Mad Cow’s ‘Family’ falls short of royal treatment
Oh, theater people. And by “theater people,” I mean actors.
They sleep till noon, think they look 20 years younger than their birth certificates indicate, and have nothing to talk about except, well, the theater.
“The Royal Family,” which opens Mad Cow Theatre’s 22nd season, follows a family of those theatrical types — the Cavendishes. Written in the 1920s by George S. Kaufman and Edna Ferber, the intention was to lampoon the Barrymore acting dynasty of the time.
But the 1920s were a long time ago, and for many of us, Ethel and John Barrymore are hazy memories or merely names. Of course, that doesn’t mean a play about a wacky family can’t be funny — and Mad Cow’s “The Royal Family” certainly has funny moments. But despite the production’s brisk dialogue and elevate energy, there’s a wooliness around the comedy. Are the playwrights skewering these people? Or penning an affectionate tribute? In other words, should we be laughing
with them or at them? Tony Simotes’ direction didn’t clear up that distinction for me, and as a result there were long stretches where the action felt frantic but not necessarily funny.
Simotes has done great work at Mad Cow, in shows such as “A View from the Bridge,” “The Tale of the Allergist’s Wife” and “The Little Foxes,” and his skill at assembling a top-notch cast is on view here. His leading ladies especially shine.
Rebecca Fisher creates delicious layers in Julie Cavendish, the woman who’s holding this over-the-top clan together as she expertly shows moments of regret, self-absorption, frustration and glee. Kate Young, as the feisty matriarch, also gives a particularly deft performance that creates poignancy without sapping her comic delivery.
Several in the cast are new to Mad Cow; the biggest impact is made by John Pelkey as Wolfe, the family’s harried business manager. Pelkey shows us how under his exasperation, Wolfe is a little in love with all of these crazy characters.
Only Kate Thomas-Denson goes astray; Simotes has her play up her maid’s gruffness until the character seems more theatrical than her showbiz employers.
Mollie Latorre’s flapper-era costumes and Rob Wolin’s clean design of the stylish Cavendish apartment nicely evoke the play’s 1920s setting.
Perhaps the biggest takeaway is the sad reminder that once upon a time showbiz dynasties could at least back up their eccentricities and boorish behavior with talent. God help us, a similar play written today would likely be about the Kardashians.