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| Kieran Culkin, left, and Michael Cera, right, play well off of one another in "This Is Our Youth" (photo/NY Times) |
Did we need to revive Kenneth Lonergan’s cult play
about white, affluent male teens skittishly entering adulthood in the ‘80’s? Another
play with an underwritten female part? Another play that is all white, with
terms such as “faggot” being loosely tossed around? Does anyone need to pay $35, or $60, or as
much as $135 dollars to see this premise unimaginatively reimagined when Freaks and Geeks – a show that takes
Reagan-era discontents to beautifully imagined heights – is on Netflix for
free?
After a successful run at Chicago’s Steppenwolf Theater,
Anna D. Shapiro’s revival of Kenneth Lonergan’s beloved play, This is Our Youth, made it to Broadway
where it plays through Jan. 4. It chronicles the exploits of Warren Staub
(Michael Cera) in a role that feels explicitly written toward Cera’s all-too-familiar
awkward persona. The disenfranchised son of an affluent Manhattan business
tycoon, he steals $15,000 and desperately begs asylum from his childhood
friend, Dennis Ziegler (Kieran Culkin), who masks his own youthful insecurities
and works as a newspaper boy, dealing drugs on the side.
It isn’t a coincidence that Lonergan sets the play
in a New York flat, nor when he has Dennis note that his parents “pay his rent”
rather than deal with his childish temper. This play is about white privilege,
told through the lens of these two boys who want to hold on to their youth, and
about the discontents that come along with pretending everything is okay when
it’s not. Lonergan nicely paints a
portrait of two friends who aren’t compatible anymore, aside from a joint
hatred of authority figures. When it comes to actual story, things start to get
shaky for me.
Ziegler and Staub want to use the stolen money to
buy speedballs. They’re depressed, smoking pot, and decide that they have the
opportunity to get completely wasted on heroin and cocaine because... why not?!
There’s an overdrawn scene where Ziegler “out-Jews” Staub by coming out with a
master plan to make all the money back plus some through selling the drugs at
higher prices. They want to invite girls over to have sex with them. For a
while, this is what This Is Our Youth is
– for better or worse.
Enter Jessica Goldman (Tavi Gevinson), friend of
Ziegler’s girlfriend, who plays Staub’s former crush. They are pitted together
for about 30 minutes each act in what are completely pointless vignettes that
relate in no way to the main action. This side-story features awkward flirting,
philosophizing about what it means to grow up and live in Reagan’s America, and
passionate make-out sessions. It culminates in Staub buying a suite at the Plaza
Hotel and courting the young woman to bed.
Gevinson is one of the biggest names in fashion,
starting the fashion blog Style Rookie at 12, her own magazine at 15, and
appearing in Forbes’ “30 Under 30” at
18. This is impressive stuff. And for those movie buffs reading, she also made
her acting debut in Enough Said alongside
television legends Julia Louis-Dreyfus and the late James Gandolfini. Top
critics have dubbed Gevinson’s work here as “natural,” “unassuming,” and
“graceful.” Frankly, she’s atrocious.
Hearing her voice onstage is painful as she attempts to project her lines to a
three-tiered audience hall. Her beats onstage are calculated. Her line
deliveries were incredibly awkward and shaky. There were moments when I couldn’t
help but laugh at her incompetence to evoke naturalism even in the quietest
moments. I mostly cringed, however. Can you blame her? This is not only her
Broadway debut; it’s her first time professionally acting onstage. If you’ve
ever heard her voice, you know her way of speaking is quite idiosyncratic. On
the stage at double volume, it simply does not work.
By the second half, Jessica tells Staub that she
never wants to see him again because he told Ziegler that they had sex. The
thematic underpinning is poignant: here are two compatible individuals who
aren’t able to commit to each other because they are in the throes of
childhood, still deciding who they want to be. But every time Gevinson was
onstage, it became a different play. Maybe I would understand Lonergan’s
intentions a little more if the part was played by a different actress; otherwise,
I’m completely stumped as to the purpose her character played.
Cera and Culkin are the saving graces of this play.
They work well together and deliver some moments quite affectionately. They are
natural and you believe the relationship the share. Cera has some pretty
adorable moments in the play – watching him throw a football at a shelf was
quite humorous – but I didn’t expect less from the guy who brought us George-Michael
Bluth in Arrested Development. Until
Gevinson entered the room, I found the play more than watchable. But overall, it’s
hindered by heavy-handed writing, hackneyed representation, and contrived
situations. Staub has a murdered sister – a runaway like himself who moved in
with a dangerous man - and delivers a monologue at the end of play which explains
why his house is the broken mess that it is. Was it terrible? No. Was it good?
It’s hard to really connect to his words, even as I tried desperately to
connect with these two individuals.
Most of Broadway’s roles are written for white
actors, musical and non-musical. And rarely do we see cross-ethnic casting.
Keke Palmer is going to be the first black actress to play Cinderella on Broadway. The first black phantom for Phantom of the Opera was recently cast. Last
season, Denzel Washington’s Raisin in the
Sun greeted Broadway theatregoers with an all-black cast as well. Other
than that, the homogeneity of Broadway plays is always quite off-putting.
Forget the absence of strong Latino, Asian-American, gay or trans* characters
onstage. Broadway, with its high-prices, attracts audience members through its
star appeal, not through its quality.
With the appearance of Lonergan’s play, we have to
ask ourselves about the social importance Broadway places on this trite story
of white, male privilege (again, the female role is written to serve the male
parts). The play is dated. It does not play a profound social role when American
culture is so diverse and multifaceted, especially if Broadway ever plans on
expanding its audience any time soon. Cera and Gevinson are different faces
than Broadway is used to: they attract younger, less theatre-inclined
audiences. But they are still white, are still cast for their star-power, and
at least in the case of Gevinson, are not the right fit for the part. I urge
theatregoers to think about this the next time they want to indulge in the
world’s theater capital.
Grade:
C-
Playing
at the Cort Theatre Through January 2015.