Russo wanted to accomplish something besides reminding us that Gray was a great writer. The conventional wisdom is that Gray, inclined to depression, couldn't rise above his physical and emotional pain. The late journal entries performed here make it clear that he had suffered acute brain damage from either the accident or the subsequent operation, and that he would eventually need 24-hour care. He considered suicide preferable to having his family watch him deteriorate so badly.
Whether you agree with "the viable alternative" or not, it's hard to blame him anymore. Stories Left To Tell restores both the artist and the man. Maybe some enterprising artistic director will bring it back for a longer run. It's as moving a night of theater as I've experienced in years.
Gray could certainly have taught a thing or two about writing a monologue to Conor McDermottroe, whose two one-acts are being staged by the new Tír Na Theatre Company at the Boston Center for the Arts (through March 14). At about 40 minutes each, they're twice as long as they need to be, with the dull points subverting the high ones. Swansong is the monologue of a young man who never got over his father's absence, which has led him into some no-good behavior. Bottom of the Lake falls squarely between Martin McDonagh satire and Conor McPherson eeriness.
McDermottroe, though, doesn't convince that he's bringing anything remarkable to the table. Neither, across the hall at the BCA (through March 7), does Andrew Clarke with a Mamet-lite play, The Random Caruso, about a sleazy actor and the horrors of Hollywood. If it were up to me, all playwrights would be banned from writing about how bad Hollywood is. Even Mamet is a colossal bore on the topic.
Caruso features the always charismatic Robert Pemberton as said sleazeball and a sharp production by Joe Antoun. That said, let's change the subject.
