Sartre and Chekov

The Leverett House Dramatic Society put together an odd evening of theather by presenting Chekov's The Anniversary and Sartre's No Exit on the same program. Both plays are one-acters, but there any parallel between them ends. The Chekov piece is a mad little farce, while the play by Sartre, though also billed as a comedy, is a somber and complicated essay in philosophy. The two dramas, however, do not leave behind an impression of conflicting moods, since the production of No Exit all but eclipses that of its companion.

No Exit is a difficult play, both for the actors and for the audience. On the surface to be sure, it appears quite simple--a man and two women meet in one room and spend about an hour talking to each other. But the room is in hell, and in their conversation each of them slowly bares his soul. The play has no further plot than this process of self-discovery, and it might be boring if, in revealing the evil of his characters, Sartre did not manage to make statements on a great number of subjects ranging from love to death to the quality of human courage. As it stands, however, the play is frequently exciting and sometimes almost terrifying.

Since the actors have no plot to hide behind, they must sustain tension throughout the drama by unfolding their characters quickly enough to keep the play interesting, but also slowly enough to have something left for the end. Two of the three principals have solved their problem well. Robert Jordan gives a very impressive performance as a pacifist newspaperman with an exterior compounded of confidence and arrogance. Yet underneath his surface the man is a coward, and his fear eventually leads him to hell. One of the two women, however, clearly belongs there from the very beginning. As portrayed by Charlotte Clark, her personality appears to contain only venom, with lesbianism as the motive force of her poison. Miss Clark does not always convey the viciousness of her character, but at its best her performance is a fascinating thing to watch.

Jane Slater, who plays the third of the damned souls, has somewhat more trouble than her colleagues, partly because she is miscast. While her part calls for an empty-headed doll who hides the murder of her child underneath an appearance of innocence, she can contribute only a sort of statusque intensity. But she tries hard, and at some moments brings her role to life. The only other member of the cast, John Mautner, manages to get some humor into his portrayal of an attendant in hell. Much of the success of all these actors can be credited to director Jay Shuchter, who also prevented the small size of the stage from creating a feeling of claustrophobia.

In the Chekov play, however, director Michael Harwood must take a good deal of the responsibility for a comparative failure. In trying to show the demented quality of the goings-on in a Russian bank near the turn of the century, Harwood subjects his actors to a break-neck pace that is much more frantic than funny. Martin Mintz, as a clerk, and John Fenn, as the bank manager, do get some laughs, but they constantly give the impression of trying too hard, with too little material. Yet the defects of the curtain-raiser matter very little, since the over-all quality of the Sartre play is high enough not to be spoiled. And frequently that quality is quite high indeed.