Metro Pulse/Backstage/Moon Over Buffalo

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Latest Oak Ridge Playhouse production proves priceless

by Adrienne Martini

A friend of mine—who is a chemist by trade and has never practiced professional theater criticism as far as I know—has come up with the perfect rating system for quantifying how much you are enjoying a show. Her formula is something like (and this is a rough description, without the accompanying charts and graphs of which hard science types are so fond) your enjoyment of any given play is inversely proportional to your consciousness of the surface on which your posterior is resting. If it's a good show, your mind will be engaged in it, leaving your body and its fleshy complaints behind. And if it's a not so good show, your brain will focus on just how hard the seats are and just how forcefully your behind and/or back and/or thighs are coming into contact with a cruel, unforgiving surface.

Ken Ludwig's script for Moon Over Buffalo should keep all of your energy focused on the stage where the madcap, screwball antics whirl about like leaves in a goofball dust-storm. Set more or less in the backstage green room of a 1950s theater, Moon is a textbook farce in two acts, complete with mistaken identities, pratfalls, and unrequited lust. But Ludwig's script also has the markings of modern-day comedy, with its concentration on character development running hand in hand with all of the lunacy. Unlike the farce of The Three Stooges or Laurel and Hardy, Ludwig actually takes his comic props on a journey each night, one in which they arrive in their final destination as changed characters.

Which requires actors who can have the timing to play the comedy as well as the skill to take the dramatic journey—a tough set of shoes to fill. "Dying is easy," a great actor is reported to have muttered on his deathbed. "Comedy is hard." And this phrase kept running through my head as I squirmed through the first half of the first act of this Oak Ridge Playhouse production of Moon and my mind was fixed on how much padding would have to be added either to my own ample seat or the Playhouse's.

Perhaps this was simply due to opening night jitters. The cast as a whole seemed to be searching for a rhythm, which is exactly what you don't want when timing is crucial. Each joke was two beats too late—or too early. A mock-swordfight played like the actors could hear a metronome in their heads and feared to break from its exacting beat, sucking all spontaneity from this frothy moment. The exposition (the short version is that this popular theatrical family "The Hays" has fallen on hard times and that Buffalo is the best shot they have to get the wheels back on the trolley) that the first 40 minutes is devoted to in Moon was pretty dang choppy, which really didn't bode well for the rest of the evening.

Then Bruce Borin kicked it into gear.

Borin is one of those actors whose timing is impeccable—once he's warmed up and truly living in the world of the show. The part of George Hay is almost perfect for Borin and the actor gets lost in the character's flamboyant theatricality; think "the Master Thespian" from Saturday Night Live. When Borin becomes Hay, as he did part-way through the first act on the night I saw Moon, what follows is a scream whenever he is on-stage.

Some of the supporting cast can stand against Borin's onslaught of funny. Barbara Stasiw as George's actress wife Charlotte whips from coy ingenue to crafty spotlight hog with grace and charm. The changes her character runs through are made visible by her expressive face and body. Andrea S. Rhines makes the most of her small role by throwing all of her trust into Ludwig's script and it pays off. Karen Brunner as Charlotte's mom and Angela Church as Charlotte's daughter have all of the pieces they need to be just as charming and hysterical as Borin—now they must relax and let them fall into place.

The men in Moon don't fare nearly as well and their performances feel unpolished and vague next to Borin's nova. They aren't unwatchable but just never quite seem comfortable with being on-stage, the antics surrounding them, or the sheer fact that the audience is watching their every move. Perhaps Mike Watkins, Bradley Billheimer, and Edward Pierce will develop more confidence with their own untapped potential as the run goes on.

As usual for a Playhouse show, the technical aspects are pitch-perfect. Jim Prodger's set and lighting designs work well to capture the fluff-mixed-with-pathos tone of the show and Andrea S. Rhines' costumes match the period and make me wish I had access to Rhines' stores. Sandra Herrera's hair and Jim Brunner's sound are icing on director Reggie Law's cake—and what a cake he has created. And it will be even more delicious once all of the bugs (like the timing of the first act and the glacially slow scene changes) are picked out. By the time the Moon set, my last thought was the comfort of my seat—high praise, indeed.