Joan Marcus "Deuce," the new play by Terrence McNally, stars Marian Seldes, left, and Angela Lansbury as a famous tennis doubles team, reunited at a tournament where they will be honored.

NEW YORK -- In a recent Post-Gazette interview, David Hare pointed out it's easier for British playwrights than Americans to get plays (as distinct from musicals) produced on Broadway.

Or does it just seem that way? It's not really easy for anyone: There were only nine new plays produced in the theatrical year just ended at the midtown Manhattan theaters which bear the brand name "Broadway." But of those nine, five were by Brits and just four by Americans.

Of course, established names always get an easier welcome, and there are some names in both camps -- Hare and Tom Stoppard among the Brits, Terrence McNally and August Wilson among the Americans. But an established name is no consumer guarantee, witness McNally's "Deuce," which is marginal. The British "Frost/Nixon," however, succeeds; and the British "Coram Boy" deserved to, but didn't.

'Deuce'

"Deuce" is so devoid of McNally's usual wit and insight that we do him a favor to assume that, rather than a failed play, it was never meant to be more than a calculated star vehicle for its two famous actors, Angela Lansbury and Marian Seldes.

There's nothing wrong with that. Lansbury was once a Broadway queen, winning four best actress Tonys, so her return to the Broadway stage more than 20 years later is welcome. Seldes, meanwhile, is stage royalty and has worked regularly both on Broadway and off. Seeing them together has its undoubted thrill.

That's even though Seldes is more on her game than Lansbury. Why not? Seldes' stage acting muscles are in sharper trim. If it were a match (but it's not), I'd say Seldes won 6-3, 7-5 -- which suggests that as Lansbury gets warmed up, she puts up more of a fight.

The two play a famous tennis doubles team, winner of many grand slam championships, reunited now in box seats at a tournament where they will be honored. They haven't seen each other for 10 years, but McNally doesn't plant any explosive revelations, just small ones. Mainly, they chat about the current state of tennis and of their lives, with all the drama of a playwright running down a checklist of obvious topics: the money today's stars make, the lesbian factor, their own rivalry and so on.

This obviousness is extended by an elderly fan who remembers their glory days and lectures us about them like a Greek chorus. In this sense, "Deuce" is more sports column than play.

Also obvious but livelier is a male-female broadcasting team who keep telling us about the day's guests of honor. McNally makes good comic fun of these announcers' self-importance.

But he never fully personalizes Leona and Midge, the women Lansbury and Seldes play. They quarrel almost at random, then deliver nostalgic monologues, the attitudes they reveal seemingly motivated by contrariness rather than coherent character.

	Joan Marcus Frank Langella seems a sure bet to win the Tony Award as Richard Nixon in "Frost/Nixon." Click photo for larger image.

Lansbury's Midge is said to come from Pittsburgh, where her father was an Incline conductor. "What's an Incline conductor?" ask the sportscasters, who then explain. I assume we owe this detail to McNally's many visits to Pittsburgh to see the family of his longtime partner.

At The Music Box, 239 W. 45th St.; call 1-800-432-7250.

'Frost/Nixon'

This is a vehicle, too, in the sense of showcasing a remarkable performance. But this vehicle provides substantive support.

The subject is David Frost's several-day 1977 interview with former president Richard Nixon. Playwright Peter Morgan (better known for his theatrical movies, "The Queen" and "The Last King of Scotland") finds dramatic conflict in whether Frost will get the interview, whether he can find the backing to pull it off, whether he has the substance to make it more than fluff and, ultimately, whether he can get the evasive Nixon to admit to his own failings, especially in Watergate.

Some of this feels forced, heightened by simplistic either-or debates among Frost's advisers, and even the ultimate struggle over Watergate feels exaggerated and the public effect of the interviews overstated. In other words, the play participates in what it says is the nature of TV, to spin small insights into cataclysms.

But any irritation you might feel at this hype becomes irrelevant beside the fascination of Frank Langella's portrait of Nixon. As he grows, Michael Sheen's glib and lightweight Frost also seems to grow, and we experience real human drama.

Gradually, Nixon's neuroses peek through his surface competence and command. As a turning point, Morgan imagines a late-night phone call from a drunken Nixon, confiding strangely in his adversary. It gives Frost just enough insight to catch Nixon off guard on air and force him to admit more than he intends -- except at some level Nixon may actually want Frost to help him come clean.

That's psychologically exciting. But whatever happens, it's beyond explanation: Langella's Nixon somehow magically gains stature, such that his sudden deflation has the full impact of a classic tragic fall, reminding us that a tragic hero need not be admirable for us to feel his full tragic impact.

It's very moving, and with due nods to Sheen, the many advisers and others who swell the play into something more than one-on-one, playwright Morgan and director Michel Grandage, it relied almost entirely on Langella. He will doubtless be rewarded with the Tony he has earned.

At Bernard Jacobs Theatre, 242 W. 45th St.; call 1-800-432-7250.

'Coram Boy'

This big Dickensian melodrama of exploitation and redemption in 18th-century London is a complex tale of a grisly trade in unwanted babies and orphans, set at a rich Gloucestershire estate and in the London orphanage established by Thomas Coram. It has a rich musical score drawing heavily on Handel, a Coram patron who is a character in the play, and the cast of 20 was supported by an orchestra and a choir of 20 more.

The result is an emotional tale of growth, dark despair and revelation, beautifully staged with story theater invention by Melly Still, rising to such a crescendo that it seems perfectly fitting that Handel's Hallelujah chorus serves as a final coda.

The acting, which largely depends on some very skilled women who play the boys and young men central to the story, is also very fine. So it is something of a mystery to me why I wasn't more moved. Perhaps there's a disjunction between the story, which consumes our interest, and the music, which offers the characters spiritual relief. I don't think the creators have sufficiently tied the music to the play's deeper emotional rhythms.

But that's just a guess. "Coram Boy" was a big success at London's National Theatre, as it must have been to encourage such a monster production on Broadway, and yet it didn't catch on and closed early, two days ago.