I can appreciate a playwright who describes his line of work
as “the Las Vegas of art forms, and the odds are terrible.” Herb Gardner wrote
few plays, but he did hit the jackpot at least twice: once with “A Thousand
Clowns” in the 1960’s, and again with “I’m Not Rappaport” in the 1980’s.
Blackfriars Theatre’s loving revival of this semi-forgotten play proves why it
is worth remembering.
Gardner’s special area was limning the urban misfit, New York
City division. The Blackfriars program describes the hero of “A Thousand
Clowns” as “iconoclastic, slovenly, and free-spirited,” which sums up a typical
Gardner hero nicely. In “I’m Not Rappaport,” the free-spirited
ones are Nat (Fred Nuernberg), a gloriously cranky former Communist Party
member still waving the red flag, and Midge (Reuben Josephe
Tapp), a building superintendent facing a forced retirement. Both men are in
their 80’s, and meet daily in Central Park for … let’s just call it free-form
conversation.
“I’m Not Rappaport” begins and ends in mid-conversation, and
is pretty much plotless in between, but it’s full of
NYC atmosphere of a certain vintage: the early Reagan era (it’s set in 1982),
when many people like Nat and Midge were still around, with their memories of
the Depression, the Communists of the 1930’s, and World War II. The Great
Economic Trickle-Down has begun, and there’s a heartlessness and desperation in
the atmosphere, personified by a thug (Ron Heerkens
Jr.) who extorts money every day from the men; a tenants’ group president
intent on firing Midge; and a drug dealer who harasses a young girl (Christina
Simmons) as well as the two men. (The group president and the drug dealer are played by the same actor, Adam Petzold; I don’t know if that’s Gardner’s idea or from
director John Haldoupis, but I like it.)
Much more sympathetic, but just as threatening in her own
way, is Nat’s daughter Clara (Ruth Bellavia), who is
trying to get her father to move to an assisted living center, or worse, to her
house in Great Neck. Clara is a former red-diaper baby and former student radical
turned real-estate agent, and to her father at least, a nagging disappointment.
The men fight back in various ways to all these threats,
Midge with his fists and Nat with fake identities and fantastic stories. But
they’re not enough; at the end the men have to go their separate ways, but
before they do, Nat has one last story…
I think you have to be a certain age to fully enjoy “I’m Not Rappaport” (for example, old enough to know what a
red-diaper baby is, or that the play’s title is taken from an old vaudeville
routine). I saw this play when it was fairly new and thought it was pretty
funny and not much more; about three decades later, I am more moved by its view
of old people trying to keep the inevitable at bay, and the bitterness
underlying much of its humor.
You don’t have to be any age in particular to enjoy the
leading actors in “I’m Not Rappaport.” If Haldoupis chose this play with
Nuernberg and Tapp in mind, I wouldn’t blame him at all: they’re terrific,
capturing every tic, shuffle, and outrageous infirmity of feisty old age to
perfection. And they effortlessly suggest two friends who have known one another
forever. Tapp is even more impressive at the moments when his fear and
confusion show through his bravado. Nuernberg — outstanding in grand roles like
Salieri in “Amadeus” and Henry II in “The Lion in Winter” — might seem miscast for the role of Nat, who like
many of Gardner’s characters is a motor-mouthed Borscht Belt type, but he
brings a wonderful downtrodden dignity to the role and certainly doesn’t miss
any of the humor.
With two such strong leading roles, Gardner’s other
characters can seem like afterthoughts, though he does provide an involving
scene between Nat and Clara (with Bellavia showing
just the right balance of anger and concern); and his nasty characters really
are nasty — they create a jolt when they’re onstage. Petzold
does two different kinds of sleaze, and is particularly good in his take on
Yuppie scum, a term that I suppose was new when this play was written.
Christina Simmons’ appearance as a girl pursued by the dealer is brief but
harrowing; Gardner’s decision not to follow up on her character is even more
disturbing, showing how easily someone can disappear in a huge city.
John Haldoupis’ set design is so
detailed in its evocation of an elegant but somewhat faded corner of Central
Park, from the lights on the bridge overheard to the leaves painted on the
floor, that I spent the intermission gazing at it. Ted Plant’s subtle lighting
design is the very definition of “atmospheric.” Their inspired work gives an
elegiac, autumnal air to a play I wouldn’t have associated with those
adjectives.
This article appears in Oct 29 – Nov 4, 2014.
