By Andrea Richard
By Carlos Suarez De Jesus
By New Times Staff
By John Thomason
By Falyn Freyman
By Falyn Freyman
By Liz Tracy
By John Thomason
Some theaters, like some people, have a clearer sense of self-identity than others. The New Theatre and its artistic director, Rafael de Acha, certainly know what they are about, presenting plays with emotional texture, poetic resonance, and often a welcome dose of sociopolitical thought. Such is the case with Mario Diament's Smithereens, a topical, articulate play receiving its world premiere under de Acha's direction. It's a sober play, more thoughtful than compelling, but still resonant.
The story begins in Buenos Aires in the 1990s, as Argentine journalist David Rabinovich returns from a long sojourn in Israel and encounters two people from his past: his former best friend, Sergio D'Alessandro, a filmmaker, and Claudia Gonzalez, a human-rights lawyer who was involved with both of them. Back in the 1970s, all three were devoted cinephiles, and their three-way romantic intrigues began when Claudia met Sergio, then David, at movie theaters. The situation was reminiscent of François Truffaut's Jules and Jim, which the trio immediately recognized. Claudia started off with Sergio, but David managed to gain her attention. Soon, David and Claudia were living together, much to the displeasure of David's father, Jacob, a Holocaust survivor and Yiddish theater star who wanted his son to marry a Jewish woman. But now, two decades later, they meet again.
This story setup could very well be the premise for a Truffaut-like comedy about young love and old friends, but Diament takes his tale into much darker territory indeed. The cause for this trio's breakup years before was the horrible reign of terror known as the Dirty War of the 1970s, when the right-wing military kidnapped, tortured, and killed more than 30,000 Argentines, Los Desaparecidos, who were suspected of -- but never tried for -- antigovernment beliefs. Despite the anguished pleas from thousands of families, the government refused to reveal information about those held in custody, and many were never heard from again.
The three friends begin to piece together what happened to each. As the Dirty War began, David hurried to Israel, leaving Claudia behind. Meanwhile, Sergio, hoping to curry favor with a military officer to further his movie career, learned that Claudia was marked for arrest for her openly leftist views. The officer offered Sergio a cozy movie deal in exchange for his cooperation. Now, years later, the horrible truth of Claudia's fate and the moral failures of the two men she loved come to light.
Diament's drama is chilling. Though his characters are fictional, the historical context of Smithereens is sadly very real. And Diament, former editor of La Opinion, ought to know better than most. His publisher, Jacobo Timmerman, was himself a noted victim of the Dirty War, and the newspaper was seized by the military for speaking out against the government's crimes.
His point of view here is understandable, but he tends to oversell it. The several parallels made between the Dirty War and the Holocaust seem too convenient. The loss of 30,000 people for political beliefs real or imagined is a horrible crime, but it pales in the face of 6 million lost to genocide or, for that matter, the enduring genocidal atrocities in Africa. Diament is making an analogy of fascism then and now, of course, but he could have drawn analogies from the left as well. Clearly, such atrocities are not now and never have been confined to the right wing (Cambodia), and Diament's failure to say so turns his position into a self-serving political argument. The play bears similarities to Death and the Maiden and Kiss of the Spider Woman, both also about South American liberals caught up in right-wing terror. It does not, by the way, bear any connection to the film Smithereens, a lightweight American comedy of some years back.
De Acha does a careful job of staging the ephemeral, ever-shifting narrative flow. A wine bottle or a chair left from one scene becomes the focal point of the next, 20 years before or after. He also has an uncanny ability to conjure a tactile sense of place, of society. As with the Cuba of Hortensia and the Museum of Dreams and rural Ireland in The Weir, this director really evokes an Argentina, despite the minimalist production's lack of visual cues. Michelle Cumming's stark, gray, prison-like set, at once grimly threatening yet remote, aids the sense of displacement. The overall tone of this production is somber -- quite naturally given the dark material -- and decidedly provocative. The problems of three little people may not amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world, but their story has considerable power nevertheless.
The cast is drawn from the loose ensemble of actors who regularly frequent the New Theatre's productions. Paul Tei makes for an interesting, tortured Sergio, leaning heavily on sarcasm and vodka to medicate his self-loathing. David Mann is quite fine as David Rabinovich, the classy, casual writer who is enraged at his friend's failings only to discover his own. Likewise for David Kwiat as Jacob, the lonely, haunted actor-father who would rather stare into his own reflection than engage the people around him. As Claudia, Marcy Ruderhausen is less successful, but she is saddled with several difficult tasks -- portraying the enduring agonies of a torture victim and having to give life and air to more than a few archly written monologues.
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