When the playwright gets into the act

Every so often in the theater, playwrights wants to get into the act, too— that is, perform in their own plays. A playwright's presence can't help but change your perception of the play in intriguing ways. Sometimes it changes the playwright's perceptions, too.

Watching John Guare perform in his new play, 3 Kinds of Exile, for example, is a heady experience. This exotic trilogy of playlets about three Eastern European refugees (two real, one imagined) offers a meaningful meditation on destiny, identity and survival— in life and in the theater.

Guare appears in the evening's second play, "Elzbieta Erased," in which two narrators (one of whom is the playwright) tell the tragic story of an acclaimed classical actress. Elzbieta Czyżewska (1938-2010) was once the jewel in the crown of the Polish theater, but her life's journey led her to exile, destitution, obscurity and ultimately a lonely death.

While larger-than-life photos flash on the upstage screen behind them, the narrators recount her moving story, beginning at a party for the Polish production of Arthur Miller's After The Fall (Elzbieta played Marilyn Monroe's part), where she met David Halberstam, the New York Times correspondent in Warsaw. They fell in love and married, but soon thereafter Halberstam fell out of favor with the Polish authorities and the couple was expelled from the country, whereupon Elzbieta's "legendary bad luck" began.

Sleeping in Stalin's box

In the U.S., Elzbieta's name proved to be an obstacle in the theater ("Like a bad hand at Scrabble," she quipped). The language barrier and her strong foreign accent created problems, too. She couldn't even get cast as herself in the title role of Anna, the 1987 film based on her own life (Sally Kirkland got the part, and was nominated for an Academy Award). Elzbieta's marriage fell apart, and she wound up alone, unemployable and destitute on the streets of New York.

In one of her occasional comeback moments, she paid a return visit to Poland, where she appeared on the stage but was forced to sleep on the theater floor at night (in Stalin's old box, ironically).

Back in the U.S., Elzbieta appeared in a few productions at the Yale Repertory Theatre (together with Meryl Streep and Rip Torn), at the American Repertory Theatre (in Cambridge), won an Obie for a performance in Mac Wellman's Crowbar in 1990, and performed with Elizabeth Marvel in the 2004 production of Hedda Gabler at the New York Theatre Workshop.

But she never regained a solid theater footing, and plunged deeper into depression, destitution and bitterness. "The art of losing is not hard to master," Elzbieta once remarked. She died of esophageal cancer in 2010 at the age of 72.

What makes Elzbieta's story so compelling is Guare's deep compassion for her and for her plight. Guare met Elzbieta in the early 1970s, soon after she came to the U.S., while he was launching a theater on Nantucket. He actually wrote a play with a role for her (ironically, he had to release her because of language issues).

Guare as himself

Still, Elzbieta and Guare remained friends throughout her life, and his admiration for her remarkable story is palpable. At one point on stage, Guare narrates: "And Guare remembered something Elzbieta said years ago"—whereupon Guare the actor assumes the role of Guare the writer.

It's a delectable meta-theatrical moment— no wonder Guare chose to perform it. This tall, sophisticated man with a silvery mane performs with energy and grace, cutting an elegant figure as a "man of the theater" telling the story of a "woman of the theater."

Ultimately, rescuing Elzbieta's story from oblivion is more than an act of charity. It's Guare's passionate homage to her fortitude, and to the theater.

"A courageous person," Elzbieta said, "is someone who knows fear and yet gets up and keeps going every day." Guare has given us a gift"“ a parable of survival in the theater and in life.

David Hare in Palestine

Watching Guare reminds me of another playwright: the British-born David Hare, who also had an unusual opportunity to perform in his own work. Like Guare, Sir David wasn't an actor. But like Guare, he ultimately cast himself out of passion and conviction for his subject matter.

Having written dozens of plays rich in political and historical content, Hare journeyed to Israel and Palestine in 1997 and interviewed 33 individuals from both sides about the current political conflict there. The result was a 90-minute monologue entitled Via Doloroso, and director Stephen Daldry and Hare decided that the playwright was the best candidate for the role. As a result, Hare made his acting debut in London in 1997, and on Broadway in 1998.

Watching this tall, distinguished, professorial-looking playwright on the stage, I remember being touched by his lack of actorly artifice and even his occasional shyness. Above all, I was moved by Hare's sincere passion for his subject matter and his urgent, heartfelt plea for moderation in a world torn apart by extremism.

Durang as Jesus

As for other performing playwrights, Eve Ensler (The Vagina Monologues), Spalding Gray (in his many monologues, including Swimming to Cambodia and Gray's Anatomy), and Anna Deavere Smith (Fires in the Mirror and Twilight: Los Angeles) are notable examples. In every instance, their presence makes their material that much more compelling. (Indeed, in the cases of Gray and Smith, their material wouldn't work without them.)

But two of my favorite examples of performing playwrights are those who act in their own plays for the sheer fun of it. Christopher Durang is an experienced actor who has appeared frequently in his own productions, including most notably The Actor's Nightmare, Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All For You, The Marriage of Bette and Boo and Laughing Wild (in which he played "The Infant of Prague," a bizarre vision of the Christ Child dressed in fancy clothing). Durang's colorful presence in his own absurdist comedies sharpens their satire and levitates them to new heights of hilarity.

Graham's explanation

The Philadelphia playwright Bruce Graham has also stepped onto the stage in his own work numerous times, and for varied reasons (including medical emergencies and, once, even a monsoon). When the stage manager criticized Graham for ad-libbing while performing in his Top of the World, Graham replied, "I'm not ad-libbing; I'm rewriting."

"I think every playwright should be forced to go on stage, in his/her own play or someone else's," Graham once remarked. "You can always tell plays written by folks who have never been on stage, since they ask the actors to do impossible things emotionally."

Meanwhile, more and more actors are becoming playwrights. Jesse Eisenberg (The Revisionist) and Bruce Norris (Clybourne Park) are shining examples. Survival is all. Would that Elzbieta Czyżewska had been able to do the same.♦


To read a related commentary by Dan Rottenberg, click here.
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