"Auntie Mame"

BY STEVE PARKS | STAFF WRITER

July 19, 2004

Jennifer Harmon, Charles Busch and Victor Slezak in "Auntie Mame" at Bay Street Theater. (Photo by David Rodgers)

First off, where ever did he get all those fabulous 11D pumps? Even in the 1956 Broadway original, Mame was lying through her teeth when she said her shoe size was 4B. It wasn't such a stretch for Rosalind Russell.

Except for his program mug shot, only the girth of his pedicurables gives Charles Busch's gender away in Bay Street Theatre's revival of "Auntie Mame." And although the play that inspired "Mame" the musical lobs home-run lines straight from the mound at Camp Galore, Busch coquettishly takes the pitch. Even "Peckerwood," the plantation of Mame's husband, Beauregard, passes without so much as a double-take from the author and leading lady of crossdressing romps such as "Vampire Lesbians of Sodom."

Though Busch dresses vividly as a woman throughout "Auntie Mame's" 25 scenes in 2 1/2 hours, the drag cliches erupt only sporadically, as when s/he sputters with eye-batting accompaniment: "How v-v-v-vivid!" Or exits with an upturned leg kicking behind, all calved and muled.

There's virtue in Busch's coyness. Artistic virtue, since the Mame we meet in her Beekman Place town house is nothing short of a roaring '20s libertine who, along with the rest of America, is about to crash. But "Auntie Mame," if she's to be revived as more than a museum artifact, must rely on the resuscitating kindness of strangers. So much of what passed for humor in the play's repressed '50s incubation isn't funny anymore. Concessions have been made by director Richard Sabellico. Nearly all libertines smoked cigarettes. But nary a puff arises on the efficiently airy set by Michael Bottari and Ronald Case, gauzily lit, as if in an alcoholic haze, by Eric Scholbohm. Set in a timeframe when HIV stood for High-Intake Vodka (Prohibition still was constitutionally standing in 1928), "Auntie Mame" got laughs from the liberating expression of debauchery. But with today's been-there, done- that 'tude, the party comes off more like a John Belushi skit on drugs, booze and cheeseburgers.

Young Tolan Aman as Mame's orphaned nephew, is irresistibly chirpy as a kid who's expert at serving martinis. To both Patrick and Mame's regret, he shows his bartender skills to Mr. Babcock, uptight as played by Victor Slezak, who has power of attorney over Patrick's future.

Busch totally gets Mame's feminine sense of aliveness, which is what carries her through the Depression and her husband's death-by-photo-op Matterhorn plunge. Her partying also saves grown Patrick (Max von Essen) from a stultifying marriage. But for all its good intentions, "Auntie," without the "We Need a Little Christmas" spirit of the musical, is so last millennium.

Mame would know what to do about this pall hanging over a comedy full of heart and courage. She would've thrown a party and allowed herself to go just enough over the top to lift us, too. Busch's Mame instead flies under the radar, stealing hearts with sincerity rather than cheap laughs. Unfortunately, it's a play crying out to be sent up. Others pick up that cue. Susan Pourfar as WASP princess Gloria talks like a ventriloquist, as if any thought in her puppet brain is imported. As Beauregard, Patrick Ryan Sullivan is convincing, if caricatured, while Peggy Fuller as movie star Vera Charles fittingly devours scenes. Gordano Rashovich as the defiled virgin-typist from Speedo (she's helping Mame transcribe her memoir) executes pregnant sight gags as the doctor ordered. But unwed mothers don't bear the comic cache of yore.

Fix it, Auntie Mame/Uncle Charles. We know you're in there somewhere.