Lewis J. Stadlen notes that Sam Zilinsky is not as clearly defined as his former partner and now-nemesis, Davis Mizlansky, a manically driven producer turned con man. In Jon Robin Baitz's "Mizlansky/Zilinsky or 'schmucks"' Stadlen as Zilinsky has his work cut out for him. The comedy with dark overtones opened Off-Broadway at the Manhattan Theatre Club, Feb. 17
Stadlen sees Sam Zilinsky as "schizophrenic," at least early in the play. "He has a poetic sensibility--and he's very much the materialist. He embodies the darker side of the American Dream, the idea that the only way to achieve status is through wealth," says the 51-year-old Brooklyn native. "It's only at the very end when he frees himself from Mizlanksy's rampaging energy--the dance of death the two men are engaged in--that he becomes, I believe, a true intellectual. Up until that point, to some extent, he's pretending to be an intellectual. We'll have to wait till the sequel," Stadlen chortles, "but I suspect after serving his jail sentence, he will become a rare-book dealer."
"Mizlansky/Zilinsky" tells the story of Mizlansky (Nathan Lane), a Hollywood producer, down on his luck, engaged in selling shady tax shelters. It's also a tale of twisted inter-personal connections, especially between the coarse Mizlansky and the more refined, but equally corrupt, Zilinsky. Baitz tips his hand in the very title. These two characters are, indeed, schmucks--not unappealing and carefully observed.
Stadlen, who is talking to us on the phone, admits that one of the greyer areas was determining precisely Zilinsky's relationship to Mizlansky: Beyond the suggested homoerotic elements ("I believe these are present in all close male friendships"), a central question he had to address in forging the character was: Is Zilinsky a victim or co-conspirator enjoying a game of one-upsmanship with his former partner? Stadlen sees both elements operating simultaneously. "Originally, I saw him as a victim, simply trying to escape Mizlansky. Now I see him more as a con man, taking the position that if Mizlansky is exploiting him, he's going to return the favor. In that pivotal scene where De Vries [another player in the tax-shelter scam] makes an anti-Semitic remark and Zilinsky suddenly refuses to have anything to do with the deal, [thus screwing Mizlansky] I still wonder, does he really care that much about the remark? Or is it the excuse he needs to escape Mizlansky? Or the opportunity to get back at him? One of the biggest challenges was getting into that cynical con man's frame of mind--the idea that everything is b.s., nothing real; the only thing that is important is getting through."
Keeping a Lid on It
A two-time Tony nominee, Stadlen has appeared on Broadway in "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum," "Laughter on the 23rd Floor," "The Sunshine Boys," "Candide," and " Fiddler on the Roof." He has been a friend of Nathan Lane for 11 years, working with him in four productions, Stadlen points out, adding that their friendship with its concomitant "admiration, envy, and love" makes them the perfect pair for "Mizlansky/Zilinsky." Still, playing Zilinsky is a stretch for Stadlen, who usually plays characters with more expansive temperaments. "Zilinsky is passionate, but he keeps a lid on it."
For Stadlen, that repression, which has to be expressed vocally and physically, is a particularly interesting element in interpreting the role. "I always change my voice when I'm on stage. Here, I lowered the tonality," he demonstrates, his voice becoming deeper and slower. "I also walk with a more deliberate gait. That may not suggest vitality, but it suggests authority. Sam's got a quiet energy that comes from knowing he's the smartest man in the room. That's his power. But for me, walking that slowly, there's the very real danger of losing my balance. I exercise my legs every day so that I can evoke that deliberate, graceful person."
Zilinsky's traits notwithstanding, Stadlen adds, "I feel actors should be more graceful than the man on the street." Stadlen, who describes himself as "a 19th-century man--not a modernist--an esthetic reactionary," always wears a jacket to the theatre. "It's our last bastion of connection to a more civilized period."
Brought up in Forest Hills, Stadlen was introduced to the world of theatre early on. His father was an actor, Allen Swift. But, interestingly, it was his mother, a professor of child development at St. John's University, who regularly took him to plays. "I wanted to be an actor from the time I was 14," he recalls. "It was the first time I felt I was good at anything. And when I was acting, girls found me attractive."
Stadlen went on to study with Stella Adler, an experience he found seminal; indeed, as he tells it, her teaching still shapes his approach to a role. "She said the actor's responsiblity is to find out what the play is all about, as opposed to using the play as a vehicle for the actor's reality." The latter concept defined the other major acting school of the era, Stadlen comments. He is talking about "The Method," as practiced in the United States. "Stella Adler said you have to be a student of history, an intelligent and informed human being first. She planted the seed, but since I was interested in history anyway, I felt prepared."
Stadlen has been one of the lucky few. For more than three decades he has worked steadily as an actor, short of a brief stint as a cheese-cutter at Zabar's, where "I cut off part of my finger." He retells the event matter-of-factly as if it were a stage direction in a play.
He admits that in his 20s, he was "arrogant and outspoken. I was hot early. When I was 28 I was nominated for a Tony for my performance in 'Candide.' I believed my rarified fame was a birthright." It's not simply that disappointment followed--although Stadlen hints at this when he talks about how the savage ambition of youth and the fierce drive for recognition gave way to a more balanced perspective. But there was something else that contributed to his transformation: his growing awareness that "I had no identity outside of the characters I played. It took me to my 40s to be able to trust that I had an identity." Although he now has a "spiritual context," to use his term, and has developed as a human being, he stresses, "I still get pissed off [about my career] but my ambition is no longer fueled by anger."
That wisdom may or may not be shared by Zilinsky, although Stadlen is convinced the character has undergone a conversion at the end. "I think he can now enjoy Mizlansky and their mutual memories, as long as they're not in business." At the close of the play, whether they'll be business partners again is ambiguous. They're such charming crooks, one hopes so. And, more important, they deserve each other. q
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