I don't know if it's bad luck or what, but I happen to attend a preview performance of "The Starry Messenger" on the day that a front page New York Times article appeared on the topic of Big Stars forgetting their lines and needing prompters. Their first example was Matthew Broderick, star of "The Starry Messenger." And sure enough, a prompter was sitting in the front row of the theatre, just in case.
A sign in the lobby announces that the show runs 3 hours with one intermission. But you really know you're in trouble when the associate artistic director of the theatre makes a pre-show announcement saying that one of the actors had just joined the company three days ago, and would therefore be "on book" during the performance. So, one actor on book, the star of the show using a prompter in the audience, for a three hour show. Anyone notice the red flags flying here?
The reason I left at intermission, however, has nothing to do with the memorization of lines by actors. The reason I left at intermission is that there was nothing memorable to memorize, either for the actors, the characters they played, or the audience.
The play, a production of The New Group, is written and directed by Kenneth Lonergan. I enjoyed his 1996 This Is Our Youth, and two Oscar nominations for screenplays are part of his fine credits as a writer. But, as is often the case, it was probably a mistake to try to direct his own play. Every line was obviously important to him, but he needed an outside eye to do some judicious cutting here. (He also needed someone to do a simple Google search on the title, which is already in use as a one-man show about Galileo.) Set in the late 1990's, it's about a middle-aged astronomy teacher (Broderick) who's bored with his life and boring as a person. He has a wife and child. The wife looks like she could be his mother, which may be intentional, or simply bad casting. (I'm guessing the latter.) The teenage son is never seen, though is heard, in the first act. Broderick encounters adult students in his job teaching Basic Astronomy. One of them, for reasons that make no sense in real life or in this play, gives him a self-designed evaluation of his teaching, which needless to say is pretty poor. He meets a young mother, played by the wonderful Catalina Sandino Moreno, who accidentally wanders into his classroom one day, and off he goes to have an affair with her. End of act one.
The act is written in filmic short scenes, all taking place on the most unimaginative set possible, giving the impression that film is actually Lonergan's medium of choice. The set has two livingroom areas, a classroom area, and a hospital room, all on the stage floor, divided only by excellent lighting design. When one area is being used, the others are mostly empty of actors but visible. The overall effect is that of a inadequate set design budget, since the results, while functional, don't inform the text. A background that lights up with millions of stars at night is pretty despite the cliche.
The acting was fine, but not more than workman-like. This was very surprising in the case of Broderick, whom I've enjoyed in his other stage and film roles, and admire as an actor. I simply think he's been badly directed here, playing only one note, and that one note isn't all that interesting. The cast seemed under-rehearsed and uncertain, or perhaps they were as bored by their characters as the characters seem bored by themselves.
While I understand the meaning of "preview performance," this was not a show that was ready to be seen by the public. (And, I've since learned, they've postponed the opening.) But really, further rehearsal isn't what's essentially needed. What's most needed is a strong editor, and some action worth watching. Give or take the astronomy part, which is rife with self-conscious metaphor, we've seen this story before, and Lonergan has nothing new to say. Since editing and action are unlikely to occur (we're talking SERIOUS revision here, not tweeking the script), I can't recommend that anyone see this, even without my having seen the second act.