I do think they are different things. Yes, they both happen in the theater, of course. But a musical has moments of deliberately soaring feelings. Hey, why do they dim the lights, someone steps downstage, and begins to sing instead of continuing speaking, in the first place? Because the feelings are supposedly too powerful to be contained within the spoken discourse anymore--the character is overcome, and must express the hopefully soaring (or diving) feelings in song (well, that's the theory, anyway)! Think "Les Miserables." Think about Jean Valjean learning that a case of mistaken identity is leading to someone going to jail for his crime, and he is tortured, tormented by the prospect of it. He tears at himself, he looks within, and begins, "Who Am I? Can I condemn this man to slavery? Pretend I do not see his agony? This innocent who bears my face, who goes to judgment in my place. Who Am I..."
Of course we know how it ends. By song's end Valjean has found Javert and has declared finally, with the dignity of resolve, "Who Am I?...2-4-6-0-1!!" Bliss. I saw "Les Miserbles" 11 times. (Ok, I know. Victor Hugo did just fine with the thing without bursting into song, but come on--you know what I mean). 11 times! I could not get the score out of my head. And I could not keep the characters from my heart--not that I wanted to. I wait years for this sort of shit!
My record for seeing any play, musical or not, is 12 times. Guess as long as you want, you will not likely guess which it was, for this thing does not tend to follow linear pathways. The record of 12 is held by "Bring in da Noise, Bring in da Funk," the rap, tap musical discourse with Savion Glover (I just found him spellbinding). Eleven goes to "Les Miserables," and "A Chorus Line." Just to give you an idea, I even saw "Hello Dolly" three times--and I was 12 years old!" Oh, the Harmonia Gardens.
So it is with great relish that I welcome the urgency to go back, when it comes around in a non-musical. "A Behanding in Spokane" is Martin McDonaugh's new play, he of the Irish noir trilogies Leenane and Inishmaan. It's his first set in America, though following his tradition of dark, gonzo-sort-of Irish tales (gory--dark, gonzo-sort-of-Irish tales). I like McDonaugh and was a big fan of "The Beauty Queen of Leenane."
"A Behanding in Spokane" is a lively entertainment, and I admire the writing. And this brand of dark comedy is right up my alley. But I would have seen it exactly once if it weren't for the incredible--yes, soaring--performance by Christopher Walken. Walken is giving the bravura performance of a lifetime here (and that is saying something!).
In brief, the story follows Walken's character, who lost his hand 47 years ago during the commission of a gruesome crime, and has been obsessed with finding the hand ever since. Walken's character (Mr. Carmichael) lives on the margins of society. I'm talking way out on the margins. The margins not just of society, but of normal human interaction, of any kind of known morality--and any kind of normal sense of humor either. Or timing. Mr. Carmichael says the darkest possible things in a way that not only he, but that only Christopher Walken could ever deliver. He is funny in that way that you can't not laugh, but you are saying, "Oh shit," at the same time. And what about that timing? Mr. Walken is essentially giving a master class in timing and delivery here.
Yes, I am a huge Christopher Walken fan (who isn't?) I can tell you, for instance, that if you want to just skip to the funniest part of the movie, "The Aristocrats," just go the part with Kevin Pollack relating the filthy joke as Christopher Walken had told it to him, claiming that the setup actually happened to his uncle (with Pollack doing an uncanny Walken delivery). So I will not try to inhabit that which is swirling of him in my mind right now, nor to rehash any of the funniest lines in the play, or try to describe their delivery. Suffice it to say that I was under his spell. Suffice it to say that I regaled my date afterward, with my very best Walken voice, with memories of my favorite lines (do we think that endeared me to her, or maybe not?).
More than ably adding to the evening is Sam Rockwell, as the beleaguered and off-the-wall receptionist at the hotel Mr. Carmichael finds himself in. Zoe Kazan gives the thing a bit of spirit too.
I can't recommend this evening enough. The play lasts a brief 90 minutes. And it is brief--because it opens strong, grabs you by the throat, and drags you around for the remaining 89 minutes. And boy are you glad it did.
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