2000
Collected Stories
by Donald Margulies
Northside Theatre Company
with State Theatre and AFCT
Playhouse, October 2000
Reviewed by Murray Bramwell
Collected Stories might well have been entitled Recollected Stories because its subject is the writer’s responsibility to respect the privacy of others. Somewhere between the right to free trading in a good yarn and the obligation to protect the feelings and integrity of individuals there is a line- not to be written – but drawn.
It is, of course, a line more frequently crossed. Notoriously in that 20th century urban form, the kiss-and-tell memoir but also in the less principled end of the biography market. Gratuitous disclosure is the very staple of magazines and is also endemic in television. But it is even more insidious in fiction. When, we ask increasingly, is a novel not a novel, but a roman a clef, spilling the beans on family and friends, lovers and other strangers ?
Where else do stories come from ? the writers reply. Nothing is new under the sun, all fictions are pillaged from life or variations on true events. And so the circular argument goes. The proponents of the untrammelled imagination pitted against literary pragmatists who argue that all writing is a magpie’s nest of distorted fact and borrowed invention and those who tell you otherwise are talking through their hat.
In Donald Margulies‘ play, Ruth Steiner is an elderly short story writer living alone in a Greenwich Village apartment. She teaches creative writing at NYU and the play opens with one of her students arriving to discuss a story she has written. Lisa Morrison is a devoted reader of Steiner’s work and in her presence is near paralysed with admiration. Of course the relationship blossoms- the tetchy but kindly Steiner admires the young woman’s giddy but astute style and, you guessed it, in time the mentor and her protégé become something closer to rivals. Lisa has a story published without her patron’s support. Then, taking details from Steiner’s account of her affair, as a young woman, with Delmore Schwartz, the famous drunkard poet of New York, Lisa finesses them into a novel which she prepares to publish without consultation with her friend.
Directed by Jennifer Hagan and designed by Wendy Osmond the Northside Theatre Company production of Collected Stories is carefully managed. The Greenwich apartment, spacious on the Playhouse stage, consists of a desk and lounge chairs with suitably literary-looking stacks of books around the green walls. Tony Youlden’s lighting brings a benign glow and Sarah de Jong’s mournful saxophone is straight from an East Village stoop. But the focus is on the performances, Ruth Cracknell as Steiner and Sarah Norris as Lisa.
Few performers in this country draw audiences the way Ms Cracknell does and in this contemporary role she is able to depart a little from the world of Lady Bracknell and Virginia Woolf. As Steiner she is urbane and drily deadpan, a Jewish twang adding to her querulous irony while Sarah Norris plays, somewhat over-pitched, the ingenue pupil. Ruth Cracknell’s work is measured and she looks for shading where she can find it whereas Sarah Norris is less successful. Her opening scenes are either needlessly unctuous or out-takes from Annie Hall and her second act transformation into a lipstick literatus is almost melodramatically ruthless.
Most of the problem lies with Margulies’ text , however, because, for all its high flown ethical concerns, it is actually quite conventionally mawkish. Steiner is frequently a crusty old cliché, the kind that is invariably called feisty. When she says -‘that closing paragraph is to die for’ I wanted to chew off my arm. And then when she said ‘it doesn’t get any better than that’ – I knew for sure it wouldn’t.
There is potential in the relationship between the two women- the contrast in age and experience, the rivalry, the fragility of ego. And at times this comes through, but mostly Collected Stories runs on the narrow tracks of contrivance. Steiner’s betrayal is not experienced in any real sense – despite the vehemence of Ruth Cracknell’s curtain line. Instead, we get a lot of literary name-dropping (and a big glossary in the program to help us out) and the complacent illusion that we are in the grip of some Big Questions.
In fact, what we really learn from this play is that it is not whether fictions are real or imagined that matters, but whether or not they are second-rate.
“Factitious Fictions” The Adelaide Review, No. 206, November, 2000, p.41.
2000
Factitious Fictions
Collected Stories
by Donald Margulies
Northside Theatre Company
with State Theatre and AFCT
Playhouse, October 2000
Reviewed by Murray Bramwell
Collected Stories might well have been entitled Recollected Stories because its subject is the writer’s responsibility to respect the privacy of others. Somewhere between the right to free trading in a good yarn and the obligation to protect the feelings and integrity of individuals there is a line- not to be written – but drawn.
It is, of course, a line more frequently crossed. Notoriously in that 20th century urban form, the kiss-and-tell memoir but also in the less principled end of the biography market. Gratuitous disclosure is the very staple of magazines and is also endemic in television. But it is even more insidious in fiction. When, we ask increasingly, is a novel not a novel, but a roman a clef, spilling the beans on family and friends, lovers and other strangers ?
Where else do stories come from ? the writers reply. Nothing is new under the sun, all fictions are pillaged from life or variations on true events. And so the circular argument goes. The proponents of the untrammelled imagination pitted against literary pragmatists who argue that all writing is a magpie’s nest of distorted fact and borrowed invention and those who tell you otherwise are talking through their hat.
In Donald Margulies‘ play, Ruth Steiner is an elderly short story writer living alone in a Greenwich Village apartment. She teaches creative writing at NYU and the play opens with one of her students arriving to discuss a story she has written. Lisa Morrison is a devoted reader of Steiner’s work and in her presence is near paralysed with admiration. Of course the relationship blossoms- the tetchy but kindly Steiner admires the young woman’s giddy but astute style and, you guessed it, in time the mentor and her protégé become something closer to rivals. Lisa has a story published without her patron’s support. Then, taking details from Steiner’s account of her affair, as a young woman, with Delmore Schwartz, the famous drunkard poet of New York, Lisa finesses them into a novel which she prepares to publish without consultation with her friend.
Directed by Jennifer Hagan and designed by Wendy Osmond the Northside Theatre Company production of Collected Stories is carefully managed. The Greenwich apartment, spacious on the Playhouse stage, consists of a desk and lounge chairs with suitably literary-looking stacks of books around the green walls. Tony Youlden’s lighting brings a benign glow and Sarah de Jong’s mournful saxophone is straight from an East Village stoop. But the focus is on the performances, Ruth Cracknell as Steiner and Sarah Norris as Lisa.
Few performers in this country draw audiences the way Ms Cracknell does and in this contemporary role she is able to depart a little from the world of Lady Bracknell and Virginia Woolf. As Steiner she is urbane and drily deadpan, a Jewish twang adding to her querulous irony while Sarah Norris plays, somewhat over-pitched, the ingenue pupil. Ruth Cracknell’s work is measured and she looks for shading where she can find it whereas Sarah Norris is less successful. Her opening scenes are either needlessly unctuous or out-takes from Annie Hall and her second act transformation into a lipstick literatus is almost melodramatically ruthless.
Most of the problem lies with Margulies’ text , however, because, for all its high flown ethical concerns, it is actually quite conventionally mawkish. Steiner is frequently a crusty old cliché, the kind that is invariably called feisty. When she says -‘that closing paragraph is to die for’ I wanted to chew off my arm. And then when she said ‘it doesn’t get any better than that’ – I knew for sure it wouldn’t.
There is potential in the relationship between the two women- the contrast in age and experience, the rivalry, the fragility of ego. And at times this comes through, but mostly Collected Stories runs on the narrow tracks of contrivance. Steiner’s betrayal is not experienced in any real sense – despite the vehemence of Ruth Cracknell’s curtain line. Instead, we get a lot of literary name-dropping (and a big glossary in the program to help us out) and the complacent illusion that we are in the grip of some Big Questions.
In fact, what we really learn from this play is that it is not whether fictions are real or imagined that matters, but whether or not they are second-rate.
“Factitious Fictions” The Adelaide Review, No. 206, November, 2000, p.41.