The Arc of Mamet’s Life, Not Merely Slices

After reading Don Shirley’s review of “The Old Neighborhood” and “The Cryptogram” by David Mamet, playing in repertory at the Geffen Playhouse (“Two Slices of Mamet Life,” Jan. 22), I feel the need to offer a rebuttal.

The idea of doing these plays as a repertory was to enable each piece to inform the other, particularly for theatergoers with an interest in David Mamet as a playwright. However, each of the plays was conceived and written independently of the other and each provides a rich, complex theatergoing experience in its own right. Indeed, each of the plays has a performance history of being presented as a separate, stand-alone production in earlier incarnations in London (where “The Cryptogram” had its premiere--by itself--as a West End offering), Boston and New York. The author clearly sees the plays as independent of each other, though he endorsed the experiment of having them perform in repertory at the Geffen.

It is ironic that Shirley would take the Geffen to task for presenting both plays in alternating repertory, when other theaters have presented only one or the other. Alternating repertory used to be a staple of the theater but is seldom encountered these days because of the difficulties it presents. The opportunity to experience repertory is a rare thing, so it is unfortunate if the effort in this instance is misconstrued as providing short measure. Clearly the author and every theater that has ever presented these plays believes that, though each is relatively brief, each play provides a complete experience.

And relativity is a factor here. Some offerings in a season of theatergoing are inevitably longer, some are shorter, but in time they equal themselves out. And after all, isn’t content the true yardstick, rather than some idea of theater by the yard or the pound? Are these remarkable self-portraits by Van Gogh any less memorable for their size? Or “The Old Man and the Sea” not worth the read because of its compact form?

And what of the content here? Surely the “size” of a play must be judged by the space it occupies in our minds and hearts as we encounter it in the theater and, later, as it resonates in our thoughts. Both of these self-portraits by Mamet offer rich, layered experiences by one of the important and arguably great writers of our country here at century’s end. Audiences in earlier productions found plenty to engage them, as do our audiences here in Los Angeles. Judging by the large numbers who stay afterward to delve into these works more deeply in post-performance discussions, many in the audience have an experience they are keen to explore more fully.

I’ve had the privilege of moderating a number of these discussions and am struck by how viscerally audiences respond to Mamet’s writing. It’s understandable that they do because in each of the plays he takes on a major life passage that most of us experience in one way or another. In “The Cryptogram” it is that moment when a child’s innocent view of life is shattered by discovery of the adult world with its deceptions and betrayals. In “The Old Neighborhood,” the focus is the moment when an adult goes back to old friends, lovers and family members seeking to understand, find reassurance, something to help make sense of the present--and discovers just how difficult that is to come by, that we must go on making our way as best we can.

If these are not worthy subjects, what are? Presented in repertory, the plays resonate with each other and imply the arc of a life.

Also, I must take issue with the reviewer’s opinion that these plays are not as memorable as some of Mamet’s earlier works, because of how the author has shaped them. Surely an artist of stature must be allowed to find the form to express his vision. As Chekhov has Trigorin say in “The Seagull”: “Every writer writes as he can--as he must.” Only time will tell whether these plays find a place in the ranking with, say, “American Buffalo” or “Glengarry Glen Ross,” but how is our understanding of this vital author enlarged if we ignore his most recent works in favor of his acknowledged masterpiece that we all know? What if the Los Angeles Philharmonic (or any arts organization) were to program only the broadly accepted masterpieces of a contemporary composer--how does that serve the composer, the music-loving public or the cause of music?

Surely presenting these plays on one of our more visible stages--in Los Angeles, a city that prides itself on being in the forefront of the arts--adds depth to theatergoing here and serves the greater cause of theater itself.

Michael McLain is artistic associate at the Geffen Playhouse in Westwood and a professor in the UCLA School of Theater, Film and Television.