A lot has changed since the original 1968 Broadway run of Neil Simon’s Plaza Suite with Maureen Stapleton and George C. Scott. (Mike Nichols won the best director Tony Award. A 1971 film followed.) Now certifiably a chestnut, only starpower could’ve seen it produced, only fine acting could’ve helped it out of mothballs. The first, we have. The second not so much.
In the late 1960s, three vignettes manifest visits to the same room at iconic Hotel Plaza. Act I: A Visitor from Mamaroneck plays best. Karen Nash excitedly sets up the room in which she spent her honeymoon for what she thinks will be a 23 year (or 24 – neither are sure) anniversary celebration. Her dour husband Sam loses no time in pouring cold water on his wife’s high spirits. He’s selfish, inattentive, obtuse…and must, he says, go back to the office. Things move from bad to worse. Michael Broderick is credible, if one-tone. Parker’s Karen goes through multiple stages of hope, frustration, resignation, anxiety, anger, and fear. Her best moments.
Act II: A Visitor From Hollywood finds film producer Jesse Kiplinger in New York on business, hosting his suburban high school girlfriend Muriel Tate 17 years later. Jesse, who’s had had several mercenary wives, sets the scene for (1 ½ hours no calls) seduction. Despite obsessively following his career, his former flame, now married with children, has convinced herself she’s just coming to say hello. Whether Jesse’s gushing admiration is real (he sees her as refreshing, innocent) is beside the point. With successive vodka stingers, Muriel’s self-delusion turns to celebrity-worship lust. Parker’s comic timing is surprising off. Broderick’s kiss looks fake. Couch awkwardness seems manufactured.
Act III: A Visitor From Forest Hills could be productively edited. The most farcical scenario, it centers on the wedding day of Norma and Roy Hubley’s daughter Mimsey who’s locked herself in the bathroom while sixty guests cool their heels downstairs. Discovering why the (silent) girl is suddenly reticent and extricating her is the task of increasingly desperate parents. There are funny moments, but most are diminished by overt self-awareness.
Director John Benjamin Hickey makes his actors responsible for considerable physical comedy. Neither are expert with this, though Parker is better. With few exceptions, said movement is so exaggerated, unlikely, and self-conscious, it appears cartoonish. Who, I ask you, skips or extends balletic arms when simply shifting positions? It’s as if, aware the play is dated, Hickey chose to stretch credibility instead of embrace it.
The usually reliable scenic designer John Lee Beatty has evidently turned over responsibility to others. While general impression of the hotel room is splendid, details are not well thought out or neatly executed. Examples: There would never be a chandelier over the desk; the prominent, blacked out mirror is a distracting eyesore instead of being placed at an angle to avoid scrutiny.
Jane Greenwood’s costumes have gone the extra mile to make fashionista actress Sarah Jessica Parker look unattractive. In the first act, she appears matronly (or pregnant) instead of conservative. In the second, the color combination of Muriel’s (apt) Pucci mini is execrable, yet her shoes and coat are not. Both wigs (Tom Watson) look fake. Michael Broderick, though over padded, resembles two characters. His Hollywood Jesse Kiplinger looks like a parody. Again, the wig is terrible. (Even a bad haircut should not look like a wig.)
Original Music by Mark Shaiman is spot on.
Also featuring Danny Bolero, Molly Ranson, and Eric Wiegand.
Photos courtesy of the production.
Neil Simon’s Plaza Suite
Directed by John Benjamin Hickey
Hudson Theatre
141 West 44th Street
