Jonathan Hogan, Ron Holgate and John Cullum in Heroes / Photo by Theresa Squire
Tom Stoppard’s translation of Gérald Sibleyras’ Heroes features one of my biggest pet expository peeves. After Philippe (Jonathan Hogan) complains that he misses music in the veterans’ home he’s lived in for a decade, his friend Henri (John Cullum) is astonished. “You never told me you were musical,” Henri murmurs in awe. Really? After 10 years of living together and spending afternoons on a terrace, the topic of music has never come up?
But then, Heroes is full of willful details that threaten to decimate the audience’s patience. Shaken by the recent suicide of a fellow former solider at the home, Henri, Philippe, and recent arrival Gustave (Ron Holgate) decide to embark on a trip to a distant poplar grove, far from the terrifying Sister Madeleine who runs their lives. But this wispy plot never entirely takes off, despite the presence of the three legendary troupers.
In fact, the whole play feels a bit like an intellectualized episode The Golden Girls, transported to 1959 France and starring men. The three former soldiers, like those golden ladies, first become friends out of proximity only to find their relationship deepening with the passing of time.
Ladling out double takes and slow burns, Cullum’s Henri is obviously the grounded Dorothy Zbornak of his group, constantly appalled at the insanity that Gustave and Philippe have a talent for whipping out of thin air. Perpetually passing out from a piece of shrapnel he caught in WWI, Philippe is the slightly dotty Rose Nylund, anxious to please everyone and in the process only irritating them further. And basking in stories of past tail in between bouts dispensing romantic advice, Gustave is clearly the Blanche Devereaux, a man whose puffed up self-regard (we know he thinks highly of himself because Holgate frequently strokes his goatee) hides a welter of insecurities.
But while Heroes coasts along for a while on a wave of gentle jokes and wacky character choices (Philippe gives his mail to Gustave, who answers it), Sibleyras has filled out his slender story with some excruciatingly irritating recurring jokes. Philippe is convinced that when two inhabitants of the home share a birthday, Sister Madeleine kills one of them, so he posits that either they kill the new man who shares his birthday or they flee as soon as possible. But Gustave wants to take the 200-pound stone dog statue with them, a request that prompts a fit of outrage from Henri which neither Philippe nor Gustave quite understand.
It’s a thrill to see Broadway legends like Holgate and Cullum strut upon a stage again, but they seem to relish their chance a little more than is seemly. Every joke, no matter how minor, is rolled out on the tongue, turning even weak lines like “When she laughs, she whinnies” into self-conscious epigrams. The effect, in this otherwise amusing and genial play, is not dissimilar to someone Bedazzling that stone dog. It might glitter from a distance, but up close it just looks tacky.
Through April 11. Clurman Theatre, 410 W. 42nd St (between 9th & 10th Aves.), 212-279-4200. $51.25.
But then, Heroes is full of willful details that threaten to decimate the audience’s patience. Shaken by the recent suicide of a fellow former solider at the home, Henri, Philippe, and recent arrival Gustave (Ron Holgate) decide to embark on a trip to a distant poplar grove, far from the terrifying Sister Madeleine who runs their lives. But this wispy plot never entirely takes off, despite the presence of the three legendary troupers.
In fact, the whole play feels a bit like an intellectualized episode The Golden Girls, transported to 1959 France and starring men. The three former soldiers, like those golden ladies, first become friends out of proximity only to find their relationship deepening with the passing of time.
Ladling out double takes and slow burns, Cullum’s Henri is obviously the grounded Dorothy Zbornak of his group, constantly appalled at the insanity that Gustave and Philippe have a talent for whipping out of thin air. Perpetually passing out from a piece of shrapnel he caught in WWI, Philippe is the slightly dotty Rose Nylund, anxious to please everyone and in the process only irritating them further. And basking in stories of past tail in between bouts dispensing romantic advice, Gustave is clearly the Blanche Devereaux, a man whose puffed up self-regard (we know he thinks highly of himself because Holgate frequently strokes his goatee) hides a welter of insecurities.
But while Heroes coasts along for a while on a wave of gentle jokes and wacky character choices (Philippe gives his mail to Gustave, who answers it), Sibleyras has filled out his slender story with some excruciatingly irritating recurring jokes. Philippe is convinced that when two inhabitants of the home share a birthday, Sister Madeleine kills one of them, so he posits that either they kill the new man who shares his birthday or they flee as soon as possible. But Gustave wants to take the 200-pound stone dog statue with them, a request that prompts a fit of outrage from Henri which neither Philippe nor Gustave quite understand.
It’s a thrill to see Broadway legends like Holgate and Cullum strut upon a stage again, but they seem to relish their chance a little more than is seemly. Every joke, no matter how minor, is rolled out on the tongue, turning even weak lines like “When she laughs, she whinnies” into self-conscious epigrams. The effect, in this otherwise amusing and genial play, is not dissimilar to someone Bedazzling that stone dog. It might glitter from a distance, but up close it just looks tacky.
Through April 11. Clurman Theatre, 410 W. 42nd St (between 9th & 10th Aves.), 212-279-4200. $51.25.
