New York theaters droopy 2003 fall season found some solid footing toward years end with such late openers as I Am My Own Wife and Caroline, or Change. December also saw quintessential L.A. playwright Justin Tanner show up at the John Houseman Theater to stage, with his original Los Angeles cast, a reading of Heartbreak Help. Judging by the audiences enthusiastic reception of his comedy, New Yorkers might soon be in for more of Mr. Tanner and for the quirky California he writes about. Outside the theaters themselves, small theatrical events warmed the New York evenings: The Boy From Ozs Hugh Jackmans nightly stage-door meetings with mobs of fans and the three members of a Florida family who lived in a Dodge SUV for five days in order to win it, while crowds trudged by the Times Square showroom where they were parked. As of press time, the following notable shows were still running in town.
CAROLINE, OR CHANGE (The Public Theater, 800-432-7250). This beguiling, bittersweet musical trip down memory lane might seem to be a big departure for writer-lyricist Tony Kushner, who is better known for polemics fierce and wistful about the politics of AIDS, the collapse of the USSR, and Taliban rage. Caroline is still a deeply political foray, however, semiautobiographically recalling the Southern childhood of Noah (Harrison Chad) while revolving around his Jewish familys eponymous black housekeeper in 1963. Caroline (Tonya Pinkins) toils in the Gellmans laundry basement, 16 feet below Louisianas sea level, haunted by the memory of a runaway husband and fears for a son now serving in Vietnam. The washing machine is incarnated by what appears to be an antebellum washerwoman (Capathia Jenkins), while a nearby radio is personified by a trio of Motown singers (Tracy Nicole Chapman, Marva Hicks and Ramona Keller) and the dryer, by a do-ragged, demonic spirit resembling James Brown (Chuck Cooper). The story hinges upon an attempt by 9-year-old Noahs stepmother, Rose (Veanne Cox), to teach the boy fiscal responsibility by instructing the moody Caroline to keep for herself any spare change the child leaves in his pockets. Kushner nicely develops a fable of irreconcilable racial differences and wounded pride, played out against the backdrop of the civil rights struggle. The Gellmans are well-meaning whites who cannot help but step on the toes of stoic Caroline a hilarious Hanukkah party scene involving Roses Old Left father (the outstanding Larry Keith) sets Noah on a collision course with the housekeeper he adores. Under George C. Wolfes graceful direction and Jeanine Tesoris bluesy melodies, Caroline glides merrily along like an old Cadillac on a road potholed by its characters good intentions.
I AM MY OWN WIFE (Lyceum Theater, 800-432-7250). Drawing from his personal interviews and reminiscences of Lothar Berfelde, who dressed up and eventually became Charlotte von Mahlsdorf, playwright Doug Wright has turned the life story of this German transvestite into a tour de force solo performance for actor Jefferson Mays (who also portrays the playwright as a narrator). Von Mahlsdorf recounts her travails growing up gay in Hitlers Germany under a Nazi father, whom she would murder during WWII, and of reaching a somewhat dubious rapprochement with the Stalinist state that succeeded fascism. The key to her existence was a fabulous antique-furniture collection a personal museum she curated in a family home in Berlin: Victrolas, armoires and gilded clocks served as both refuge and camouflage for the narrator. Von Mahlsdorf seems like one of the 20th centurys most likable survivors until we learn that she was compromised by a contractual arrangement with East Germanys feared Stasi. Mays, who also portrays a variety of people who interact with von Mahlsdorf, mostly appears dressed in a simple black frock with pearls and is so convincing in the role that we never doubt that the character before us is an elderly woman and not some aging cross-dresser. Mays quiet yet powerful performance, guided with a silk touch by director Moisés Kaufman, prevents him from becoming dwarfed by set designer Derek McLanes monumental wall of antiques that are illuminated by David Landers melancholy lighting. The show does not blow you away, however, possibly because its subject is a little too precious for her own good, possibly because of her moral ambiguity and perhaps because were nagged by the knowledge that 11 million of von Mahlsdorfs contemporaries never had the choice to put on a dress and curate their own antiques museums.
MATT & BEN (PS 122, 212-352-3101). This wildly popular rental has been playing in the East Village since August, but its hard to see why. Respectively, though hardly respectfully, authors Mindy Kaling and Brenda Withers portray Ben Affleck and Matt Damon during their salad days in a fantasy scenario in which the script for Good Will Hunting mysteriously plops into Afflecks apartment living room. Amid visits by J.D. Salinger and Gwyneth Paltrow, the two buddies fight over what to do with the script, grapple with hypothetical fame and reopen wounds inflicted in high school. The gimmicky conceit of two women playing Damon and Affleck quickly wears thin, and, worse, Kaling and Withers never follow it up with anything as subversive, so were left for 80 minutes with the writer-actors cracking themselves up over an idea that must have been awfully funny when it first occurred to them, but which plays like a comedy sketch that wont end.