Steven Berkoff is unquestionably one of the most brilliant mimes, formidable thinkers, and savvy directors in theatre today. So why is so much of "One Man," Berkoff's new evening of monologues, so tedious?
Say what you will about Berkoff, but you can't accuse of him not giving the audience what they want. If any vocal tic or bit of movement elicits a giggle, bet on seeing it at least four more times. He can set the stage for a spectacularly chilling rendition of Poe's "Tell-Tale Heart"--and then resort to fart jokes and unspeakably mannered bits of virtuosity. Very few of us, I'd wager, can turn "dissimulation" into an 11-syllable word. Berkoff can. Bully for him.
Then, however, the self-indulgence of "Heart" gives way to something entirely different: "Actor," a poignant look at the extent to which creation is fueled by rage and insecurity. Berkoff delivers a frightening glimpse into the pathologies of a furious failed actor, the kind of guy who feels compelled to insist to his agent, "No, I don't exude hate." Using the mime technique known as "marche sur place," Berkoff achieves the perfect metaphoric state of being in constant motion without ever getting anywhere.
Unfortunately, Berkoff reverts to his old self-indulgent tricks in "Dog," where he plays a wild-eyed English soccer hoodlum and his even wilder-eyed pit bull. Every time the Martin Amis-esque milieu promises to offer something new, Berkoff decides to keep the audience giggling with more silly voices and caterwauling. (Admittedly, both it and "Heart" feature some impressive if overbaked pantomime.)
"One Man" dazzles just often enough to make you angry. The undisciplined flailing of a mediocrity would be merely tiresome; the undisciplined flailing of a master showman like Berkoff represents a promise of transcendence that repeatedly, defiantly, infuriatingly stands in its own way. Only someone this gifted can be this annoying.
