighten, and with Beth out of the room, Eric kisses Jared—evidently for the first time. In the two weeks that follow, Eric goes AWOL, during which period Jared connects with Beth over her photos from Italy, implies that he’s not gay, and kisses her. Eventually, the complications between all members of the miserable trio become so thick that for any character simply to leave the room, a tug-of-war of “I think you should go.”/“Should I?”/“Yes.”/“Are you sure?” must transpire.

Paradoxically, this fugue state of indecision drives the action of the play. Guiltiest of the inability to make choices independently is Eric. In his efforts both to please Beth and to sustain his friendship with Jared, Eric has no capacity to establish what he wants. He relies on Jared to articulate his needs—a job that Jared accepts with reluctance, perhaps only because it constitutes the foundation of their friendship and because Jared himself wants to be needed. Moreover, although Beth has traveled to Italy alone, she returns to an unsatisfying and imbalanced relationship with Eric and compulsively expects it to work. Ultimately, Eric proves to be the most spineless of the three. If he acquires any self-knowledge, it is that, when he is left with no one to lean on, he has no idea what to do with himself.

The small playing space of the theater suits the claustrophobic entanglements of the characters. The set is simple—a chair, a couch, and an easel comprise the furnishings. Two doors help indicate changes in scene locales. Even with the sparseness, there is enough movement onstage to hold the eye’s interest, yet the blocking never overpowers the real centerpiece, the interplay of the characters’ half-stifled emotions.

At times, the characters’ inability to express themselves becomes slightly tedious. In such instances, the rhythm of the dialogue, marked by staccato stops and incomplete thoughts, feels repetitive. While this pattern mirrors the characters’ ineptitude to actually decide anything, it also seems overused. Recurring exchanges such as “Are you lying to me?”/“No.”/“Are you sure?” and the aforementioned “You should go.” lines entail too much back-and-forth verification.

The actors handle the script with aplomb. As Jared, Rubenfeld conveys sensitivity and neediness through wistful gazes at d’Amour (as Eric), who masks his character’s insecurity with a touch of bravado that is never overplayed. Barlow makes Beth likable by avoiding the potential pratfalls of the angry girlfriend stereotype.

At one hour and twenty minutes, Spain ends abruptly, yet exactly when it should. The characters hold the viewer’s interest through the play’s final moments, but they have little more to say to each other. What has not been said is what they are incapable of saying.

The Bridge Theatre Company at Shelter Studios
244 W. 54th St.
12th Floor
212.352.3101
Tickets $10 with promo code “FIRST” at theatremania.com

This play’s first production in 1988 was completely overshadowed by the fact that Madonna starred as its leading lady. Now, in this first-ever Broadway revival, fans of cable TV drama have their day as the stars of Entourage, Mad Men and Pushing Daisies comprise the entire cast. Yes, that’s Jeremy Piven reprising his TV role as lovably abrasive Hollywood agent, Elizabeth Moss reprising hers as meek but quietly ambitious secretary, and Raul Esparza just being fucking angry all the time. Get that man some coffee, please.

The plot is barely there. Charlie Fox (Esparza) delivers to his boss Bobby Gould (Piven) a big-time movie star contract to make a loud, dumb, “titillating” action film. Temp secretary Karen (Moss) almost foils their plans by sleeping with Gould and trying to get him to produce an artsy novel about the end of the world. We all know who wins in a play this cynical, and the plot is beside the point. People see Mamet plays because of the dialogue, right?

As with any good Mamet play, the dialogue moves so fast that you often won’t have time to register what anyone’s saying. Roughly half of it consists of characters cutting each other off mid-sentence. What you do hear drips with sarcastic wit and disdain for Hollywood and its market-driven business models. “Make the thing everyone made last year,” Gould explains to his naïve secretary. “It’s more than what they want. It is what they require.”

Speed-the-Plow is a diatribe that speaks through its characters. Gould patiently explains to Karen the concept of the “courtesy read”—he reads the artsy book so he can have something intelligent to say about it when he inevitably rejects it. The final third act is the most riveting as his crisis of conscience, brought about by Karen’s sincere enthusiasm for the book (well, maybe the sex, too), results in a three-way battle between him, Karen and Fox, who flies into rage when he learns that Gould wants to jettison him to make the art film.

Punches are thrown, blood spatters, bullets of sarcasm fill the air, catching poor, hapless Gould in their crossfire. He just wants to do something good, he says pathetically, something important…who wouldn’t understand that? He doesn’t get it; Fox does. What’s good in Hollywood is the moneymaking.

I suspect people who see this already know they’re seeing a play instead of a movie, right? In that sense, Mamet isn’t winning anyone over, but this wicked little show is just the thing to get those audience members punching the air and yelling “amen!” at every zinging barb he chucks toward Hollywood’s bigwigs.