Sunday, May 11, 2008
A+E, Theater, Reviews

‘Last’ Hurrah

Jewish Theatre of the South goes out on a high note

Courtesy of Jewish Theatre of the South
From left: Tess Malis Kincaid, Jared Simon, Kathleen Wattis and Jeffrey Zwartjes (background) in “The Last Schwartz.”

“THE LAST SCHWARTZ”
Jewish Theatre of the South
$18-$30
770-395-2654
www.jplay.org
Through May 25

BY BERT OSBORNE

Unless she’s psychic and we just don’t know it, Mira Hirsch couldn’t have planned it any more beautifully. A year ago, when the Jewish Theatre of the South founder/artistic director chose “The Last Schwartz” as the last show of its 13th-anniversary season, little did she realize it would be the group’s last show—period. At the end of the run, JTS is disbanding and Hirsch is leaving the Marcus Community Center, which will reorganize its program under new management, with a new name and a new mainstream focus. (Next month, as Center Theatre, they’re opening the shticky “Jewtopia”; Hirsch isn’t even gone yet and I miss her already!)
 
The whole “last” connection is eerily prescient, and you can’t help appreciating the irony that “Schwartz” (a comedy-drama by Deborah Zoe Laufer) is a bit, er, mainstream in its portrayal of a modern dysfunctional Jewish family. But here’s the delicious kicker: Expertly staged by Freddie Ashley (still on a roll after recently directing the splendid “When Something Wonderful Ends”) and performed by a stellar cast, this final production sends JTS off on a rather luminous high note. As last hurrahs go, “Schwartz” makes a worthy tribute that Hirsch can be proud of.
 
The setting is the old homestead in upstate New York, where the Schwartz siblings—and significant others—gather to commemorate the first anniversary of their father’s death. It falls to the domineering sister, Norma, to espouse a lot of the comedy’s serious subtext about religious tradition and familial responsibility. In less skillful hands than those of actress Tess Malis Kincaid, the character could seem strident and sanctimonious, railing about assimilation, “mixed breeding” and the “heavy price” to be paid for “doing what’s right.”
 
She ultimately exists to be snapped at by each of the others, in sitcom-y confrontations too obviously written for applause or hoots of delight from the audience. It’s no surprise Norma is estranged from her own husband and son, but it’s more to Kincaid’s credit than Laufer’s that we sympathize with her, instead of dismissing her as a generic bitch who gets what she’s got coming.
 
As the kid brother, a director of commercials and music videos who breezes in from L.A., Chris Moses doesn’t have much to work with as your basic straight man. The most he can do—quite respectably—is stand firm without being overshadowed by the livelier characters around him. Somewhat illogically (given the somber occasion), these include the ditzy shiksa he brings home to meet the family, played to vapid perfection by Bethany Anne Lind as a sexy good-time girl who’s, like, wow, blown away by how chilled-out everybody isn’t.
 
It also involves the questionable attentions of his sister-in-law. Kathleen Wattis thrives in her comedic moments—her rambling account of an “Oprah” episode about conjoined twins is a riot—but she disappoints by downplaying a second-act drunk scene in a way that limits its dramatic impact. Coming off a four-year break, though, how terrific is it to see Jared Simon again, as her nonplused husband, the eldest sibling? (Please, sir, don’t wait until 2012 for another role.)
 
Which leaves the fine Jeffrey Zwartjes as the last Schwartz, brother Simon, an astronomer of some vague discipline who’s losing his senses to a rare medical disorder. Off to a side window of the room, oblivious to the family dynamics, he lives in his own world, his eye fixed to a telescope, “playing back star clusters from my childhood.” Intermittently, the rest of the action suddenly freezes and designer Chris Crawford sharply adjusts his lights, whereupon Simon might draw an ominous cosmic observation, or embark on a climactic flight of fancy (magically realized by Ashley) into the future and the vast unknown of the universe.
 
Under these particular circumstances, the metaphor is utterly, unpredictably sublime.