OK, as if yesterday's New York Times Review of Al Pacino on Broadway wasn't brutal enough, along comes Edith Vincentelli's review for The New York Post and its downright butt ugly.
This must be some kind of cynical Broadway-producer experiment: Will people pony up $150 to see Al Pacino in any old garbage?
The answer is a resounding yes.
“China Doll” is clearing upward of $1 million a week and playing to capacity houses, and while it’s technically not old garbage — it’s David Mamet’s latest play — it’s garbage all the same.
It’s hard to single out culprits, but No. 1 on the list has to be Mamet himself.
“I wrote it for Al,” he said, in a press release. “It is better than oral sex.” It’s not clear whether the latter is referring to “China Doll” itself or the act of writing for Pacino, but something’s lacking in Mamet’s sex life. You’d almost pity him if you weren’t feeling swindled.
As terrible as the buzz has been — Pacino struggling with his lines, theatergoers demanding refunds, a delayed opening — the reality is even worse.
The plot, such as it is, plays out like a bad parody of Mamet at his worst — all tough-guy posturing, secret motives, power plays, violent resolution — and with zero impact.
Most of the first act involves Pacino’s Mickey Ross trying to get his new private jet out of the Toronto airport. The plane is marooned in Canada because Mickey was trying to avoid paying $5 million in American sales tax.
Asking us to feel for a rich dude committing tax evasion: Mamet is setting up a real challenge for himself.
With Mickey making one phone call after another to right the situation, the show is essentially a series of monologues — never mind that there’s another person onstage with him, the valiant Christopher Denham, as his young assistant.
This doesn’t help Pacino, who’s left with all the heavy lifting. Luckily for him, he spends a good chunk of the show making those damn calls on a Bluetooth earpiece — a good prop whenever he needs a line.
Aside from his owning a plane, dating a much younger floozy and committing tax fraud, the first act doesn’t reveal much about Mickey — or the title, which is never explained. What kind of tycoon wears eyeglasses on a chain around his neck and an ill-fitting suit anyway?
Act 2 suggests Mickey’s not just any billionaire, but some kind of political fixer. Yet his connections can’t help him out of his latest jam.
Cue more phone calls. Few things are as irritating as being subjected to one-sided phone conversations. The play often feels like “Who’s on First?” done by a single person.
Throughout, Mamet takes feeble potshots at a corrupt electoral process, where everybody can be bought, yada yada yada. “There’s a lot of foolish people out there,” Mickey tells his assistant. “Many of them vote.”
And some do it with their feet. Ask the 50 to 100 theatergoers racing for the exits at intermission nightly.
Man. We're talking Pacino. P A C I N O !
When even Pacino can bomb this bad, what hope is there for the rest of us?
