Though a tad syrupy, the Rep’s latest will warm your cockles
by Martin Brady
You'd have to be pretty curmudgeonly not to enjoy Tennessee Rep's new production of Steel Magnolias, Robert Harling's tribute to small-town Southern sisterhood. Yes, it's a sentimental ol' thing, laced with its share of strategic sappiness, and there are moments when all that female supportiveness threatens to raise the audience's blood sugar to the same dangerous levels that eventually conspire to hasten the demise of the ill-fated central figure, Shelby. But otherwise, this paean of praise to good-natured gossip and the bonds of friendship is successfully mounted under the direction of Rene Copeland.
Chinquapin, La., is home to Truvy Jones' hair salon, a setting charmingly brought to life by designer Gary Hoff. Here six ladies gather with regularity, sharing life experiences, down-to-earth wisdom and gentle ribbing, their mutual respect and affection obvious if not always directly expressed. The time frame covers about two years, with the main events revolving around the ladies' concern for the sickly but ever optimistic Shelby's marriage, and her decision to have a child against doctor's orders.
There might be one too many PMS jokes in Harling's script, which also depicts the offstage men as either "sofa slugs" or gun-totin' good ol' boys, and nips familiarly at Christian culture. But there are big laughs too, courtesy of a generally outstanding cast led by Martha Wilkinson, the hairdresser with a heart of gold. Solid one-liners abound from all quarters, though Denice Hicks steals the show as Ouiser Boudreaux, the crusty, judgmental biddy who seemingly trusts no one (but loves everyone). Ruth Cordell is the wealthy matron Clairee and Brooke Bryant is the young hairdresser Annelle, and both offer fine character work.
The real-life mother-daughter team of Marin Miller and Mary Jane Harvill are Shelby and her worry-wart mother M'Lynn (Julia Roberts and Sally Field for those who saw the movie). Their portrayals are acceptably by-the-book, though the usually excellent Miller seems less than completely comfortable in the role of a vulnerable but courageous Southern belle, and Harvill's final speech—the big tearjerker designed to make us cherish life itself—is disappointingly delivered.
But for all the obvious—and consistently well-wrought—humor, it's the brief, tender moments that are at the core of Steel Magnolias' appeal, and this production provides a heartwarming opener for the Rep's 25th anniversary season.
First-time jitters
Actors Bridge Ensemble's production of Ken Davenport's My First Time is a lot like first-time sex: For the most part, the anticipation far exceeds the actual event. Not that it's bad—it's a sufficiently staged show, under the direction of Jessika Malone, and the six actors work well together, trading off on myriad moments reminiscing about the wonders, horrors and curiosities that might come with the loss of one's virginity.
The show's theme alone may guarantee good houses, and there's no harm there, because it has its merits. Who doesn't like to talk about sex? Or hear others talk about sex? So for 90 minutes without intermission that's what you get, as the players, seated across the stage, re-enact the testimonies of dozens and dozens of men and women, straight and gay, about their first-time experiences—where they were, who they were with, how it felt, what it meant to them.
The stories are expectedly varied, from essentially typical to more untoward encounters between brother and sister and father and son. There is discussion of masturbatory exploits and sex for the physically challenged, plus a plug for saving oneself for marriage (or at least that special someone) and also a few scenes that verge on the pathetic or outright tawdry. Specific humorous bits include a litany of car makes and models, the automobile being a common setting for doing the first nasty. All the while, a rear-screen video projection offers an ample supply of factoids about sexual behavior, plus footage of Nashvillians owning up to their first times. The actors also weave in anonymous responses from audience questionnaires that are handed out pre-show.
Yet for all its seeming immediacy and universal appeal, My First Time lacks theatrical impact, possibly because Malone's cast simply reads too young across the board. Some of the confessionals take us back to the 1960s, and with Joy Tilley Perryman the only thespian discernibly above the age of 30, the memory-play aspect is less than credible in what are otherwise earnest portrayals. That leaves us with a good college try that offers less bang for the buck.
My First Time plays through Oct. 10 at Darkhorse Theater.
Email arts@nashvillescene.com
like
dislike
