“Greendale G.P.” – 8/27/09 @ Access Theater

MY RATING: $10 – Pre-show promise went unfilled by biteless Satire

In a film or TV show, a director can create a brief scene that sets the mood before the script even kicks into gear. In sitcom parlance, this is the Teaser, and one of live theatre’s deficiencies is the absence of a Teaser.

Director Brad Saville (supremely qualified to interpret the playwright’s words) solved that problem neatly in the pre-show of his latest play, Greendale, G.P., now playing at Access Theatre on [lower] Broadway.

In the best pre-curtain scene I’ve ever seen, actors were scattered throughout the generously-sized set. This was no Freeze, for the play’s characters were seen busy going through their quotidian paces.

I was impressed by the set dressing, despite this being a seat-of-the-pants vanity production. The open 4^th floor space was set up to create 6 separate acting zones, representing a 3-doctor practice.

The set decorator (anonymously billed as “Eastwind Theatre Co.”) did a plaudible job of created a ‘white noise’ background, cluttered with furniture and implements, yet non-intrusive.

I worship at the altar of Naturalism, and the pre-show was a very natural intro to the play. Had it lived up to the pre-show’s promise, however, it would have given me my money’s worth

As the pre-show dragged on, I got to know these people and began sketching in a back-story for some of them.

The characters came more to life: the office manager shredding the docs of the docs, one of which was throwing darts at a wall chart of the human anatomy. Then again, maybe the actors were just getting antsy because the opening was delayed almost 10 minutes.

All in all, the pre-show activity created a perfect sense of real-time. I was about to be dropped right into the middle of the work day, literally watching a “slice-of-life”, with barely more plot than your typical episode of Seinfeld M.D.

If a playwright is going to skimp on plot, then he’d better be loading up on characterization. Sadly, what I witnessed was just an assortment of lightly-drawn characters who are little more than set dressing themselves.

Take Mark Warde, pretty much what you’d expect in a smarmy pill pusher. Ever the salesman, especially when the product is himself, Warde tries out an assortment of pitches on Colleen, who cheerfully bats each one away. She has the typical office manager’s tunnel vision, the only way to efficiently run an office.

Robert “Bobby” Fitzer, who’s hoping to intern in the office prior to applying for med school, is the son of one of the doctor’s golfing partners. His mere presence turns the staff into sadistic Drill Sergeants.

Yet it’s obvious the hazing is designed to turn him into the kind of hard-edged medic they are. This “Become One Of Us” ethic is the most frightening thing in the script.

Then there are two Hollywood Types who are casting for a reality show, America’s Next Top Doctor.  The three colorless doctors who practice in Greendale are definitely not ready for prime time.

Dr. Kevin “K.C.” Cates, already helping himself to Warde’s offerings, ups his consumption when he finds out his wife is screwing around with an 11^th grader (who’s 18, we’re repeatedly assured).

Dr. Ariel Whitaker is the resident sexpot, the object of the talent search. I couldn’t tell if she earned her med school tuition on the catwalk, or on her back.

As for the cynical Dr. John Becker… excuse me, Dr. Sean Fenton…. he held the show’s center for the first third, then disappeared onto the golf course or into his office for long stretches of time.

The one colorful feature about the staff is that everyone seemed to have their petty prejudices, Colleen against Jews, Fenton against fat people, and everyone against interns.

Without much of a plot, I wasn’t expecting much of a cliffhanger. However, Act II started with a bang: a family emergency that created the play’s sole dramatic tension and was the source for a number of ethical questions, one of which allowed for “Fuck the truth!” as one possible answer.

The end of the play didn’t signal any loose ends being tied, but then again, a ‘slice-of-life’ play never ties its laces. Rather, it’s success depends on the characters we spend two hours with.

As Dr. Fenton, Penny Bittone—whose overactive eyebrows put on a lot of miles—threw away many of his lines because of a lack of clarity. Unbelievably, he possesses a strong, low voice, but he kept it in his head, a bad place to keep a voice in a cavernous space like Access. Even the women were easier to understand than Bittone.

In a theatre with better acoustics, Director Saville might have allowed the Writer Saville’s overlapping dialogue to actually overlap. With more confidence in the sound, the actors may have felt more comfortable stepping on each others’ lines.

William Apps IV (Dr. Cates) seemed to be forcing  his acting instead of letting the words feel their way out his mouth. His speech sounded like leather-jacketed rebel, or with maybe a touch of redneck. Supposedly the town of Greendale reveres him, yet nothing I saw in how the character was written or performed showed him in that light.

In the thankless role of Dr. Whitaker, Amber Bogdewiecz is saddled with the most poorly drawn character in the play, and it’s actually to her credit that she does a imperfect job of portraying her. No one should be forced to play such an unprofessional professional.

In real life, Dr. Whitaker would long ago have abandoned her practice to work for an overseas drug company giving “consultations” to schmucks trying to score cheap Viagra. Instead, at the mere thought of TV cameras, she launches into her Joan Crawford mode. Doctor, Dearest?

Playwright Saville created a handful of extra chess pieces to make the board look fuller, but the pawns he added had no influence on the narrative.

As Mrs. Harris, Carmel Amit is very good and very underutilized. In Act I she had little more to do than look hungrily at the candy dish on Colleen’s desk. Mrs. Harris was a stick figure, but at least Amit knows how to play anorexic.

Satire benefits from a little comic relief. That was Bobby’s role in the show, with Tyler Foltz securely in the driver’s seat. Bobby’s place was to react blankly to everything that was said and done around him. In this aspect, Foltz was perfect.

On the one hand, every sentence he uttered had the exact same inflection. On the other hand, his lack of reaction strengthened the humor in the situations he walked into.

In the dreadfully unreal Reality Show subplot, Zoe Metcalfe-Klaw, playing the CD’s PA, was the long bright spot. Her perky demeanor was deftly sycophantic, and her attempts at imitating her boss’s mannerisms was a demonstration of perfect timing, a shadow always a half-step behind.

The Reality Show plotline seemed like an attempt at adding a second target to the playwright’s dartboard. The Hollywood Types were so stereotypical that Satire was brusquely shoved aside by its crude cousin, Parody.

This play was “Hospital Lite”. Then again, that 1971 movie was written by Paddy Chayefsky, so any similar attempt to hit the medical industry would suffer by comparison.

Still, taken on its own merits Greendale G.P. is a weak attempt to stir our ire and disgust. If you really want to taste some bile, just pay a visit to any large medical practice.

For all the anticipation that was created by the pre-show, the opening scene (a prostate exam that provided no new insights into the intimate relationship between doctor and patient) sapped it all.

In a Satire, the opening scene doesn’t need to sucker punch the audience with Messages, but it should be marinate the meat with some flavor so it can be properly skewered.

Too, there were a number of missed targets that were never even put on the fire. Much more could have been made about the drug industry’s meddling in medicine. And all those drug samples: how many of them are actually reaching patients?

Important ethical questions were raised, like, How do you respond if a colleague does something illegal? Yet the answers given were more personal than medical, and the repercussions were never seen.

On the other hand, the stab that hits its mark the closest was the revelation that the medical system views us as Customers and not Patients. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it’s unnerving nonetheless to be reminded that we are all just numbers to most of the medical profession.