August 31, 2004

Theatre Review: Guantanemo

At 45 Bleecker Street, where once Bridge and Tunnel loomed large and popular, poignant yet funny, now lurks Guantanemo by Victoria Brittain & Gillian Slovo. Several lovely things happen over the course of the evening, but if you’re looking for movement, there’s none here. Since everyone who walked in the house was carrying a press packet, I couldn’t help wonder, “Where, oh where, is the play’s audience?” I know this is New York City and all but the phrase, “where people really go to the theatre” is a bigger myth here than in the rest of the country. I will note, however, that the billing of “Documentary Theatre” is not a ticket-seller, surely.

And there’s only one Shirley in this all-other male cast of a dozen. Kathleen Chalfant holds her chin high and opines. Robert Langdon Lloyd deserves a slave of his very own for his Donald Rumsfeld. For the boys, the two-hour wait to see Andrew Stewart-Jones shred his shirt is wellllll worth it.

Now, that’s how you sell tickets.

For the more Cosmo among you – and I ain’t talkin’ the magazine – there’s lots to be heard in this steamroller script. Theatrical-types scoff at monologue plays and God forbid, still ones. How this one ever had a chance, I don’t know, other than opening in Britain where free speech is a little cheaper than it is here. Because of the words, because of the stories that are being told are real, you really don’t have to have the spectacle.

And for those artistes, looking to study the craft, if you want to see what every director wants and so rarely achieves, this is true ensemble.

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