EVERYONE’S weighed in on Broad way’s newest hottest play “All My Sons,” so you don’t need me to do it, too. I’m doing it anyway.
John Lithgow, Dianne Weist, Patrick Wilson are magnificent. Ultra-magnificent. John, whose character takes two hard falls to the ground onstage and actually rolls on the “grass,” worked with a fight coordinator. There is not now, nor has there ever been, finer theater acting anywhere. As for Katie Holmes, she’s able. Not a shame for the neighbors. A tad shrill. A mite stiff. Listen, she isn’t theater-trained. But not an embarrassment. However, her sharing a stage with them is almost unfair.
Katie’s parents sat next to me opening night. “This is our fifth time seeing it,” her handsome silver-haired mom, Kathleen, told me. “She’s not nervous, but I sure am,” her equally good-looking lawyer dad, Martin, added. And their opening night gift to her? “Flowers and a little jeweled necklace,” said mom.
What a difference in parents. Katie’s mom was loving and friendly. Tom Cruise‘s mom, speaking no word to anyone, was hustled in, head down, directly from her car, with security. Tom himself came to the theater early, stayed backstage, then watched the play from the mezzanine. Didn’t even smile to camera crews beforehand. Not even the usual nothing Cruiseschmooze like: “I’m so proud of Katie.”
Those who know everything about everything say there’s not been this big an opening with this many bouquets since, ironically, the one years ago for Nicole Kidman. Oddly, it was no Hollywoody star-studded event. No so-called big-time movie-colony Tom-type friends. No Beckhams. No Will Smiths. Dustin caught a preview. Oprah came Saturday. But in terms of major giant names – nada. Zippo. Zilch.
Cast and producers exchanged gifts. Since a tree figures into the script, all received a bonsai. Plus Matt Logan‘s Hirschfeld-style caricature of the entire company on stage.
The drama is masterful. This revival about war and its profiteers resonates today. But in Arthur Miller’s era, people had more time. Plays were longer. Three acts. There weren’t 8,000 TV channels, 10-minute news cycles, blogs, cells, beepers, computers, texting, Internet. So, although it’s literary heresy, an Act 1 trim might have worked for us to whom time nowadays moves quicker. Another minor irritant? Director Simon McBurney,whom all reverently label “Brilliant.” He so stylized the production that he possibly overbrillianted himself.
But everyone must see “All My Sons.” You must see the best acting of our century.
WE are now Sarah Palinized. Besides “SNL” – which, remember, I was first to tell you about exclusively – at the Waldorf’s Alfred E. Smith evening Obama zinged her with: “From here I can see the Russian Tea Room.” The Russian Tea Room’s Ken Biberaj says Baked Alaska is now on the menu. Also election cocktails like the White House Russian – vodka, coffee liqueur, shot of espresso; the Donkey – bourbon, triple sec, fresh berries; the GOP – whiskey, creme de menth, peppermint schnapps. A lady had her 102nd birthday at the RTR Friday. I can’t say how she’ll vote, but I can say she loved that peppermint schnapps.
TOMORROW Animal Planet premieres a 10-part TV series: “Living With the Wolfman.” Shaun Ellis and ladyfriend Helen have spent years eating, sleeping, living with a pack of wolves. The question is – other than that they’ve nailed a show depicting Helen growling, barking and biting her way into them, eating raw liver from her mouth – why? Says Shaun:
“I grew up in the countryside studying forest animals, and it progressed to coyotes and wolves. I learned they accept you on a need basis. I wasn’t naive enough to think I could just walk in and camp alongside them. I used food. Helen even defended her place on the carcasses of prey and regurgitated food into their mouths.
“Once there was three birds. This wolf left one. I picked it up. In four seconds, he hit me full force. Knocked me to the ground. Wolves consider teeth the weaponry. They look at teeth. Over on your back shows trust. I knew I had to offer my trust. Slowly I lifted my head offering my throat, which you never ordinarily do. He was on my throat. He could’ve broken my neck cords like a handful of small twigs, but he didn’t want to kill me. I barely had one scratch mark. Once he finished the lesson, he stopped . . . and left.”
And I always thought writing a column six days a week was rough.
RICHIE Ornstein had a quick nosh at a McDonald’s. Nearby sat a mother and four kids. She went to the counter and came back with ketchup packets, mustard packets, water and napkins. She then pulled out several Subway sandwiches from a shopping bag and told them, “OK, so now, eat.”
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.