STAGE REVIEW : Another U.S. Ensemble Has a Go at Fo’s ‘Anarchist’

It’s time to do an inquiry. Why do American ensembles have such a beast of a time with Dario Fo’s “tragic farce” (his term), “Accidental Death of an Anarchist”?

A good place to begin--and it’s likely what has tripped up director Ron Sossi’s ensemble at the Odyssey Theatre--is that Fo’s play isn’t a play in any usual sense. Developed in 1970 by his troupe, La Commune, as a response to the death of a leftist, who supposedly leaped out a window during a police investigation, “Accidental Death” was written and re-written as the ugly events grew uglier.

Fo calls this kind of playmaking “situational,” and it’s why three distinct endings exist in print (depending on which translation is used). Add to this Fo’s expressed wish that any new production insert topical political references, and you have a script that begins to resemble a moving target.

So, for example, the John Lahr and Richard Nelson adaptations in this decade drop in all sorts of Reagan jokes. They’re not all that funny, but might be if there were supreme funnymen on stage speaking them. Sossi has employed Nelson’s text, but now the jokes have been updated to Bush. Bush isn’t as funny as Reagan.

The actor who pays the most for this at the Odyssey is, strangely enough, the actor who also turns in the most interesting performance: Orson Bean, as the maniacal master of disguises who turns the Milan cops inside out. When Bean describes his talents, he says that he applied for a National Endowment for the Arts grant, “but it was considered obscene.” The laugh wasn’t there Sunday.

The laughs were there, though, when Bean moved into action as judge, jury and executioner. Perhaps due to the physical restrictions of the Odyssey space, Bean’s Maniac isn’t the kind of bouncy roustabout that a clown like Geoff Hoyle would bring to the role. Bean could be Groucho’s suave continental cousin, beating adversaries with his brain and mouth, not his body.

Walking in, we assume that Sossi, a talented director of physical, visual theater, will highlight the slapstick in Fo. Bean upends this, going for a drier, more European approach. It’s not the approach that embraces Fo’s cherished belief in “people’s theater,” and Bean may be too dry for some ears. But he has thought out a different approach, and that is always worth listening to.

What doesn’t figure is the rest of the cast, which seems stuck in place. It doesn’t figure because we’re talking about actors of the caliber of Victor Brandt, Alan Abelew, Louis R. Plante and Daniel Addes--Odyssey veterans all, and veterans of comedy. Addes carves out a little individuality with his inspector, who uncontrollably reveals his fascist passions. Brandt has great fun with a stand-up joke, and then sits down. Otherwise, they’re mostly a herd on stage, pushed around by Bean.

Fo’s comic logic, which revolves around the need for the authorities to come up with a new, face-saving version of the “accident,” isn’t lost by the actors, but the balancing act of playing Goldoni-like farce while at the same time doing a convincing job at agitprop looks like too much of a tall order.

On the other hand, this updating of Nelson’s adaptation does lose Fo’s logic in the end. Nelson, following from Suzanne Cowan’s translation, has the Maniac, who apparently falls out the window, reappear as a judge at curtain. The disguises, and new versions, go on. At the Odyssey, this ending has been replaced with an unwieldy Lady-or-the Tiger conclusion, where we can pick our own. The future is ours to decide; that’s Fo’s politics, but that’s not the theme of this farce.

In the end, though, this may be beside the point. The radical left climate surrounding Fo’s theater, the climate that feeds his comedy, can’t be imported here. What finally may make “Accidental Death” a no-win situation isn’t what’s inside the Odyssey, but outside. As we left Sunday night, we couldn’t help but notice a stretch limousine outside the door, waiting to pick up passengers. So much for overthrowing the state.

At 2055 S. Sepulveda Blvd., on Wednesdays through Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 7 p.m., Nov. 12 and 26, 3 p.m., indefinitely. Tickets: $15.50-$19.50; (213) 477-2055.