Among the most delicate and complicated relationships in the world of the arts is that between mentor
and protŽgŽ. Especially when at the start the mentor is a curmudgeon and the
protŽgŽ is adoring. The protŽgŽ absorbs like a sponge everything the mentor
has to sayÑeven the mentorÕs unwisest attitudes and opinionsÑand
inevitably, it is the filtering of those flaws that causes the breach. As
the protŽgŽ breaks away, s/he almost always does so by returning a dose of the
mentorÕs own medicine. And, in a manner that is almost always hurtfulÉbut
more than that, at first, bewilderingÉthe
mentor is not only unappreciativeÉbut without understanding.
Countless
acquaintances and colleagues of mine have gone through this rite of passage
with their mentors, IÕve been through it myself, and if youÕre lucky
enough (as I was) to come from a fairly well-adjusted homelife, your mentor inevitably
providesÑas a friend of mine once put itÑthe dysfunctional
family you never had. (While boning up on character lore for a novel I wrote
some years ago, based on the teevee series Alien Nation, I rescreened an episode called ÒPartnersÓ. The human
cop, Sikes [Gary Graham] has just discovered that his mentor is terribly
flawed. Trying to make light of it, he says to George, the alien cop who is his
partner [Eric Pierpoint], ÒItÕs not like he was my father or anything.Ó
And GeorgeÕs sober, gentle response is: ÒOh, no, MatthewÑhe was much more
than a father to you.Ó ItÕs a scene
thatÕs etched in my brain and the exchange still haunts me. I think it always
will.)
I
have remained just as haunted by Donald MarguliesÕ 1997 play ÒCollected StoriesÓ which is still, to my memory, the first and only
dramatization of this relationship that is so pointed and specific. It follows
in detail the Òarc of inevitabilityÓ described in the opening paragraphsÉbut
it never settles into seeming schematic, because Mr. Margulies is so deft
at keeping the relationship shaded in hues of gray. Right and wrong donÕt exist
here, just a ritual passing of the torch, with all the jealousies and
rebellionsÑconscious and otherwiseÑthat entails.
The
characters are: short story writer Ruth Steiner (Linda Lavin), crusty, middle aged, single, a literary icon
but not really a household name, never having braved a full novelÉand Lisa Morrison (Sarah
Paulson) her graduate student, who
soon becomes her assistant, and, in short (and unspoken) order, a kind of
surrogate daughter. She will eventually brave the novel. And
therein will lie the seeds of a very arguable betrayal.
And
it is very well argued too. Mr. Margulies puts equal weight on a studentsÕ
responsibility to be sensitiveÉand the mentorÕs responsibility to
understand how much power her words carry. At the playÕs shattering climax
(well, perhaps not shatteringÑbut
traumatic enough) you are at a loss for who to root for. Sadder
stillÑyouÕve come to love them both: because you can see each in the
otherÕs eyesÉyou understand intimately what brings them togetherÉand what rips
them apart. (I hasten to add, sobering as this play is, it is far from
humorless. A sense of irony is what draws these two togetherÑand rips
them apartÑtoo.)
Under
the direction of Lynne Meadow, the cast
of this revival is quite fine: Ms. Paulson exhibits a wide range of emotions
and a very convincing gradual growth from fawning na•vetŽ to assured maturity
as the newcomer to the craft. And as the teacher, Ms. Lavin manages to exploit
her significant arsenal of nuance and variation without the tics
of grandeur and scene stealing that can come to her so easily. (Exactly the
kind of thing that tainted the performance of Uta Hagen in a 1998ÑthatÕs
not a typo, it was indeed little more than a year after the
originalÑrevival.) Ms. Lavin is giving an appropriately virtuosic performance,
to be sure, but one thatÕs in careful check, and finely balanced with that of
her co-star.
All
this said, ÒCollected StoriesÓ is by no means a great playÑmerely a very
good one. But it does something great.
It nails a vital dynamic in the creative process. And it assures all of us
who have been through it, are going through it, or have yet to go through it
that itÕs a time-honored path to treadÉ
Éand
that we are not aloneÉ
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