Pianissimo, Maestro

THE KEY TO Woody Allen's success as a playwright and as an actor is that he understands so well the real nature of neurotics. Being a neurotic is a life-long affair with its own set of patterns and institutions--unhappy love relationships, psychoanalysis, various combinations of sedatives and stimulants, an acute sensitivity to the sources of one's own pain, and a vivid fantasy life. In between, sometimes in the very midst of periods of depression, the neurotic is capable of remarkable insight into his behavior and its motivation, and yet feels himself entirely incapable of change.

Because he's unable to make decisions, the neurotic adopts an ideal model, and attempts to act as if he were that ideal. But he finds himself hopelessly stymied, since that ideal doesn't correspond at all to his own inner reality. Allan Felix in Play It Again, Sam is haunted by the specter of Bogart--when his wife leaves him, he can only ask himself what Bogey would have done. Bogey would have mended himself with the aid of a little bourbon and soda. But, Allen reflects, if he himself has "one thimbleful of bourbon, I run out and get tattoed."

Now the fact that he's aware of his own ludicrousness doesn't prevent Allan from doing stupid, inappropriate things. In trying to impress a blind date, he anoints himself profusely with Mennen Spray Deodorant, Lavoris, Johnson and Johnson Baby Powder, Canoe and Binaca--leaves Thelonius Monk and Bartok albums strewn "carelessly" about and waxes philosophically ("Pain...it washes memories off the sidewalk of life.") He knows what he's doing, and yet somehow can't restrain himself.

IN HIS RELATION TO characters who have no self-knowledge whatsoever, Allan appears sympathetic and likable. He may seem a little klutzy attempting to pick up a woman in the Museum of Modern Art, but in contrast to her he is perfectly comprehensible.

Allan: Uh...that's quite a lovely Franz Kline, isn't it?

Girl: Yes, it is.

Allan: What does it say to you?

Girl: It restates the negativeness of the universe. The hideous, lonely emptiness of existence--nothingness--the predicament of man, forced to live in a barren, godless eternity, like a tiny flame flickering in an immense void--with nothing but waste, horror, and degradation--forming a useless, bleak straitjacket in a black absurd cosmos.

Allan: What are you doing Saturday night?

Skip Mendler's portrayal of Allan Felix in the Winthrop House Dramatics Society production of Play It Again, Sam lacks the essential element of restraint. Mendler is not lacking in energy. But his performance forces us to believe that Allan is constantly operating at a feverish pitch of anxiety through the several weeks of action that elapse in the play. As portrayed by Mendler, Allan has very little interest for us; watching him quickly becomes monotonous.

There are no moments in this production when we feel that Allan is looking at himself in the same way that we look at him, none of the quiet self-denigration that marked Woody Allen's film. In its stead, we find hysteria bordering on lunacy, which appeals neither to our intellect nor to our sense of humor.

It's unfortunate that director Leah Rosovsky didn't modify the tone of Mendler's performance, because the cast of supporting characters is perfectly competent. Tony Gittelson, as Allan's friend Dick Christie, captures the essence of the New York corporate man attached to his telephone as if it were an umbilical cord. His wife Linda (Lisa Wolfson) is presented with just the right blend of hard ambition and self-doubt. But the core is missing; without a sufficiently interesting Allan to play off of, these peripheral characters remain self-contained and unable to compensate for the show's central failure.

Woody Allen wrote a very funny play, and the problems that plague the Wintrop House production are not irresoluble. Hopefully, when Mendler plays it again this weekend, he will play it a little more softly.