Summer Fair

By T.E.Kalem

Manhattan on the aisle

New York thrives between the pit and the pendulum. Theater attendance is up and so is the number of tourists who come to the megalopolis. This gas-shy summer will be no exception. Herewith, in alphabetical order, a ten-best list of attractions on and off Broadway well worth the high price of admission. Mind you, taste is a priceless democratic choice, and there are other shows that will reward a visit.

A Chorus Line. Prior to this musical, dancers were a brigade of legs locked in animated unity. They have been as anonymous as gypsies, the theatrical term by which they are popularly known. This show probes their origins, their hopes, their dreads, their triumphs and why dancing was in the souls of their feet.

Buried Child. Of all younger U.S. playwrights, Sam Shepard is the ablest, a man whose work not only attests to his comedic talents but also bears the imprint of the home of the brave and the land of the free, and indicates why that country today sometimes seems to be neither brave nor free.

"Da." Parents are the crucible of our lives. The coffin never confines them. They stalk our memories, govern almost all of our acts and can never be exorcised, will it as we may. Da, meaning dad, is what this salty Irish play is all about, and in the title role, Barnard Hughes is formidable and irresistibly jocund.

Father's Day. Maybe the title should be Divorcee's Day. Three highly articulate women (Tammy Grimes, Susan Tyrrell, Mary Beth Hurt) who have been ditched by their husbands indulge in distinctly inflammatory remarks about the male as s.o.b. Alternating between poignance and dipsy mirth, this drama takes a 20/20 look at divorce, U.S. style.

Getting Out. This is a tale of an orphan of despair, released from jail but not from the cage of her younger mutinous self. Balanced between torment and valiance, Susan Kingsley, an actress of kinetic authority, exemplifies what Archibald MacLeish once said of poetry: "A poem should not mean but be."

Sweeney Todd. Not for the squeamish, since it is about cutting people's throats, baking the fresh cadavers without delay and serving them up as meat pies. With Angela Lansbury and Len Cariou in peak performances, Sweeney Todd is a classic example of the remarkable virtuosity and range of the U.S. musical when it is in the hands of two flamboy ant masters of the stage, Director Harold Prince and Composer-Lyricist Stephen Sondheim. It is also the closest Sondheim has come to writing an opera, albeit dark, cynical and morbid in hue.

The Best Little Whorehouse in Tex as. No one who is out for an evening of fun will have a better time on all of Broad way. Racy in language but bawdily in nocent, the show is a treat in book, song and dance, and the choicest treat of all is Henderson Forsythe as the sheriff and Carlin Glynn as the madam.

The Elephant Man. Winner of both the New York Drama Critics Circle and Tony awards, this drama about a man (Philip Anglim) grotesque in shape but al most saintly in spirit is the kind of the atrical experience that opens a window on the high cost, strange mystery and in effable blessing of human life.

They're Playing Our Song. Ego is not a show-biz put-on. It is essential armor.

Everyone in the theater lives within the le thal limits of a terrific hit or a castratory flop. To get to the top is a demanding task; to stay at the top is a grueling or deal. Nobody knows more about that than Neil Simon, or deals with it with such consistent comic verve.

Whose Life Is It Anyway? The strang est objects in New York theaters this sea son are plays that might be labeled terminal comedy cases. They highlight people who defend with their wit and ironic quips the right to die. This is the best of those plays, and Tom Conti, paralyzed from the neck down, is the most at tractive antihero in that we root for his decision to die and mourn the imminent loss of a vitally amusing friend at the same time. --

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