Playwright: Mary Zimmerman
At: About Face Theatre at Steppenwolf Upstairs, 1650 N. Halsted St.
Phone: 312-355-1650; $25-$40
Runs through: July 9
BY MARY SHEN BARNIDGE
A convention frequently found in the humorous novels of the late Patrick Dennis is that of a naive narrator recounting disreputable events, thoroughly unaware of his ignoble dimensions. Deliberately or inadvertently, playwright Mary Zimmerman replicates this device in this page-to-stage adaptation. The problem is that this search for lost times is NOT a comedy.
Belle Epoque author Marcel Proust, nowadays considered one of the leading figures in the neo-romantic cult of homosexual-as-persecuted genius, described the shenanigans of the beau monde in savagely satirical detail, while adopting for himself a lifestyle reflecting the sensitivity and delicacy of a greenhouse-bred mimosa plant. His sole companion and confidante for the latter part of his life was his housekeeper, Celeste Albaret, who vowed to keep his secrets forever.
Just what secrets she was so reluctant to betray, speaking out 50 years after her employer's death only to refute what she considered to be libelous speculations on his lifestyle, are difficult to guess. Oh, WE know that Proust was queer as a calico orchid, that the femmes amours depicted in his novels were ambisexual portraits of male odalisques, and that his forays into the fleshpots of Paris were those of a fin-de-siécle sybarite. But in Zimmerman's play, Mme. Celeste never reveals by so much as a wink or a wry aside that SHE knows, or even suspects. And so her convictions do not elicit admiration for a loyal servant, but instead call forth the ludicrous image of a doting mother stubbornly clinging to denial of her angelic child's naughty habits.
Audiences, likewise doting, will probably be unabashed by this double-entendre à deux ( though one hopes actress Mary Beth Peil is being paid handsomely for her part in the joke ) . The major part of this 90-minute production is comprised of our hostess mimicking Marcel, in turn mimicking HIS characters. These scenes alternate with recitations from his literary oeuvre to accompany Daniel Ostling, Andre Pluess and Chris Binder's pretty technical effects. After darling Marcel dies, however, we hear no more. 'I lived for HIS needs,' says Mme. Celeste. So does Zimmerman, apparently: A trio of Proust's books is given its own curtain call.
