I’m sure you’ve been in this position: A charismatic friend is telling you about his or her weekend, name-dropping and exclaiming and being as devastatingly charming as he or she can, and you’re interested. You really are. For about 20 minutes. Then, as the friend continues to talk about people you’re not immediately acquainted with, your attention starts to wander. Forty minutes in, your smile freezes. After two hours, you’re wondering why you’re still feigning attention at all.
Jay Presson Allen’s Tru, which captures author Truman Capote on the down-crest of his fame in 1975 (nine years before his death), is a one-man reflection on friendship, professional morals, and self-worth. Though it’s set nearly a decade after the publication of his literary masterpiece, In Cold Blood, Capote is suffering after having a gossipy chapter of his roman á clef Answered Prayers published in Esquire magazine. His famous friends, from communications titans William and Babe Paley to socialite Slim Keith, have shunned him. He’s left to drown his sorrow and creeping depression in vodka and chocolate truffles. And right before Christmas too.
The solo show, which played Broadway in 1989 with Robert Morse (whom you might recognize from Mad Men), here stars the engaging Jaston Williams. Known for creating and starring in the “Greater Tuna plays,” Williams first played this role at the ZACH Theatre in Austin, under the direction of the late Larry Randolph. Though he doesn’t particularly resemble Capote — an unusual-looking human to be sure — he indeed sounds like him. Before the lights even come up on Jac Alder’s crowded, cozy, classy set, Williams speaks in that distinctive breathy whine and a gasp of recognition ripples through the audience.
Williams’ portrayal is warm and intriguing, his mimicked cadence spot-on while he’s relishing such campy lines as “poinsettias are the Bob Goulet of botany” and “good taste is the death of art.” But director Marty Van Kleeck is hindered by the stagnant nature of the show. Capote putters around his U.N. Plaza apartment, taking phone calls on his busy double lines and reminiscing about his scarring childhood (his mother committed suicide, while his loving, simple aunt wasn’t as much of a presence in his life as he would have liked.) He quarrels with his most recent lover and reluctantly assembles his Christmas tree (the doorman does most of the work.)
Add a long intermission to what could have been a zippy, 90-minute monologue, and Tru is a show that starts off swimmingly yet drags to the finish. Though your head might be swimming with famous names once the lights come up — never challenge Ava Gardner to a drinking contest — there’s really very little dish happening in Allen’s play. And for such a character as Truman Capote, that’s really a shame.
