Once upon a time there was a magical place called Second Avenue. Honest, weary working folk, linked by a common history and language, could venture there and see their dreams enacted, their culture celebrated, and their troubles shared. But soon the elderly began to die, and the next generation didn’t take its place. Second Avenue withered away, and life went on. Memories remain, though, as those who were there recall the vital wonder of the Yiddish theater.
Hy Kraft was 43 when his comedy Cafe Crown opened on Broadway in 1942. Audiences responded to its warm nostalgia, although critics pointed out that the play was weak, more cozy than comic. Nearly half a century later, Cafe Crown, opened at Joseph Papp’s Public Theater and moving to its current home, Broadway’s Brooks Atkinson Theater, has elicited the same responses, although the critics have been kinder this time around. Unfortunately, time has not been kind to Mr. Kraft’s play, which remains a flat tribute to an infinitely livelier theatrical tradition.
All the action takes place in the very Jewish (though not exactly Kosher -- milk and meat? Oy!), Cafe Crown. I use the word “action” loosely, since not much happens in the hour-long first act. We get endless atmosphere and set-up, featuring expendable minor characters who aren’t funny enough to be more than momentarily amusing. The cafe is a hang-out for artists, critics, and actors left behind when the glory years of Second Avenue ended. Eventually we discover that David Cole, the eminent Yiddish thespian, plans to pay a rare visit to the cafe. This whets the appetites of the Cafe regulars who long to be active again.
Cole arrives, and he’s treated like a king by all, including a young Australian businessman who claims to be his son. Cole announces his plan to stage a Yiddish version of King Lear financed by his new-found son’s money and featuring his other son Lester in the lead. Wouldn’t you know? Lester’s agent arrives with a major Hollywood offer, and the young actor must choose between the world of his father and the world outside.
It’s an old-fashioned plot, though not a bad one. What slows the evening is Hy Kraft’s pedestrian writing. His jokes were hoary in 1942, and they’ve gained little lustre with age. It’s also hard to believe that Hymie, owner of the cafe and nearby theater, an intelligent and seemingly worldly middle-aged man, would be unfamiliar with the plots of Shakespeare’s most famous plays. And, though a minor cavil, we’re also hard pressed to believe that any agent would go so far out of his way for an unknown talent.
Once Cole gets his plan under way, the play painlessly carries us through to its traditional conclusion. All this would be more enjoyable had Martin Charnin directed with more energy. We keep waiting for the zany spirit of Second Avenue to lift the material; instead we get sluggishness and intermittent mugging.
As David Cole, Eli Wallach brings a solid if not galvanizing presence to the play. We also believe Anne Jackson (Wallach’s real-life wife) as Mrs. Cole, although giving her equal billing misleads, considering the size of her role. Bob Dishy plays Bob Dishy, which is becoming tiring even if he’s quite good at it.
The evening’s biggest laughs fall to Fyvush Finkel’s sullen waiter. He doesn’t overdo the caricature (I know, I’ve been to delis with waiters just like that), and he rarely mugs. The same cannot be said for Felix Fibich, whose hamminess is decidedly unkosher. David Carroll is an assault as Lester, his down-under accent as awful as real Australian Peter Allen’s Brooklyn accent in Legs Diamond. Perhaps they should have switched roles. Other performers are acceptable, with Walter Bobbie a stand-out as the crass but well-intentioned talent agent.
Santo Loquasto has given the play an authentic look, and the character actors, though far from a unified ensemble, seem to enjoy themselves. Yet it’s all terribly bland. Cafe Crown has a built-in audience of mavens who deserve better.
