Also this issue:

In Bloom
The Rosenbach Museum’s slew of upcoming Ulysses programs will entertain Joyce devotees and newcomers alike.
-Toby Zinman

Rocking the Boat

Theater

-Morgen Rossmair

He Held Me Grand

Theater

-Morgen Rossmair

One More One Man of La Mancha

Theater

-Debra Auspitz

From Generation to Generation

Art

-Lori Hill

May 23-29, 2002

theater

Writer's Bloc

by David Anthony Fox

The Aspern LettersThrough June 2, The Brick Playhouse, 623 South St., 215-592-1183, www.thebrickplayhouse.org

What does late-19th-century Venice have to do with the new Czech Republic? Not much, though playwright Roger Cornish uses the latter as an analogue for the former in The Aspern Letters, his adaptation of Henry James’ The Aspern Papers.

The plots are otherwise similar. A young writer (called only "He") is obsessed with finding the letters of a famous dead poet, Jeffrey Aspern. To do this, He is willing to go to great lengths, including seducing Tina, the unalluring spinster niece of Aspern's now-elderly mistress. But what begins as one obsession may become another....

Cornish's adaptation wants to explore: 1) how imperceptible the borders are between manipulation and love; 2) the unscrupulous, competitive nature of modern biography; and 3) how the fall of communism ended one world and created others. (The first of these is similar to James' original, the second loosely reconfigured, the third a total departure.)

Here's why it doesn't work: 1) Cornish has nothing interesting to say about post-communist Eastern Europe. 2) Likewise, he has no new thoughts on the relationship story, and his cultural transposition eliminates the crucial element of Victorian repression. 3) James' original was, in its way, a potboiler -- but of course, it had the literary pedigree to suggest that Aspern's letters might have some artistic as well as commercial value. Seen here, the play's literati seem incapable of writing -- or even reading -- anything deeper than TV Guide.

Add it up, and it's (iron) curtains for this version.

Elements of the production compound the limitations of Cornish's script. Director Mark Cofta tries gamely, but Brick's limited resources can't match the play's demands. Rob Hargraves (He) projects a single note of flatfooted affability. He doesn't begin to suggest rabid intellect; nor does he sound anything but silly describing a row of trees as "a copper ribbon marking the ridge between earth and sky." (Cornish's poetic flights are nearly always unfortunate.) Mrs. Prest has been crudely rewritten as a predatory, kittenish editor, and K. Richardson plays her like Alexis Carrington. On the other hand, Kurt Runco does much with the cliched role of an entrepreneurial, jack-of-all-trades sidekick (think Eastern bloc variant on Faithful Companion, Tonto). Ann Bailis is effective as the old mistress. Cyndi Janzen is lyrical and lovely as Tina.

My advice? In the 2 hours and 40 minutes you would spend in the theater, you could read the original novella. Home, James.

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