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Film Review: "Iron Man 3" Marks a Maturing Superhero

"Iron Man 3"
Directed by Shane Black
Starring Robert Downey Jr., Gwyneth Paltrow, Guy Pearce, Don Cheadle, Rebecca Hall and Ben Kingsley
Superhero/Adventure/Sci-Fi
130 Mins
PG-13


With Iron Man 3, the Marvel brand has tried something new and shown that they have some tricks up their sleeves after all. Up until now, every Marvel film has been an origin of sorts- Iron Man, Thor and Captain America all fleshed out the roots of individuals who were soon-to-be involved in a superhero collective and even Iron Man 2 served as more as an introduction to The Avengers than a story functioning aptly on its own. Iron Man 3, however, tells a most self-contained story that's got more pithy humor, high gloss action, unexpected twists and turns and its fair share of jarring narrative jumpiness.

The beginning of this tale finds Tony Stark offering up a confessional of sorts. He's reconciling with his demons in the aftermath of the New York incident where he nearly died on the other side of a wormhole in a galaxy far, far away. This healing process is proving harder than he may have first assumed. Killing terrorists and blasting baddies may be one thing but a panic attack is something else entirely and seems more alien to Stark than...aliens. Flirting with death is heavy stuff, no doubt, but it's hard to wallow too much in the mire when there's yet another madman at large with a penchant for blowing people up, especially when they set their sights on you.
 
The Iron Man franchise feels as topical now as it did in 2008 as the continuing themes of terrorism are lasting landmarks in our world society. Although the bombings that take place in this film seem to be serendipitously ill-timed in the wake of the recent Boston attacks, the coincidence is no more than just that. The resulting cultural impact is questionable though as the Marvel Universe is a  very sterilized world lacking blood or bodies, the real consequence of war and terrorism. I can't really gripe about the watering down of any political or cultural significance because, well, this is a wide-netted PG-13 Marvel flick. While I would love to see a hard-R version that really disembowels the messy themes of terrorism and vigilante justice, I guess we will all have to settle with the popcorn action that we get.




Continuing to play a role that he seems born to play, Robert Downey Jr. is as suitable as ever as the motormouth Tony Stark and his quips come fast and loose. Even more than before, Iron Man 3 aims for comedy and delivers well tempered laugh-out-loud moments as well as the smirking, sardonic wit we have come to expect from Mr. Stark. The Marvel universe has seemed to carve out its own niche little brand of humor that, however broad in appeal, feels quite genuine to the world that they have created. There's a little moment when an unnamed henchman surrenders to Stark and makes a little comment about how he doesn't even like his employers. It got quite a rise out of me and it's snappy and odd humor like this that defines the levity of the franchise.

Even while upping the laughter ante, the film feels more grounded and psychologically taxing. While its predecessor, Iron Man 2, attempted to show Tony Stark battling with the weight of his new found persona, it's in this installment that anything has any clout. No holds bar, this third installment is head and shoulders superior to Iron Man 2. Whereas that film attempted to skate by on Downey's easy charisma and extensive suggestibility towards the larger Marvel universe, this film is happy to strip things down to barebones and start afresh.


Similarly to Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol, Iron Man 3 takes jabs at our utter dependence on faltering technology. Instead of all the high-tech, mecha-as-God gloss, we see the more unvarnished side of the equation where suits malfunction and break down, GPS fails and people are bonking their heads left and right. It's a craft little side arc that serves as a parallel to Stark's perception that he and his suit are inseparable entities as well as some social commentary on our ever-increasing dependence on anything battery-powered. Like Stark, the more reliant we are on tech, the more we lose our ability to stand on our own two feet.

Fleshing out the ensemble are all the series regulars performing more than sufficiently. Gwyneth Paltrow returns as Pepper Potts and has really been given a great opportunity to round out her character throughout the series. From her meek roots in the first installment to her almost super-hero personality at the end of the franchise, Potts is an interesting female character who has run the gamut on female character tropes. She's been the mild assistant, the secret crush, the self-empowered business woman, the concerned lover, the savvy partner and finally the commanding power-top. Of all the characters in the series, she has evolved the most and finds the most interesting beats in this installment.


Don Cheadle fills out the suit of the Iron Patriot, the military-officer-formerly-known as War Machine. After a little re-branding, Colonel James Rhodes has doubled down his efforts as a US piece of military might/war deterrent and his once rocky relationship with Tony Stark is now fixed up back to buddy-buddy status. One of the biggest bonuses for this film was seeing the actors actually getting to do some of the action sans the suits. Seeing Cheadle rock it bare bones and fire off his pistol Lethal Weapon-style left me with the impression that the powers that be might just see as a natural successor for Downey once he abandons his post as Iron Man.   


Now, I'm still kind of making up my mind about the whole villain part of the equation. First off, Guy Pearce is unfortunately underplayed in the marketing. His character was slimy, power-hungry and just a force to be reckoned with. Pearce easily has one of the most impressive resumes of the actors here and yet seems to go largely ignored. The guy seems to be a good luck charm for Oscar films having worked on The Hurt Locker and The King's Speech, two films that won Best Picture in a three year span, so it's always odd to me when someone like this slips under the radar.


It's like all the cool kids had a pool party and he didn't quite made the cut even though he's clearly the under-championed coolest of them all. Personally, I had no idea how significant his role would be and I'm all the more grateful that a talent as strong as Pearce could head up the villainy department. It's nothing of the Heath Ledger Joker caliber but it's far better than the immeasurable cannon of superhero baddies.

As far as Ben Kingsley goes, Marvel and Co obviously played his role in the series rather close to the chest so I'd rather not discuss him at length other to say that his performance came as quite a jarring surprise. However unexpected, it's little bits like this that show that Kevin Feige et al really understand the media starosphere that they are functioning within and are able to manipulate it to their advantage AND the advantage of their audiences. And finally, a quick note on Rebecca Hall: throw-away character.


Where the other Iron Man movies have depended on climaxes that pit metal-on-metal, the action here is far superior. Instead of the tired and inconsequential pounding of iron suits, the fiery Extremis enemies offer some variety both from a visual and blocking standpoint. Director Shane Black handles the action sequences in a cool and casual way, fishing for the feeling of 90's action buddy comedies and has caught it hook-line-and-sinker even with all the iron suits and a legion of CGI wizards standing behind him. Although the spectacle doesn't quite match the awing wow of The Avengers, it is just as much fun and even more impressive considering it's more limited budget.

Now that all is said and done, the question that remains is will we see Iron Man again? Surely. And while it's easy to stick holes in the lack of the rest of the Marvel characters here, this is a more intimate and personal story. If anything, this is more Tony Stark's tale than Iron Man's. Big set events included, Stark is out of the suit for the majority of the action sequences and this gives the action more of a sense of consequence than it had before.Even though the participation of the Avengers would surely have eased the situation a bit, there was not necessarily a need for the whole crew of supes.

There is a necessary amount of forgiveness involved in the Marvel Movie Universe but if you're willing to engage and let this world full of superheroes and supervillians continue to grow and spread it's roots, then this is a worthwhile stepping stone along the long and winding road. However inconsequentially the end result is, Iron Man 3 is buttery blockbuster fare hitting the right notes.

April '13 Digital Week IV

Blu-rays of Week
The Central Park Five
(PBS)
Ken Burns, his daughter Sarah Burns and her husband David McMahon made this straightforwardly shocking documentary set in 1989 when New York City was aghast by the horrific Central Park jogger rape case and the rounding up of five “wilding” teens.
 
They were found guilty and sentenced to prison, but there have always been question marks, and after a man serving time for another murder confessed, they were set free. This riveting account of failed and belated justice is a must-watch. The Blu-ray image is excellent; extras are additional interviews and updates.
 
Cheech & Chong’s Animated Movie
(Fox)
Cheech Marin and Tommy Chong’s greatest comedic hits are strung together in an animated misfire that hopes its audience wants to go back in time to the pair’s early ‘70s stoner-style comedy.
 
Of course, those who are in the mood will enjoy it; C&C amusingly voice every role, but the blissfully stoned jokes and gags are as stale as a 40-year-old bag of weed. The mostly crude animation looks decent on Blu-ray; extras comprise four separate commentaries.
 
 
 
 
Django Unchained
(Lionsgate)
While no Quentin Tarantino fan, I never found his films—even the ludicrous Hitler revenge fantasy Inglorious Basterds—outright despicable: until now. Not only does he indulge in another lunatic fantasy (this time, it’s slavery), but he gleefully revels in gore that any filmmaker with artistry would avoid.
 
Disastrously overwrought performances—that Christoph Waltz won a second Oscar for his intolerable hamminess, along with Tarantino’s second statuette for (abominable) screenplay, shows that the Academy remains clueless—underscore a movie only the uncritical can enjoy. The Blu-ray image is great; extras are featurettes.
 
Gangster Squad
(Warners)
With its pieces in place—gangsters, heroic/crooked cops, femme fatales, dowdy wives—director Ruben Fleischer does little more than fashion a competent crime drama comprising what appear to be a selection of scenes reminiscent of other, better movies.
 
Even the actors—good ones like Sean Penn and Ryan Gosling and hit-or-miss ones like Nick Nolte, Josh Brolin and a woeful Emma Stone—can’t bail out this rote, unexciting movie. The Blu-ray image looks terrific; extras include a commentary, deleted scenes.
 
 
 
 
Mr. Selfridge
(PBS)
In the latest British import for PBS’s Masterpiece, Jeremy Piven is Harry Gordon Selfridge, an American entrepreneur who opened London’s first department store in the early 1900s. The show is fun when sticking to the nuts and bolts of the store opening, so it’s too bad that there’s not more of this in creator Andrew Davies’s scripts and less soapy goings-on about Selfridge, the beautiful actress with whom he flirts and his wife.
 
Piven comes off as too contemporary as Selfridge, but the rest of the cast—led by beautiful Australian Frances O’Connor as his American wife—is fine. The Blu-ray image looks lovely; extras are making-of featurettes.
 
Pawn
(Anchor Bay)
What starts as a routine thriller in a diner—where miscalculating robbers find themselves in trouble after thinking they’d be gone quickly—becomes a routine puzzle: if someone seems a good guy he’s almost assuredly bad (and vice versa), so it ends up as meaningless as its drab title.
 
Still, its interesting small-town atmosphere and solid actors (Michael Chilkis, Ray Liotta, Forrest Whitaker and Nikki Reed, now an assured adult actress after Thirteen and various Twilights) doing what they can help director David A. Armstrong and writer Jerome Anthony White’s so-so film, which looks good on Blu-ray. The lone extra is an on-set featurette.
 
Pierre Etaix
(Criterion)
The Criterion Collection’s two-disc set of French comic Pierre Etaix’s obscure films comprise five features and three shorts, various legal entanglements keeping them out of circulation for nearly decades (they date from 1961 to 1971). Despite such notoriety, the inventive Etaix comes off as a funny but essentially second-rate talent too reminiscent of previous comic masters like Buster Keaton (whom his hangdog face resembles), Jacques Tati (whose style he copied) and Jerry Lewis (than whom he’s at least more subtle).
 
Still, this set contains valuable finds that look immaculate in hi-def after their 2011 restoration. Extras include Etaix’s new intros and an hour-long profile, Pierre Etaix, un destin animé.
 
DVDs of the Week
Drive-In Collection—The Suckers and The Love Garden
(Vinegar)
Anyone with low expectations while watching the flicks in this “Drive-In Collection” won’t be disappointed, since the two features are disjointed, laughable and ridiculous in the best sense of those words…in other words, perfectly trashy drive-in fodder.
 
The Suckers, a silly Most Dangerous Game rip-off, mixes semi-explicit sex scenes with killings as the cast gets off then is offed one by one; The Love Garden is an alternately erotic and boring exploration of a ménage a trois.
 
 
 
Future Weather
(Virgil)
In Jenny Deller’s provocative character study, Perla Haney-Jardine gives a daring portrayal of a teen loner who decides that ecological disaster awaits and takes matters into her own hands, with shocking results.
 
She is matched by an equally fearless Amy Madigan as her hard-bitten grandmother, while the usually annoying Marin Ireland registers strongly as the girl’s selfish mother. Deller doesn’t cop out, which is more than can be said for most directors nowadays. Extras are deleted scenes.
 
The Life and Times of Hank Greenberg
(Ciesla)
Aviva Kempner’s celebrated 2000 documentary—which introduced to many, even rabid baseball fans, the glorious story of the first star Jewish player in the major leagues, who came within a few dingers of Babe Ruth’s home run record—returns in a two-disc special edition.
 
In addition to the now-classic film and Kempner’s informative audio commentary on disc one, a second disc contains two hours of deleted scenes, from Greenberg’s exploits on the field to his importance as a Jewish symbol, especially during the Nazi era, when racism was displayed right in front of him on the field.
 
 
Owen Wingrave
(Arthaus Musik)
Benjamin Britten’s penultimate opera was composed in 1970 during the Vietnam War: the lifelong pacifist set Myfanwy Piper’s terse libretto about a young man in a British military family becoming an outcast due to his pacifism. The brittle score is occasionally brilliant; Britten set Piper’s words with a clarity that makes his anti-war screed digestible to those listening closely.
 
This 2001 British TV film, imaginatively directed by Margaret Williams, has stellar singer-performers: Gerald Finley is a sympathetic Owen, Martyn Hill is his stubborn grandfather and Josephine Barstow is a domineering aunt. Not Britten’s best, it may be his most important work.
 
Wuthering Heights
(Oscilloscope)
Andrea Arnold’s grimy, unheroic version of Emily Bronte’s novel goes in the other direction from the adaptations before it, as if the only choices are overwrought melodrama and ugly lack of dramatics.
 
Visually, the film has it all over perfumed Heights, with dingy interiors and dreary-looking outdoors perfectly encapsulating this messy, unromantic world. Unfortunately, although Arnold’s cast—mainly unknown amateurs—has the requisite look, it can’t bring Bronte’s complicated emotions to life. A video essay is the lone extra.
 
 
 
CD of the Week
Braunfels—Te Deum
(Acanta)
Walter Braunfels is another master composer whose career was killed by the Nazis, who considered his music degenerate. Best known for his extraordinary comic opera The Birds, Braunfels wrote many inventive orchestral scores, like this stirring choral work, heard in its 1952 premiere for the composer’s 70th birthday (he died two years later).
 
Written to celebrate the Catholic faith he left Judaism for, his score is filled with glorious vocal sections, sung by the Gurzenich Choir and soloists Leonie Rysinek and Helmut Melchert, and played by the Kolner Rundfunk Symphony Orchestra, confidently led by conductor by Gunter Ward.
 

Film Review: "Mud" Tells Grimy, Modern Fairy Tale

"Mud"
Directed by Jeff Nichols
Starring Matthew McConaughey, Reese Witherspoon, Tye Sheridan, Jacob Lofland, Michael Shannon
Drama
130 Mins
R


From the first time we meet the titular character in Mud, we know that there is something strangely magical about him - a forty-something hobo (but don’t call him a bum) living out of a tree-ridden boat in the midst of a deserted island. Cut through the many layers of caked-up dirt and ignore the .45 hanging out of his pants and you see a fully grown man-child living out his own never-never land fantasy - a postmodern Peter Pan who’s been trapped in a cyclical time warp, chasing down the ever-fleeting girl of his dreams.

Mud is a coming-of-age story for adults and children alike that weaves a meaningful fable about the disillusioned and discarded coming to terms with the harsh reality of their evaporating worlds.Matthew McConaughey disappears into this snaggle-toothed ruffian Mud, grounding this dreamlike down-by-the-bayou yarn with a believable but odd backbone. McConaughey's performance is delicate and unique, dark and nuanced offering award-caliber work.

Tye Sheridan and Jacob Lofland play Ellis and Neckbone, a pair of scrappy teenagers living in the backcountry of Arkansas. When the duo comes across a mysterious boat jammed in a crook of a tree in the woods, they discover that an wanderer named Mud has taken up shop there. As Ellis grows closer to Mud, he learns that Mud is a fugitive on the lamb who intends to sweep up his lost love and whisk her away to a "better life." Although we can see that Mud's hapless lifestyle is hardly from the pages of a fantasy book, Ellis, having discovered that his parents are splitting up, decides to fight for "true love" and aids Mud's quest to reunite with his splintered love and make the tree-boat seaworthy again.
 

Since so much of the film is anchored on Sheridan and Lofland's performances, director Jeff Nichols is lucky to have found such a pair of authentic young actors. While Lofland's oddly named Neckbone plays nicely as the comedic relief (rifling off cusses and indecencies well over his age), Sheridan is the true heart of the story. His wide-eyed curiosity and irreverent attitude towards his elders makes him a captivating combination of esoteric traits.

On one side of the spectrum, Ellis is an uncommonly brave young man, willing to fight people far older and bigger than him if he deems it right, and yet there is a palpable and tragic sense of naivety to him. He's a small fish in a big ocean and this little guppy hasn't really encountered the adult world, even though he likes to think that cruising around on a dirt bike and playing rebel makes him a bona fide BA. Like walking in on a kid learning that Santa Claus ain't real, we witness Ellis as he encounters disillusionment and heart break to poignant and intimate results.



The detailed sense of place in this story is wonderfully articulated and takes on a murky character of its own. The dirty, brown, ugly river running through the story is a Giving Tree of sorts. It provides with no thought for itself and everyone who lives on the river seems to be living off of it in one way or another. Ellis's father catches and sells from his riverside shanty, Neckbone's uncle dives for mussels and pearls and even Mud seems to have emerged mysteriously from the riverbed like an Uruk Hai from a birthing pit.

Unfolding on this mucky river is a growing sense of wonder and mystery that seems to mimic the outlook of a child. Even in his world of recycled possessions and mud-stained belongings, everything seems so full of intrigue and promise. But things are not always as they seem and nothing is black and white in Nichol's film. Every one has their own indiscretions and share of mistakes but that doesn't necessarily make them bad, it just...makes them. This is the case with Reese Witherspoon’s character Juniper - a kind but lecherous soul. Her helpless love with Mud is at once pure and manipulative and in the end our impressions of any one of these characters is limited by our brief encounters with them.


Neckbone's uncle Galen, played in a bit-part by Michael Shannon, offers an anecdote that seems to encapsulate the magic of the film. Looking up at his ceiling fan winding overhead, he muses to his nephew that it's the best ceiling fan that he's ever had, finer than all the other ceiling fans he's ever owned, and yet he found it on the bottom of the river. Who or why someone threw it out is a mystery to him but as the adage goes "one man's trash is another man's treasure". To extend this metaphor to Mud (both the character and the film,) even people who have been thrown away, mistreated or discarded can be worth saving and may just be the finest things of all. They just may need some re-wiring.

Themes of innocence lost and re-invigoration of character are beautifully woven into the subtext and come across as potent and intoxicating, allowing Mud to be something to dwell on rather than watch once and dismiss. It's a surprisingly tender film that, like its characters, wears its heart on its sleeve. As a postmodern tale of virtue gone slumming and a story of the veracity of the human spirit, Mud is a tremendously heart-warming and gritty modern day fairy tale.

B+

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On Broadway: “Orphans,” “The Nance, “The Big Knife,” “The Assembled Parties”

Orphans

Written by Lyle Kessler; directed by Daniel Sullivan
Performances through June 30, 2013

 

The Nance
Written by Douglas Carter Beane; directed by Jack O’Brien
Performances through June 16, 2013

 

The Big Knife
Written by Clifford Odets; directed by Doug Hughes
Performances through June 2, 2013

 

The Assembled Parties
Written by Richard Greenberg; directed by Lynne Meadow
Performances through June 16, 2013
 
Sturridge, Baldwin and Foster in Orphans (photo: Joan Marcus)
 
The trio we meet in a shabby Philly apartment in Lyle Kessler’s obvious Orphans—tough guy Treat, his autistic brother Philip and their shady victim Harold, who shares the place with them after foiling Treat’s kidnaping attempt—charts a predictable path from the get-go.
 
It opens with Treat returning from a day of petty thievery and showing his meager wares to Philip, too scared to leave the house by Treat’s warning that he’ll die in the outside world: he’s content to eat tuna sandwiches with mayo and watch reruns of old movies on TV. When Treat brings home and ties up Harold—drunken, dapper, with a briefcase—the dynamics unsurprisingly shift. After untying the ropes, Harold ingratiates himself with Philip then Treat; soon Harold (also an orphan, he says) becomes a father surrogate to the parentless pair.
 
The solid 1987 movie version, directed by Alan Pakula, comprised a strong ensemble in Albert Finney (Harold), Matthew Modine (Treat) and Kevin Anderson (Philip). On Broadway, Daniel Sullivan directs with a veteran hand on John Lee Beatty’s authentically dilapidated set, while the three actors—Alec Baldwin (a poised Harold), Ben Foster (a wishy-washy Treat) and Jim Sturridge (an astonishingly gymnastic Philip)—never find the right rhythms to keep this crudely metaphorical drama together for two hours.
 
Nathan Lane in The Nance (photo: Joan Marcus)

 

The Nance, Douglas Carter Beane’s best idea yet for a play, is an alternately hard-edged and corny study of a “nance,” a vaudeville/burlesque-era performer whose blatant swishiness onstage belied his offstage heterosexuality—usually.
 
This is the 1930s, when “deviant” love dared not speak its name. Beane introduces Chauncey, a famous nance and self-hating right-winger, in an automat, where—as is his custom—he picks up willing young men for a rendezvous. Whom he meets, however—just off the bus from Buffalo—is studly Ned, and their anonymous tryst becomes a live-in relationship, something Chauncey has studiously avoided, to avoid unneeded questions about his personal life, until now.
 
Labor strife and New York police crackdowns make life miserable for Chauncey and his co-performers: his onstage partner/boss Efram and dancers Carmen, Joan and Sylvie, the last with whom he jousts repeatedly over her Communist talk and his staunchly anti-FDR/New Deal position. The drama comes to a head when Chauncey refuses to be cowed by police threats and is hauled off to jail after he camps it up onstage with an in-their-face defiance.
 
Despite dramatic clunkiness, Beane adroitly mixes backstage, offstage and onstage happenings, with Chauncey and pals’ routines played out in their entirety—sometimes too much of a (not always) good thing. Despite its ungainliness, director Jack O’Brien cannily makes The Nance Broadway’s most entertaining new show by mixing Nathan Lane’s naturally hammy Chauncey with grounded supporting performances (except Jonny Orsini’s lunkheaded boytoy Ned). Add in the clean efficiency in sets, costumes, lighting and music and The Nance is a more accomplished as a spectacle than as a semi-serious drama.
 
Ireland and Cannavale in The Big Knife (photo: Joan Marcus)

The recent Golden Boy revival showed there’s still life in Clifford Odets’ plays—earnestly hard-nosed morality tales—provided there’s a pitch-perfect production. The return of The Big Knife—written in 1948, long after seminal works like Golden Boy, Waiting for Lefty and Awake and Sing!—proves that Odets doesn’t work when the staging isn’t on his wavelength.
 
The play concerns Charlie Castle, a studio system star—living the high life in a gorgeous Hollywood home (John Lee Beatty’s magnificent set is the best I’ve seen in awhile)—who decides he no longer wants to be chained to Marcus Hoff and Hoff Studios. He’s also dealing with his estranged wife Marion, gofer Buddy Bliss (whose flirty wife Connie Charlie has a fling with), agent Nat Danzinger, ingénue Dixie Evans and Hoff’s right-hand man Smiley Coy (what a name!), always around to fix the messes Charlie gets into.
 
Odets’ dialogue oscillates between poetic epiphanies and pretentious platitudes, often in the same speech. His heart is in the right place, but by making the far-from-innocent Charlie a bastion of integrity, Odets stumbles trying to find a dramatically satisfying conclusion to his hero’s murderously messy situation. Emotions and tempers flare but remain on the surface.
 
Doug Hughes’ soporific staging leaves his actors flailing. Richard Kind’s blustering Marcus and Reg Rogers’s rat-like Smiley are too loud, the women—Marin Ireland’s schoolmarmish Marion, Ana Reeder’s lummox-like Connie, Rachel Brosnahan’s perky Dixie—can’t escape caricature, and Bobby Cannavale—the endlessly resourceful actor from The Motherfucker with the Hat—is unable to inject needed humanity into Charlie, a protagonist who remains flat and uninteresting.
 
The cast of The Assembled Parties (photo: Joan Marcus)
 

Richard Greenberg’s The Assembled Parties follows a Jewish family, the Bascovs, at Christmas parties 20 years apart—in 1980 (dawn of Reagan) and 2000 (beginning of George W. Bush). If that doesn’t underline its overly schematic approach, let me add that this family—the members of which are nearly all witty wisecrackers—is as much a maze as its gigantic 14-room Central Park West apartment (in which family members who have visited for years get lost).
 
The play revolves around matriarch Julie, sister-in-law Faye and Jeff, friend of Julie’s college-age son Scotty, leaving in the dust Julie’s husband Ben, Faye’s husband Mort and daughter Shelley, and Julie and Ben’s young son Tim—who at least grows up and appears in 2000. (Greenberg relegates Shelley to an Act II phone call and kills off Ben, Mort and Scotty, resorting to mumbles about shady doings and AIDS, none of which is explained or explored compellingly enough: perhaps an earlier draft fleshed out what now remains as unconvincing melodrama.)
 
Although the second act nods toward major revelations and insights, none is forthcoming: instead, improbable one-liners keep going, stale Reagan jokes morph into stale Dubya jokes (all natural crowd-pleasers) and Greenberg, unable to become our new Bernard Shaw, must settle for being our new Neil Simon.
 
Jessica Hecht’s now-standard mannered line readings—also annoying in last season’s Harvey—prevent Julie from becoming the towering heroine Greenberg has written her as, while the always amusing Judith Light trots out similarly drunken witticisms for Faye that served the actress far better in Jon Robin Baitz’s superior Other Desert Cities.
 
Jeremy Shamos makes Jeff a sympathetic figure, but Mark Blum, Jonathan Walker and Jake Silberman do little as the other underwritten men. Santo Loquasto’s stylishly plush set unerringly recreates the place such families live in, but Lynne Meadow’s straightforward direction does this overstuffed but undernourished play no favors.
 
Orphans
Schoenfeld Theatre, 236 West 45th Street, New York, NY
 
The Nance
Lyceum Theatre, 149 West 45th Street, New York, NY
 
The Big Knife
American Airlines Theatre, 227 West 42nd Street, New York, NY
 
The Assembled Parties
Friedman Theatre, 261 West 47th Street, New York, NY
 

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