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Theater Review: Mamet’s Political Satire Lands Its Side-Splitting Cheap Shots

By Liz Johnstone |

November, David Mamet’s 2007 political comedy about an incumbent president days away from losing a second term, is full of pithy, audience-pleasing one liners that earn laughs without being particularly memorable. After I saw it for the first time in New York, I left with my sides splitting but for the life of me couldn’t recall many lines beyond “I hope your other wife gets eaten by walrus.”

The play opens with foul-mouthed Commander in Chief Charles Smith (Jerry Russell) and his faithful advisor/lawyer, Archer (Jim Covault, a bit of a Cheney lookalike) lamenting Smith’s abysmal numbers at the polls. Well, Smith is lamenting, and Archie is fairly matter-of-fact about the whole thing (Smith: “What is it about me that people don’t like?” Lawyer: “That you’re still here.”)

But Smith quickly gets distracted from the whole re-election business when he learns that there’s not even enough cash in the coffers to pay for a presidential library, and embarks on a series of get-rich-quick subplots that involve Turkey Guy (played with perfect seriousness by Donald Jordan), Chief Dwight Grackel of the Mic Mac Nation (Rob Bosquez), and Smith’s idealistic speechwriter, Clarice Bernstein (Sherry Jo Ward), suffering from both a bad case of the flu and incurable lesbianism.

At the risk of sounding obvious, the humor of the play, evident here in Stage West’s production ably directed by Dana Schultes, hinges on the West Wing setting (beautifully done by Jason Domm and Jennifer Schultes) and watching the so-called “leader of the free world” track figurative mud all over the Persian-carpeted symbol of our nation’s top job. Hearing the president let out a string of f-bombs in the Oval Office? I’m the target audience here, since I find the idea inherently hilarious. But after two acts, the novelty of it wears off, and that particular joke is played out.

Though thoroughly corrupt, Russell’s President Smith reads more bumbling than truly mean-spirited. He’s a gleeful old windbag delighted by the gift of undeserved power, constantly threatening to ship anyone who doesn’t curry his favor to parts unknown via the “piggy plane” (courtesy of the pork industry, of course). His ego is alternately inflated and soothed by everyone except Bernstein, who seems to suspect that this otherwise abominable creature has a heart muscle somewhere deep down and it’s her job to expose it.

Ward plays the wheezing, sneezing role of earnest presidential doormat just fine, and the most human aspects of the play come from the begrudging respect she’s earned from Smith for her writing talent— despite her “loathsome and abominable” sexual practices. However, along with her character’s many ailments, she’s come down with the same “adorably inappropriate grandparent” syndrome that Russell plays up. He’s not quite giving Betty White a run for her money, but he comes close.

Regardless, the strength of the ensemble, along with the seasonal timing and the sheer silliness of it all, carries the production. Mamet lampoons everyone and everything at every opportunity, leaping from politics to women to consumerism to capitalism. Even though some of the shots are cheap, they almost always land, what with the recent rash of badly behaved politicians and last week’s decision to legalize gay marriage in New York still fresh. And I suppose in the end, regardless of age, race, or sexual orientation, all we want is the chance to get equally screwed (or if we’re playing choose-your-own-metaphor, be the one talking softly and carrying a big stick.) Go, America.

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