EDGE on the Net

There’s a built-in Spoiler for anyone headed to Moises Kaufman’s 33 Variations, at the Eugene O’Neill Theatre, and it has nothing to do with the title or the playwright’s name or any chatter you might hear from patrons waiting in line. The giveaway to the new play is named Jane Fonda, who stars in the production, and who, in real-life, has revealed far more than 33 variations of herself. (I’m surprised the Playbill didn’t come with a "Who’s Who of Fonda’s Incarnations" bio supplement.)

You can’t watch Jane without visions of the zeitgeist dancing in your head. She’s at times, and at once, an activist, feminist, traitor, exercise queen, bulimia victim, protestor, Ted Turner’s wife, Henry Fonda’s daughter, American Dream and American Nightmare, movie star and two-time Academy Award winner, and, oh, yes, actress.

Hers is a persona so strong that when, mid-way through the play, a nurse is helping her with physical therapy exercises, you find yourself looking at her exemplary 71-year-old body and wondering why the woman in the striped-leotard poster doesn’t take over and conduct a class. When her "character," Dr. Katherine Brandt, chides her daughter for switching careers every few years, you’re wondering why Clara (Samantha Mathis) doesn’t snap back with "You’re one to talk, Barbarella!" Even a few short lines about lack of religion prompts you to mentally jot down, "Does this mean you’ve abandoned your recent Christian phase?"

Few stars are as personified as Fonda, so it’s a pleasure to report that despite, and because of, her images, she holds her own onstage. "33 Variations" is very much a star vehicle as well as an ensemble piece, and Fonda’s quite good in both settings. It’s not a performance that will go down as one of the greats (nor will the play), but she manages to find the masks and vulnerabilities and kindness of the Fonda/Katherine inhabitation. Despite a Broadway hiatus of forty-six years, she also possesses stage confidence and vocal projection that few screen ingénues of late have mastered. Her now-household Graham Cracker voice fills the house like the best of ’em.

"33 Variations" is Kaufman’s fictional account of musicologist Brandt’s obsession with Beethoven’s own obsession; composing over thirty versions of a mediocre waltz by Anton Diabelli. In a present/past convergence, centuries collide and intermingle, as Zach Grenier plays Our Greatest Composer, and Don Amendolia portrays Diabelli. It’s a far more clever conceit than would appear on paper, with the living walking into the past, borrowing books, talking over each other and with each other and around each other. As director, Kaufman revels in the comic aspects of a disturbing topic (Katherine suffers from Lou Gehrig’s disease, in a parallel to Beethoven’s slow descent into deafness). He, like his theatrical counterparts, refuses to wallow in self-pity, and ends the play with a visual flourish that’s skipped-breath bliss.

In addition to Katherine’s determination to solve Beethoven’s puzzle before her own demise, the unresolved relationship with her own daughter is running out of time. Here, Kaufman’s writing is of the Hallmark Presents variety; never rising above basic melodrama, and sparse in its details as well as denouement. Samantha Mathis doesn’t bring a whole lot of extra to her role, but Colin Hanks, as her boyfriend (and Katherine’s nurse), brightens up the stage. (Together, the two have one delicious scene at the symphony, in which each character’s inner monologue is revealed back-to-back.) Grenier is a joy as Beethoven, as is Erik Steele as Anton Schindler, Ludwig’s assistant. Another fine performance comes from Susan Kellerman as Dr. Gertrude Ladenburger, in a role almost as ripe for parody as the name would suggest.

Derek McLane’s scenic design, a myriad of music notes and files and projections, is both simple and enthralling, and David Lander’s lighting design expertly highlights the action. Diane Walsh needs to be singled out for her live piano playing of the variations, which adds yet another lively layer to the production. "33 Variations" is a complete, albeit perfectly imperfect, piece; one that should please audiences and no doubt find a home in a filmed version, big or small screen. In its movements, we see something the Legend of Fonda has not delivered of late: At one point during the first act, Jane’s character is forced to partially undress in a hospital bed, as X-ray lights flicker on her face, first the front and then both profiles. As the penetrating strobe quickens to a maddening pace, our Lady of Perpetual Motion leans back from it all, and finds vulnerable comfort in the arms of a familiar stranger. She seems relieved to let somebody else carry her weight.