The Gay Life

| 13 Aug 2014 | 03:25

    The Pride, despite premiering in the 21st century, sometimes feels like an artifact from another era. Alternating time periods from scene to scene, Alexi Kaye Campbell’s play takes place in 1959 and 2008, but there’s not much new being said about either time period. The most Campbell can work up is that being a homosexual in the mid 20th century was hard, and being a homosexual in the 21st century is also hard, but in a more self-dramatizing way.

    In both eras, the action revolves around a yearning man named Oliver (Ben Whishaw), a fabulous fag hag named Sylvia (Andrea Riseborough) and the slightly more repressed Philip (Hugh Dancy), with Adam James popping up in both time periods as three very different characters, all of them proof that he’s a vastly talented performer.

    But even as we watch Oliver fumble his way towards finding happiness as a gay man in both eras, the clichés fly fast and furious. Abusive closeted gay relationships, cravings for anonymous gay sex, the unflaggingly good-natured support from a woman who puts her own life on hold to be at hand for unending crises of love all of them get more than their share of stage time.

    Where The Pride shines is in the details, both of Joe Mantello’s direction and in the individual performances. Dancy, who made a splash on Broadway a few seasons ago in the revival of Journey’s End, this time cedes center stage to Ben Whishaw, recently seen in Jane Campion’s film Bright Star. Delicate and uncertain, Whishaw brings to both Olivers a painfully articulated desire for love, though neither time period seems able to satisfy his cravings. As soulful and hesitant as Montgomery Clift as the 1950s Oliver, Whishaw turns waspish and acerbic as today’s Oliver, crawling over the furniture with a languor not seen since Noel Coward’s heyday, cigarette fumes and brittle comments spilling from his mouth in equal measure. And Riseborough proves herself a heartbreaker as the lonely Sylvia in 1958, married to the closeted Philip and desperate for some sign that her life isn’t being wasted with a man who can never give her what she needs.

    But the bright and shining performances aren’t quite enough to disguise The Pride’s flaws, most notably its inability to create as much tension in the contemporary scenes as in the period ones. Watching Oliver battle his urge to cruise in the park isn’t quite as engrossing as watching two men warily circling one another, fighting their mutual attraction. And in an age when gay men are still being stoned to death around the world, seeing an entire plot revolve around one man’s desire for brief sexual encounters feels like a misuse of both talent and platform.

    Regardless of those flaws, however, The Pride remains a witty and elegant play about the travails of being gay, no matter the time. When so many “gay plays” seem content with merely presenting homosexual characters without judgment, to have a play this polished and poignant appear is something of a miracle.

    [The Pride]

    Through Mar. 28. [The Lucille Lortel Theatre], 121 Christopher St. (betw. Bleecker and Hudson Sts.), 212-279-4200; $65-$75.