How It’s New York: Václav Havel’s play Leaving is a fabulous play that hasn’t come to New York yet, because its Times review wasn’t strong enough. Unfortunately, that’s typical. New Yorkers are prone to think that if it’s good, we’ll get it. But that isn’t always true. New York also does not have a Czech bookstore, I discovered in the early 90s, when I still thought I would write my dissertation on Karel Capek, inspired by a visit from my brother Matthew Orel’s Czech friend Hanka, who traveled in 1991 to California where we lived then. 1991 was the first time many Czechs could leave the country. She was excited to go to Kentucky Fried Chicken (believe me, by the time I visited her in 1997, and KFC was in Wenceslas Square, that was no longer true).
How It’s Irish: Celto-Slav. The humor in this play, with its allusions to King Lear and The Cherry Orchard, has an Irish irreverence. And the theme taking on overfast economic grown is something Celtic Tiger cubs can surely relate to.
As promised, my review of Havel’s Leaving, in Philadelphia– where I saw it with Books Editor Michelle Woods— and in London the year before.
Leaving
(Photo courtesy Wilma Theater)
Saying that an author “inserts himself into the play” is usually a criticism. But in Leaving, Václav Havel’s first play in 20 years and now getting its U.S. premiere at Philadelphia’s Wilma Theatre, authorial intrusions make the play.
(© Robert Day)
Václav Havel’s new play, Leaving, at the Orange Tree Theatre, turns an ironic, yet hopeful eye to the future, and brilliantly satirizes and poeticizes the current political stage. When soon-to-be-former Chancellor, Dr. Vilem Rieger (Geoffrey Beevers) gives an interview to tabloid reporters, he’s surprised to learn he’s expected to leave the villa too. The new Prime Minister plans to turn a government building into a casino, mall, and strip club. Meanwhile, Rieger’s “long-time companion,” the elegant Zuzana (Faye Castelow), overmanages the politician. Then Havel’s own voice, as voiceover, speaks to the audience: cinnamon in beer, he explains, is authorial whimsy. As the audience begins fidgeting during a long pause without actors, Havel praises “the emptiness of the world concentrated into a few minutes.” The device, both funny and profound, contextualizes Havel as playwright and playwright as theatrical presence. Yet, there are pure theatrical pleasures to be had, too, including a group happy-dance to “Ode to Joy.” Thanks to Sam Walters’ precise direction, the acting never becomes cartoonish, and Paul Wilson’s translation is clear and smart.