EDGE on the Net

It seems almost fitting that actor Tony Roberts suffered an on-stage seizure a few days before the opening of The Royal Family at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre... and then performed on opening night. George S. Kaufman and Edna Ferber’s delicious play about three generations of thespians rests on the notion that theater is the blood that keeps actors alive, and nothing, save death, will force them offstage.

This vibrant, at times stellar, production often imitates art imitating the art of acting, as the leads magnificently trumpet the lust of theater. Rosemary Harris, as matriarch Fanny Cavendish, unleashes a pro-theater monologue that could make Dick Cheney fund the arts. Harris is an actor of extreme confidence; composed, grounded, throwing out the occasional one-liner with impeccable timing (my favorite? "Marriage isn’t a career; it’s an incident"), and just as solid in her craft as her alter-ego. (The play, originally staged in 1927, is loosely based on the Barrymore clan.)

But it’s Jan Maxwell, as daughter Julie Cavendish, who seals the deal, on her stage and ours. Maxwell’s second-act nervous break "up" is an astonishing feat for two reasons; the scene is brilliantly written, and Maxwell delivers it like Ethel Merman on Red Bull.

Julie’s backward affirmation of theatrical life, which closes the second act of the three-act play, builds from her personal toils. Her Hollywood lothario brother, Tony (Reg Rogers), is in trouble with girls and the press and wants to high-tail it to Europe. Her ingénue daughter, Gwen (Kelli Barrett), wants out of the family business to marry her businessman sweetheart, Perry (Freddy Arsenault). Meanwhile, the great love of Julie’s life, Gilbert Marshall (Larry Pine), wants her hand in marriage and the rest of her out of Broadway. To top things off, her aging uncle, Herbert Dean (John Glover), wants a new play, a new part, and about thirty years of his life renewed. Dean’s nagging wife, Kitty (Ana Gasteyer), simply wants to be taken seriously as the serious actress she’ll never be.

The joy of the scene, which also serves as the play’s thesis, comes from Julie’s determination to abandon her bohemian life to lead a normal existence. By the time our curtain goes down, hers is about to come up. Julie’s late for the theater, and nothing, not family or marriage or money or love, can replace the importance of getting to the show on time.

One of the hardest feats when doing a show about theater is to keep the characters real underneath their dramatic façades. All too often the actors slip into acting mode, and you lose their reality. Not so here. Director Doug Hughes (who didn’t fare nearly as well in his recent productions of Mauritius and Inherit the Wind) is entirely in his element. Dramatic as this family is, their humanity rings true even when they (admittedly) take center stage or pose for effect. The Cavendish’s resemble an upper class "Roseanne" more than unconvincing, pretentious stereotypes.

The actors do their part, too. In addition to Tony-award-headed Harris and Maxwell, Rogers is a delirious delight. The actor never seems to sit still, even when sitting, and rules the stage like a cross between Nicolas Cage and Pee Wee Herman as animated by the Tasmanian Devil. (Somehow, it works.) Barrett nicely handles the challenge of an ingénue playing an ingénue, and Glover’s got a melancholy soul under his on-the-outs dreamer role. The only "actor" who misses the mark is Gasteyer. Her disillusioned starlet character should steal stage time, yet she plays so much to stereotype you, ironically, understand why she’s not getting parts.

The male outsiders in The Royal Family do the best with what they’ve got, but, alas, the weakness in the play is in their vague roles. Roberts is fine as the family’s manager, but Arsenault and Pine are rather dull, more stage props than talent. The wonderful David Greenspan makes the most of loyal family servant Joe, and he’s so good you almost feel he’s wasted in such a minimal role.

The breath-stopping two-story set by John Lee Beatty’s is a character in itself, composed of visible passageways, a staircase, and exquisite period furniture. This New York townhouse is steeped in the riches of its tenants, just as Catherine Zuber’s costumes are ripe with 1920s vigor.

Like The Royal Family’s theme, the play’s the thing. For three hours and three acts (the first being the weakest), the comedy shows us a clan who speak over each other and at each other, who wake up at one and dine on couches, who find babies an interesting, if somewhat boorish alternative to Broadway, who love each other dearly if somewhat distractedly, and who, most importantly, prove that the very thing we’re watching is the very thing that keeps them breathing.

The Royal Family continues through November 29th at the Manhattan Theatre Club’s Samuel J. Friedman Theatre, 261 W. 47th Street. For more information, visit the Manhattan Theatre Club website.