TRUE WEST
Directed by Paul Mullins; written by Sam Shepard
With: Todd Cerveris, Don Harvey, Ron Botting, Barbara Mather
At Portland Stage Company in Portland, Maine
From February 4 to February 23, 2003
By Laurie Meunier Graves
In the twentieth century, so much has been written about the dysfunctional
family that it might be fair to wonder if this is a modern affliction. But if
we turn to Sophocles, Shakespeare, Ibsen, and Chekhov, we begin to realize
that the fractured family has been with us for a very long time. We can only
conclude that it is part of the human condition, and with it comes the
longing for wholeness and connection.
The Portland Stage Company’s riveting production of True West
captures the essence of the fragmented family where envy and resentment are
the best of what the family members get from each other. While this may
sound like small comfort, the worst is far more devastating—that is,
neglect, abandonment, and complete disengagement.
At this point in the review, I think it is only fair to warn readers that I
will be discussing aspects of the entire plot. Those who are unfamiliar with
the play may want to wait until they have seen it before reading the rest of
this review.
Set in southern California, True West opens in a spotless, yellow
kitchen, and we immediately know that we are in the 1970s. There are plants
hanging in the window, flowered wallpaper, and a table with chrome legs.
Nothing is out of place, and those of us of a certain age have been in many
kitchens that looked like this.
Two men are in the kitchen. One appears to be small and delicate. Neatly
dressed, he sits at the table and types by candlelight. The other man looms
large in the shadows by the sink. There is nothing neat about him, and later
in the play, when he takes off his shoes, we see that his feet are dirty.
The men are brothers, of course, respectively Austin and Lee, a pair of
opposites connected by jealousy, regret, and rage.
At first glance, Austin seems to be successful; he’s a screenwriter with a
wife, a home, and a family. He has come to house-sit for his mother, who has
gone to Alaska, the coldest state in the country, for a vacation. Austin is
prosperous and responsible, and even remembers to water the plants.
Lee, on the other hand, is a beer-swilling prodigal son who claims he never
sleeps. He has lived in the desert and has led a wild, restless life. He
breaks into homes and steals television sets, and his fondest memories are
of a pit bull dog that he used for fighting.
Lee alternates between being a swaggering bully and a sullen misfit always
on the verge of violence. He resents and envies Austin’s Ivy League
education even though he mocks it.
Austin is afraid of Lee, and we can understand why. We are afraid of him,
too, and have even known a Lee or two, especially in high school. At the
same time, Austin envies Lee, and this we can understand as well. Lee has a
willful charisma that attracts as well as repels, and his life seems free
and unfettered. We soon realize that neither brother is whole, and that they
both yearn for what the other has, instinctively knowing that this is what
they lack.
To make things even more interesting, the chrome-legged table turns. A
producer, who has come to see Austin about a script, becomes interested in a
story of Lee’s, which is a western that is by turns melodramatic and
existential. Suddenly, Lee becomes the desirable writer, and Austin becomes
the outcast. This leads to a potentially murderous struggle where Austin
rather than Lee loses complete control of his emotions. Worse yet, we get
the feeling that this has been an ongoing struggle that will not end while
either brother is alive.
And what is the cause of all this misery? Why the parents, of course. Father
is in the desert, drinking through the days, and even though he is not
actually in the play, his presence, through the brothers’ stories, is so
strong that he becomes a character in his own right. Mother is so disengaged
that it almost seems as though she’s mentally ill. We do get to see her, and
as soon as we do, we understand that these brothers are, in effect, orphans.
They have never been the center of anyone’s life, and while this might seem
like blissful freedom, especially to teenagers, it is in fact the worst kind
of neglect. No one cares about them.
I think it is safe to say that Portland Stage Company’s production of this
play achieves what the writer Robertson Davies referred to as “alchemy in
the theater.” The performances, especially by Todd Cerveris, who played
Austin, and Don Harvey, who played Lee, were practically perfect. Mr.
Cerveris, was utterly convincing in his portrayal of a character who went
from being meek to violent. Mr. Harvey played Lee with such a combination of
menace and angst that every scene had a wonderful tension. These fine actors
showed us what was missing from the brothers’ lives and what was at stake.
Also good were Ron Botting, as the unctuous producer Saul Klimmer and
Barbara Mather as the remote mother. Their parts were small but essential,
and these two actors did a convincing job of showing this.
All in all, Portland Stage Company’s True West is as fine a
production as I have seen anywhere, and that includes Boston and New York.
Maine is lucky indeed to have a theater that produces a show of this quality
and complexity. 
