Harbor Stage Brings the Cult Film ‘My Dinner with André’ to Life

Robin Bloodworth, Jonathan Fielding, and Robert Kropf in Harbor Stage Company’s “My Dinner with Andre.” Photo: Joe Kenehan

By Shelley A. Sackett

A corner booth, fancy fare and tasty conversation — who doesn’t remember the cult frenzy caused by Louis Malle’s 1981 110-minute film that enchanted audiences, defied pigeon-holing and raised the bar on the “art” referred to as conversation?

This unconventional film should have been all but unwatchable. After all, it is simply a cinema verité version of a conversation between playwright Wallace Shawn and André Gregory, a well-known experimental theater director who seems to have dropped off the edge of the planet and whom Shawn has been trying to avoid for years.

For some, the film actually was unwatchable, and it is not to that audience that Harbor Stage’s theatrical version is geared. For those, however, who found the film charmingly quirky, the production at BCA Plaza Black Box Theatre is right up your alley.

Adapted by Jonathan Fielding (who plays – and looks like – Wally Shawn) and Robert Kropf (ditto for André Gregory), the play brings its audience through the celluloid keyhole right into the cozy, ritzy Manhattan restaurant. Evan Farley’s terrific scenic design channels the film’s setting with chandeliers, chic sconces and rich red leather upholstery. Four gilt-framed mirrors line the walls above the booth, a stroke of brilliance that allows the audience to witness the characters’ actions and reactions from multiple angles and perspectives.

Breaking the fourth wall from the get-go as narrator and soul bearer, Wally lets the audience eavesdrop on his internal monologue Woody Allen-style. “Asking questions always relaxes me,” he confides, setting the tone for the questions about life, death and everything in between that will occupy the next 90 intermission-less minutes.

The two meet at the restaurant and it is immediately clear that Wally is a fish out of water with the swanky menu (which, in an aside, he confesses he can’t translate) and even swankier server (a Lurch-like Robin Bloodworth). André is comfortably in his element and, with infinitesimal prodding, launches into an epic monologue that is as shocking in its length as in the fact that it is neither boring nor obnoxious, despite André’s obsessive fascination with all things André.

He tells Wally that he strives to lead his life as improvisational theater, and his journeys through the Sahara desert to Tibet to the forests of Poland are surreal and capture Wally’s attention. (In truth, Wally may be less captivated than relieved to be cast as the silent listener). Nonetheless, André’s insistence on waking himself to the true meaning of life and hurtling through the emotional cosmos contrasts perfectly with Wally’s grounded, simpler take on what it means to be a human being.

For André, a complacent life is a squandered life. Wally, on the other hand, not only sees nothing wrong with comfort but actively seeks it out. He’s just trying to survive, he admits, and unapologetically takes pleasure in such simple matters as errands, responsibilities, and Charlton Heston’s autobiography. He can’t understand why André is so wrapped up in figuring out what makes a hypothetical life worth living that he is unable to enjoy the details of his own life. Exasperated, Wally blurts out, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the truest words he’s uttered all evening.

When the two discuss theater and the responsibility of its creator to its consumer, things get more interesting and realer because Wally (finally) speaks up and disagrees with André. André insists that theater needs to show the audience a version of the world that is different from their reality, to take them to an extreme place that will shake and shock them into consciousness.

Wally believes that theater should connect people with reality and be enjoyable. People go to theater to be entertained and to relax, not to be confronted by existential crises. He is more perplexed by the challenge of eating quail (“God, I didn’t know they were so small”) than the quest for the answer to the meaning of life.

Even if all this verbosity, pompousness and navel-gazing turns you off, you might still consider seeing ‘My Dinner with André’ just to bask in the performances. Kropf is phenomenal as André, his cadence and gestures imbuing pages of monologue with simplicity and purposefulness. The tiniest flicker of an eye or tonal shift softens his character and exposes an interiority that prevents André from devolving into a shallow, two-dimensional showoff.

Fielding is the perfect foil. His Wally is a little nervous, a little frumpy and satisfied enough – for now. His facial reactions to André’s stories say more than pages of dialogue might; his slight self-conscious discomfort renders him all the more endearing. If the ordinary rules of life don’t seem to apply to André, Wally is only too happy to take up the slack, following the path of least resistance and most relief.

‘My Dinner With André’ – Based on the film by Wallace Shawn and André Gregory. Developed by Johnathan Fielding and Robert Kropf. Production Stage Management by D’Arcy Dersham. Scenic Design by Evan Farley. Lighting Design by John Malinowski. Produced by Harbor Stage Company, ‘My Dinner With André’ runs at BCA Plaza Black Box Theatre at 539 Tremont Street, Boston. Run has ended

For more information visit: https://www.harborstage.org/

‘Liv at Sea’ Navigates Emotional Tsunamis in a Pitch Perfect Production

“Liv at Sea” — Written and directed by Robert Kropf. Presented by Harbor Stage Company at Boston Center for the Arts, 539 Tremont St., Boston, through January 28.

By Shelley A. Sackett

Who among us has never wondered about what our lives might have been like if, like Robert Frost’s famous protagonist, we had chosen the road less traveled when our path diverged into two? Did we choose wisely? Given the chance to relive that pivotal moment, would we again choose the security and comfort of the path we know or risk all on the thrill of the other, the unknown?

Liv (a remarkably lithe and captivating Paige O’Connor), the title character in Robert Kropf’s dazzling “Liv at Sea,” is at just such a crossroad in her young but disappointing life. She lives with Nick, her longtime boyfriend. The play opens mid-conversation in their apartment, as Liv tries to articulate that she is unhappy with her monotonous, monogamous life. Her demeanor is emotionless, her pale skin shiny in an eerie, extra-terrestrial way. Her heart is heavy, she tells Nick. She is so thirsty. She needs water, a lot of water, so much water that she can set herself adrift and let the sea deposit her onto a beach where she can finally breathe.

Nick (an excellent Nick Wilson) has no idea what she’s talking about. A teddy bear of a guy, Nick is a whirl of physical and verbal kinetic energy that makes Richard Dreyfuss look mellow by comparison. He is terrified of losing Liv. He can change. He will change. He loves her. He does not need adventure and the thrill of the unknown. He needs what he knows. He needs Liv not to rock the moored boat and to remain where she is.

He is also overbearing and needy in a way that is both heartbreaking and suffocating. It’s not hard to understand Liv’s agitation and desire to break free of her situation.

Finally, at his wit’s end and as if reading the audience’s mind, Nick asks if Liv has met someone. Turns out she has. His name is Jack (Jack Aschenbach), he is in a longtime relationship, and he, too, is ready to embark on the path untravelled.

Kropf stages Liv and Jack’s first encounter as a flashback. A year earlier, they glimpsed each other on the street. This was followed by a second encounter, conversation, and a splendid afternoon spent on an untethered, playful journey.

They share an ease and rapport that seems unforced and comforting. Yet, is it enough to warrant such an impulsive, radical change? Is THIS “it?” Does it matter?

O’Connor brings a chameleon-like radiance to the transformed Liv. With Nick, she is earthbound and hollow-eyed. When with Jack, she smiles with her entire being. Her eyes glitter and there is music in her voice.

They are two peas in a pod, each wondering whether their current domestic couplings are “it” or whether they are settling out of fear or laziness. Aschenbach brings a laissez-faire to Jack that is so intoxicating Liv doesn’t question why he won’t tell her his last name. It is all part of his infectious not-Nick charm.

Kropf doesn’t just shine as a playwright, with inciteful, thought-provoking, and moving dialogue. He is also a gifted director, and he brings a special vitality and cinematic creativity to this 90-minute intermission-less production. The first-rate minimalist set (Sara C. Walsh), excellent lighting (John Malinowski), video (Adam Foster), and sound (Joe Kenehan) designs create a breathtaking theatrical synergy.

Yet the real shining stars are the trio of actors who both ground and catapult the show. O’Connor is flawless as Liv, navigating her through choppy waters of guilt, uncertainty, anxiety, infatuation, and delight. Her slightest gestures pack a well-aimed, emotional wallop. Her eyes are right out of an Italian Renaissance painting, keyholes to her soul. Wilson (Nick) and Auerbach (Jack) are her perfect romantic foils: yin and yang, overbearing and tenuous, obvious and intangible. The choreography of artistry and empathy among these three is a rare pleasure to witness.

At the end of the day, whether Liv runs off with Jack or not (no spoilers here!) is not as important as the questions Kropf asks his characters and their audience. Is it enough just to be loved, or is that settling? Is the risk of the unknown worth it? Can you live with that risk? Are you truly alive without it? What is real and, perhaps most importantly, what does it matter?

For tickets, go to https://www.livatseabca.com/