There was an acting teacher I knew whose favorite phrase when critiquing a scene was, "The truth is bigger." In Hollywood, where actors are continually being told to "do less" in auditions, this truism may initially confound. However, in the theatre--and even in film for that matter--particularly in certain kinds of comedy, it comes to mind time and again.
James McLure's Pvt. Wars is a small play: three characters, one set, a simple, straightforward theme. The play's three troubled Vietnam vets recovering in a stateside hospital are not terribly complex; their conflicts with one another--involving how to pick up women, what underwear is most comfortable--are typically tempests in teapots. The show had a brief run on Broadway in 1978 as a one-act along with McLure's Lone Star, but this current production is the two-act version of which McLure later conceived. Its length, almost two hours, is the only thing that seems too big here. That's because Pvt. Wars, like most small, well-written comedies, requires a big production--not fancy but big: big acting choices, big emotions, big setups, and big payoffs. Unfortunately this production feels malnourished on every level.
Each of these vets is coming to terms with his own psychic and physical wounds and trying to find the courage to move back into the everyday world. Silvio (Richard John Chaves) is a fast-talking, easily annoyed Italian from Cleveland; Gately (Leo Weltman) is a molasses-slow Southern hick with a good heart, and Natwick (Joshua Helpern) is an uptight, spoiled WASP from Great Neck. These guys are more than the stereotypes their backgrounds imply, sure, but the actors have to fulfill those stereotypes first, then give us something beyond--otherwise they miss the joke. Half of the comedy in the scenes between Silvio and Gately is the different rhythm at which these men talk, think, and react. However, this cast is hardly varied. The actors' delivery, dialect, and pace are quite similar and homogenized. They're painting in subtle shades of white, while the text requires bold splashes of color.
Pvt. Wars isn't the deepest play around, but it's damned funny--certain sequences are laugh-out-loud and virtually impossible to overplay. McLure is a Texan at heart, and his comedy--like the personal tragedies it often hides--is of the large variety. When the testy Silvio is mad, he's not just pissed, he's losing his fucking mind. When sweet Gately is slow on the uptake, he isn't slightly confused, he's thick as a brick. Only through the rich contrast of these three can we get the right flavors for this feast of a farce. We poor suckers in the audience are starving for a meal, but director Keith Coogan is throwing us crumbs.
Production-wise, we get the bare minimum, as well. Folding chairs and a table constitute the set; lighting is essentially on, off, or a red wash. But this would all be forgivable if we were laughing. It might even be understandable, considering that the unfortunate producers are off-night renters at the Complex, which means they must make due with ImprovOlympic's lights, purple set pieces, and the herd of pounding feet from the theatre above--which makes one think the world is going to end every five minutes or so. (Considering the noise, how the Complex gets away with renting this space on these nights is beyond this reviewer.)
Size does matter in the broad comedy of plays like Pvt. Wars. We hope for bigger and better things from 2Keith Productions in the future.
Gately...Leo Weltman
Natwick...Joshua Helpern
Silvio...Richard John Chaves