Hollywood, Ending? Bruce Graham's
"According to Goldman"
by
Monica Pace
Ridley, PA-born playwright Bruce Graham is quick to point out the
secret of his success: "I wouldn't describe myself as an
artist-artists suffer. I'm a craftsman."
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From left
to right: Tobias Segal (Jeremiah Collins) and Bruce McCarty (Gavin
Miller). Photo, Mark Garvin |
The wry quip, in the context of his new play, "According to
Goldman," reveals an artist's acceptance of both his limitations
and strengths. Several parallels can be drawn between Graham and his
main character, Gavin Miller. Yet one stands out the most: Each faces a
career change. In his early days, Graham was primarily an actor. While
he would write humorous monologues, he never considered himself a
playwright until he arrived in New York. Why the sudden switch to
writing?
"In New York I realized they weren't looking for a short,
balding actor."
Graham then sums up his character's quandary and the play thus: Gavin
is at the point in an artist's career where "a job dries up and you
have to re-evaluate your life."
Philadelphia Theatre Company's premiere of "According to
Goldman," spells this out immediately in the opening scene. The
theatre darkens and the words, "The End," flicker up from the
closing credits of a classic film. The audience member becomes a part of
professor Gavin Miller's classroom as lights go up and Gavin
gesticulates at a blackboard to his unseen students. Gavin Miller
currently teaches film because his career in Hollywood as a screenwriter
is essentially over. He and his wife, Melanie, have moved to the suburbs
but as evidenced by her complaint that Gavin still hasn't unpacked the
items in his home office, only Melanie has truly settled in.
One of the greatest delights of "According to Goldman" is
the dialogue that volleys between Gavin and Melanie-Gavin at stage right
in the classroom and Melanie at stage left in an imaginary garden. While
their careers are now widely disparate-Melanie has retired from her
high-powered corporate job and now revels in gardening and cooking--they
are, unbeknownst to anyone but the audience-finishing one another's
sentences or using the same words in different contexts. Gavin confides
to his student Jeremiah, "By the time I got to Hollywood, everyone
I wanted to meet was all dead," while Melanie confides to a
neighbor, offstage, of her garden, "see, these are all dead."
The play also appeals to the classic film buff, playing scores from
black-and-white movies, name-dropping scores of titles including
"Maltese Falcon," "Psycho," and "Citizen
Kane," and incorporating hilarious, yet poignant and deftly
choreographed scenes of Jeremiah as his idol, Fred Astaire.
The awkward, earnest son of South African missionaries ("He
dresses like the kid in 'Witness!'" Gavin remarks to Melanie over a
martini), Jeremiah teams with Gavin to pen a screenplay about Jeremiah's
childhood. In the classroom, Gavin invokes screenwriter William
Goldman's line "Nobody knows anything" but, as Jeremiah makes
a surprise move with their script, "I don't want to
collaborate!" it is Gavin who must admit to not having guessed the
outcome. As he remarks to Jeremiah, insisting that audiences thrive on
this challenge, "Conflict is easy. Resolution-that's a bitch."
Gavin's ironic resolution is that he learns just as much about film
and his career path from his student as Jeremiah learns from him. It's a
hard lesson. Hollywood thrives on the talents of youth and Gavin is no
longer young: "It was a business full of kids, and they just didn't
want you anymore," Melanie cries. Rather than viewing this as a
defeat, Gavin affirms, "The next 23 years are mine" and runs
upstairs to unpack and finally to settle in to his new life.
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