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Theater Review: Two fly over the 'Cuckoo's Nest'
Friday, September 24, 1999 By A. Levine
Ken Kesey's anti-conventional novel, "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," nearly biblically begat other versions, being the source of both Dale Wasserman's 1963 play and the 1970 film of the same name. While the book focused on the transcendental, almost religious alignments of mental sense and instability, the movie targeted disdain for authority.
Now, the ultimate progeny: Two theaters in our area, Little Lake and Apple Hill, producing Wasserman's "Cuckoo" simultaneously. And ultimately, while both productions are faithful, one succeeds where the other misses.
Wasserman's work, as any good play, doesn't let higher notions cloud character and conflict. But the notions are there, just the same: Individual vs. institution; personality vs. mindless convention; delicate care vs. oppressive control. One notion looms large: Men are from Mars, and women are from Hell. What this play says about women isn't pretty. But what it says, in relative terms, about men is pretty ugly, too.
Into the prescription drug-induced repression of a too-orderly mental health unit arrives Randle P. McMurphy, archetype of anti-establishment. His admission brings mission and hope to the patients of this "therapeutic community," from the emasculated Harding to the mother-smothered Billy, from the mistreated Chief to the ignored mad bomber. But McMurphy is a threat to the nature of this place, especially to Nurse Ratched, the unit's singularly despotic leader, and their turf struggle surges to a climax unthinkable but inevitable.
The play presumes a persecution of the mentally ill and McMurphy as their salvation. But so much of what troubles these people is off-stage history -- one guy's wife, another's mother, another's father -- that while we may root for McMurphy, his victory wouldn't translate into a pure win for anyone. His try may hurt far more than it helps.
It's a mistake to play Nurse Ratched as a naïve nurse, but it's equally wrong to paint Ratched just wretched. To believe she is wholly evil, we'd also incorrectly accept the absolute good of everything she opposes. Neither is true. At her core this nurse is more complicated than today's managed care. It's also a mistake to play McMurphy as a hero. His pride and stubbornness are not heroic traits. He's self-absorbed and full of angles, happy-go-lucky but less lucky than he might pretend, with a trail of bad turns. Complex characters, for sure.
Here, the two productions diverge by degrees. At Apple Hill, Terri Nelson's Ratched is inexplicably tender, while Rick Dutrow's McMurphy is tough, eyebrows too often arched, and the imbalance tips the show off-center except for the final confrontation where both stand and shine. At Little Lake, Jean Cardello's Ratched is consistently severe, where some soft-shoulder might do, but Nathan Sims' McMurphy hits his notes most consistently, lending an energy and depth to Little Lake's try that's lacking at Apple Hill.
This is a serious play with comic moments. McMurphy says, "You gotta laugh out loud, especially when things ain't funny." But crazy alone ain't funny, it shouldn't be, and this may be one of the play's points. A director's role isn't to elicit response but to manage it. Too often, Apple Hill's Martini (John Trevellini) evokes laughter with frantic antics while something humorless, but important, occurs elsewhere on stage. Little Lake's Edward Tarzia's body language is just as convincing, but thankfully under restraint. This is a director's choice, and it exemplifies the subtle fruit Art DeConciliis culls for Little Lake and where Apple Hill's John Carosella leaves some hanging on the obvious vine.
Apple Hill's production runs at least 15 minutes longer than Little Lake's, a result of wasted time not just between scenes but within them. While DeConciliis' time-management is tight and focused, Carosella's pacing is lazy. At Apple Hill, there are speed-bump beats between talk; at Little Lake, breathless line-stepping saves the day. As a result, action shuffles in one and smacks in the other.
"Cuckoo" requires an able ensemble. Apple Hill's is better than the results would indicate. Ken Solomon's Harding is neatly passive-resistive, afraid to move but unable to stand still. Nicholas Balfe's Billy is nicely sympathetic, and D.T. Martin's Dr. Spivey is rightly disheveled, lending credence to Ratched's overrule
Audio trouble defeats Dale Ruble's chances as Chief.
Little Lake's ensemble is able as well, especially in the roles of Chief (Marcus Muzopappa) and Billy (Chris Bondi); it's easy to stereotype each, but both find diversity to mine. Nancy Mimless is enchanting in the crucial cameo of Candy, a McMurphy groupee. Mark D. Yochum's Dale needs less whine and more wanderlust, and Shawn Garry's Dr. Spivey needs contrition that's less contrived.
That two theaters would choose "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" is more than coincidence, offering comfort that some counterculture can still fit in our culture.
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Details: Apple Hill Playhouse, Manor Road, Delmont; 8 p.m. today and tomorrow; $8-$13; 724-468-5050.