TT: Sauce for the gander

In today’s Wall Street Journal drama column I write about a Chicago show, Writers’ Theatre’s revival of Tom Stoppard’s The Real Thing, and an off-Broadway show, the Atlantic Theatre Company’s premiere of Adam Rapp’s Dreams of Flying Dreams of Falling. The first is better–by far. Here’s an excerpt.
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Tom Stoppard is known for writing plays of ideas that are sufficiently witty to sugar the pill of their eggheady subject matter. “The Real Thing,” though it contains far more than its fair share of glittering wit and bristling complications, is a play of a different sort, a study of a modern marriage built atop the wreckage of unfaithfulness that threatens to be destroyed by the same destructive force that brought it into being. Small wonder that three decades after it opened in London, “The Real Thing” remains Mr. Stoppard’s best-loved play. Not surprisingly, it gets done fairly often, but I doubt that “The Real Thing” will soon receive a better production than the one now playing at Chicago’s Writers’ Theatre. Staged with heartfelt clarity by Michael Halberstam, the company’s artistic director, this is the kind of show that reminds you of why you go to the theater in the first place, and makes you wonder why anybody settles for anything less….
Mr. Halberstam, whom New York audiences know as the director of “A Minister’s Wife,” has given us an unusually intimate staging of “The Real Thing” that profits no end from being performed in Writers’ Theatre’s 108-seat house. Punch lines that would need to be nailed to the back wall of a Broadway-sized theater can instead be tossed off with deceptive casualness, allowing the audience to concentrate not on Mr. Stoppard’s jokes but on the increasingly hurtful truths that his characters tell one another….
The ever-trendy Adam Rapp is at it again with “Dreams of Flying Dreams of Falling,” a play that is as trite as it is smug. The setting is “an opulent Connecticut home” and the subject is the soulnessness of the upper middle classes, whose members, Mr. Rapp assures us, are empty shells of brittle good manners whose only hope of redemption is to have wild sex and/or to be led by their black servants down the path to politico-spiritual enlightenment….
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Read the whole thing here.