45 Seconds From Broadway is Neil Simon's valentine to the people in the orbit of Broadway, without whom it could not survive, who spin the threads that make up the rich fabric of theater. It is also a love song to that humble, hallowed haven for theater personages, the Edison Cafe, fondly nicknamed the "Polish Tea Room" (a take-off on the flashy Russian Tea Room, where Hollywood types mostly convene). There (and onstage in John Lee Beatty's faithful reproduction) you will find the penniless wannabe actors and playwrights in their time- honored survival trade, waiting tables (a living cliche that is really true), serving deal making agents and producers, matinee ladies issuing their personal reviews, blase veteran performers and over-the-top theatrical types, under the watchful eyes of know-it-all nurturing proprietors. Now Simon has returned to the strictly-for-laughs recollections of his days as a playwright. His characters are brilliant: Kevin Carroll is a comic delight in the most complex role in the play, the serious, starving-but-proud, angst ridden South-African playwright with a serious message, who nevertheless delights in the humor and culture to which he is suddenly exposed, his comic timing an illustration of slick over shtick humor. Julie Lund is perfect as the gratingly starry eyed, stage struck, perhaps talentless wannabe actress following her mother's footsteps but undaunted by her mother's failure. David Margolies does wonders with the other role of substance, the star's brother, Harry Fox, forced to live in the shadow of his brother, wear his hand-me-down suits and suffer the humiliation of begging a favor, not for himself, but for a career boost for his son. Dennis Creaghean is the often clueless, idealized producer/agent who laughs at every joke and keeps coming up with offers that range from delightfully inappropriate to stunningly substandard. Marian Seldes deliciously plays the showy half of an affected, pretentious couple who just want to be connected, confusing "theatrical" for "theater", vis a vis Bill Moor, her tormented and tormentingly taciturn husband. Lynda Gravatt provides ideal contrast as the acid tongued, nonplused veteran actress who is giving up theater for the money of Hollywood. Louis Zorich and Rebecca Schull play the Cafe's real-life owners, Holocaust survivors Harry and Frances Edelstein, with appropriate gruff warmth. The bedrock of it all, the theatergoers without whom none of the above is possible, are the inveterate matinee ladies, Alix Corey, who brings life and spark to every role, and her amiable and equitable sidekick, Judith Blazer, the bright spots in the play as they critique what they've seen and even dabble in amateur producing. They ring truest, hence the funniest.
The center around which 45 Seconds revolves is Lewis J. Stadlen as Mickey Fox. The oddity in this play about theatrical types is its leading man, who is more a borscht-belt comic than an actor. Bobbie Mack is so uncomfortably a Jackie Mason clone that one wonders why they didn't just go out and get him for the part (of course, if they did, the complaint would be that he was not acting but being himself). Mack is all surface, so there is no real heart to the show, and there is its weakness. But he is non-stop amusing and, for laughs without resorting to slapstick or farce, this play has genuine New York humor, a rare commodity not to be undervalued in this world of hybrid, corporation-propelled collaborations that signify Broadway productions these days, and that in itself is worth the ticket price.
The characters sit comfortably together onstage, creating a richly woven fabric full of oneliners for which Simon is so famous and at which he is so facile, yet there is no dominant design or pattern, just interwoven threads -- pleasant, even loveable to the beholder, but not really eye catching . All characterization, with little plot, the play is anchorless. What makes the evening fly, and it does, thanks to longtime co-conspirator, director Jerry Zaks, are the actors milking their parts for all they're worth. Under Zaks' aegis, the characters seem statically anchored to the set, so the only movement onstage are the zingers whizzing by, in Simon's buckshot theory that most will hit their target. And so, a transparent attempt to tie it up with an emotional wallop is merely a flick. Roles are suddenly and inexplicably reversed when the taciturn husband suddenly takes over and subjugates his flamboyant wife into a mousy supplicant. The conflict between the brothers is so cliched it is neither funny nor touching. Poignancy is never attained in either scenario. The one element of tension rings false when Louis Zorich secretly sells their beloved cafe to afford his wife an easy retirement in Florida, which she hates! How could he do that after all their years as partners in business and marriage? Please!!!
Therein lies the brilliance and flaws of the writer who is considered by Theater Cognoscenti as not a playwright but more a comedy writer with a keen eye and ear for presenting characters and situations but not developing them beyond one dimension. Rumors circulated that Mr Simon had an emergency gall bladder surgery and so was unable to fine tune the play with those last minute rewrites that so typify theater, but I don't think, other than recreating a central figure, tweaks would have changed much, Nonetheless, Simon has a theater named for him, and he's still writing, and he will always be loved by the community.
Neil Simon is one of theater's cherished icons. Even at his worst he is better than most. The penultimate New York theater person's prolific writings have ranged from the heartfelt, autobiographical Brighten Beach Memoirs and Biloxi Blues, which captured his New York/Jewish upbringing in human and humorous ways, to the more global Plaza Suite and London Suite, from the humble Lost in Yonkers to last year's elegant The Dinner Party. When he turned to romance in his autobiographic mode with Jake's Women and The Goodbye Girl, his plays became more layered, if not as funny, but it was as a TV writer for the zany comics like Sid Caesar from which he drew, capturing the manic, zany one liners that provided him a living as one of TV's best comedy writers.
