"TIME OF THE CUCKOO," Shattered Globe Theatre at Victory Gardens Theater
BY LUCIA MAURO
One of my fears associated with any play set in Italy is being bombarded by accents as thick as pappardelle noodles in bolognese sauce. And Arthur Laurents’ 1952 Venice-set drama, "Time of the Cuckoo," has its share of heavy Latin intonations. But what struck me more than the stereotypical vocal strains in this sadly dated script was the playwright’s cartoonish treatment of the American characters and the script’s misogynistic undercurrents (regardless of the perceived "strong" nature of some of the female characters).
Set in a lovely pensione overlooking the Grand Canal, "Time of the Cuckoo" centers on the lonely and frustrated Leona Samish, a single American woman who fulfills her dream of visiting Venice. This rather hard-hitting play inspired the more saccharine and romanticized movie, "Summertime," starring Katharine Hepburn and Rosano Brazzi. The play – and film -- contain those classic culture shocks common to post-war tourist booms.
The boorish Americans in "Cuckoo" just may have been the catalyst for the "ugly American" stereotype. But Laurents uses stereotypes of his own to advance his somewhat skewed view of free-spirited love. Leona arrives in Venice looking for 18th century glass and a fling (a fling, however, that might lead to a permanent relationship). Unlike Hepburn’s uptight spinster interpretation, "Cuckoo’s" Leona is a feisty, heavy-drinking, tough cookie (the latter being her favorite nickname for everyone she meets). She’s also embittered, but we never get a clear understanding of the source of her bitterness.
When she meets the handsome Venetian-glass shop keeper DiRossi, she thinks she may have found her perfect mate – yet she resists him at every turn. Later, she learns from his son Vito that DiRossi is married. But DiRossi, in a long-winded speech that prompts gales of laughter with its references to "eating ravioli" and taking a big bite out of life, convinces Leona to give herself over to her emotions.
The fact that divorce was not permitted in Italy frequently is used to justify the locals’ loose but discreet affairs. After a while, although this was indeed true, the divorce argument only feeds the superficial Latin-lover cliché. And what we’re essentially left with is a dichotomy of so-called moral Americans and those passionate, free-spirited Italians, who exist only to remind Americans of their hypocritical nature. It’s quite a limited perspective and wears thin early in the play.
Laurents does create a more complex character in Fioria, the free-thinking pensione owner, who says she does not like to get too attached to men but finds herself falling in love with the self-absorbed American painter, Eddie. Eddie has his own fling with Fioria on a gondola despite the fact that he’s recently married the hot and sexy June (a blond bombshell cliché). We also have the hokey elderly American tourists, the Mcilhenney’s – the wife an obvious silent sufferer to her husband’s gruff, self-centered and Ameri-centric ways.
Giovanna, the flighty Italian maid who sings and leaves early to see her boyfriend, serves as shallow comic relief; and the little street urchin Mauro (who helps arrange illicit liaisons), is perhaps one of the play’s most condescending conventions.
In Nick Bowling’s period-precise staging, some of the actors manage to sift through Laurents’ flaws – the most obvious being that the characters simply "doth protest too much." It’s clear from the beginning that the playwright chastises people who go through life unhappy and alone because they are looking for perfection. But he relentlessly hammers that point home – while assuming that any single woman like Leona can only find her identity by freely giving herself over to a man (preferably a stylish Italian stranger).
Linda Reiter turns in the most believable performance as the tough and tormented Fioria (although, at times, she makes us too aware of her harsh accent). Rebecca Jordan lends surprisingly tender dimensions to the flippant Giovanna; and Justin Ochonicki’s Vito softly embodies the complex contradictions of his character and of Italy in general. Even Joanna Maclay and James Tellier master their small but significant supporting roles of the Mcilhenney’s.
Yet what’s missing most in this production is the burning tension between Leona and DiRossi. Eileen Niccolai, in particular, gives us no reason to care about the selfish, whiny and just plain mean Leona. Brian Pudil fares slightly better as DiRossi, but cannot extricate himself from his character’s Casanova-esque qualities and distracting accent. So the central characters only accentuate the play’s inconsistencies – especially DiRossi’s accusations that Leona only cares about money. He also seems to absolve himself for his transgressions because his wife is old and fat. Feminists could have a field day with this play.
Kevin Stark and Amy Monfort, while fine actors, are simply mis-matched as Eddie and June. And Robbie Godshaw adds no sympathetic layers to the predictable urchin Mauro.
What does consistently enthrall is Kevin Hagan’s exquisite scenic design – the centerpiece being an enlarged vintage postcard replica of the Grand Canal. We can actually feel the terra cotta that forms the terrace overlooking the Adriatic. Hagan even brings details – like hanging plants and statue fragments – into the audience’s space to extend the reach of his perfectly detailed Venetian set. Shelley Strasser-Holland’s gaslamp-style lighting replicates the shadowy elegance of La Serenissima. And Karen Kawa’s exacting 1950s costume designs make one wish those chic flared styles would return.
Let’s just hope that the worn convention of a single woman looking for romance in Italy has long gone out of dramatic fashion.•
Shattered Globe Theatre’s production of "Time of the Cuckoo" runs through December 1 at Victory Gardens Theater (Upstairs Studio), 2257 N. Lincoln. Tickets: $20-$25. Call 773-871-3000 or log onto www.shatteredglobe.org.
