ioneer Theatre’s production of “The Real Thing” by Tom Stoppard is the kind of play I have been dreading writing about since I became a critic. Of course, I don’t mean the play was bad. They should have hired a seasoned veteran from The New York Times to critique this thing, not some kid from the intellectual po-dunk town of Las Vegas. A play of this

magnitude deserves the kind of criticism of an equal magnitude. Unfortunately, my cigar-chomping editor wants this play review on his desk yesterday.

“The Real Thing” is a play about a playwright (yes, one of those plays) named Henry (Paul Deboy) and his relationship with nearly every other character in the play. Henry acts as the central hub for his wife Charlotte (Joyce Cohen), his friend Max (Max Robinson) and his mistress—and Max’s wife—Annie (Jurian Hughes). In the meantime, Henry explores “the real thing” when it comes to various topics, such as love, lust, politics and writing.

In a play like this, where the real star of the show is Stoppard’s ingenious dialogue (see also “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead,” “Brazil” and, to a lesser extent, “Shakespeare in Love”), you would think little things like set design, scene transitions and lighting would almost be moot points. But the sets are beautiful, the scene transitions witty and the lighting smooth and rhythmic. The lights slowly form on the posters on the wall, then the scenery and finally the actors themselves. Scene transitions are punctuated by music (Henry is obsessed with pop music while trying his best to understand classical) and each passage of notes is perfect for each passing of scenes. And scenic designer James Wolk makes the revolving platforms, the movable posters on the wall, the minimalist play-within-a-play and train scenes turn into methodical, moving art that can only make you blink and wonder how they made it look so smooth and easy.

But the way the lighting rises in each scene isn’t the thing that will get your blood pumping. That honor goes to Charles Morey’s direction of the cast and the acting of each and every actor. Deboy’s portrayal of Henry goes down smooth and burns, like fine Kentucky whiskey, while Jurian Hughes’s Annie stalks across the stage, especially in the first act, as sleek as a cat in a room full of mice.

Even a relatively minor character like Max Robinson’s Max, who is really only in the play in three (albeit critical) scenes, really shows off what he can pull on stage.

Stay with me on this part because it can get confusing: The play opens up with a performance of one of Henry’s plays, a play within a play where a husband, played by the character Max, confronts his wife, played by Charlotte, about an affair she is having. Max is almost deriving pleasure from finding his wife out, and engages in a long monologue with biting humor and sarcasm. Later, in the actual play, Max confronts his real wife, Annie, about the affair she is having with Henry. This time, the big confrontation scene is met with shame, sadness and desperation. Max is stunned to silence and can barely speak coherently. This was probably my favorite non-Henry related scene in the entire play, as it is probably the best example of a representation of how people act when they’ve been hurt that badly by “the real thing.”

Ironically, if I have any problem at all with this play, it’s all Stoppard’s fault. There is no argument concerning Stoppard’s brilliance with drama, humor or the way people interact. However, his philosophy is shaky when it comes to “the real thing.” Stoppard claims he is the “kind of person who embarks on an endless leapfrog down the great moral issues. I put a position, rebut it, refute it, refute the rebutta, and rebut the refutation. Forever. Endlessly.” Yet it is still the cynical, sarcastic playwright, the star of the show, who ends up being right in the end—even when it seems he changes opinions, especially when it comes to fidelity, halfway through the play.

And it’s the idealist who turns out to be not an idealist at all but a real ass, and also ends up with dip smeared across his face. Although I do think Henry certainly has a point in many of his theories (I never thought of cricket bats as an analogy for good writing would seem so apt) his take on certain other things are from the standpoint of privilege—of hi-fi recordings and new VCRs and cricket bats. It makes me wonder if Henry’s views would change if he really had to steal a VCR. I’m speaking of the political views, of course. But what do I know? I’m just a lowly critic for a college newspaper, and Tom Stoppard is, well, Tom Stoppard.

Pioneer Theatre Company’s (300 S. 1400 East) production of “The Real Thing” runs through April 3. Tickets range from $20 to $39, with discounts available to University of Utah students and large groups. For information, call the box office at (801) 581-6961 or visit www.pioneertheatre.org.
jordan@red-mag.com