Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

House drama (as everyone knows) is the starturing womb of new theatrical talent year after year; and so it should surprise no one that opening nights groan so heavily with labor pains. Last night a determined cast reduced these twinges to a bearable degree and often swayed the audience to great expectations, but in the end, when the hurly-burly was done, the child emerged stillborn.

But only a heartless old midwife could look unsympathetically at Pat Fay's struggles as Maggie the Cat. She took on the part a week ago--a situation comparable to your kid brother's meeting Khrushchev at the Summit. Admit it. Your kid brother couldn't end the Cold War. Miss Fay, however, very nearly brings off her role with eclat. As it is, she has enough poise and charm to cover up an occasional fluff or to make you forget the juicy lines she lets slip by from lack of rehearsal. One might also excuse her tedious movements and lack of stage business for the same reasons, but the fault lies not in Pat Fay but in director Richard Greenbaum.

There were times, and these uncomfortably close together, when Greenbaum seemed woefully undeserving of his title. Take for example the whole first act. Maggie delivers a long, repetitive monologue to her husband Brick, played stolidly by Stephen Gelbach. She has the stage and the script all to herself for nearly a half hour, and what a static thirty minutes it is. Greenbaum might as well not have blocked it at all. Maybe he didn't. And that wouldn't have been because he spent so much time working on the second act either.

Gelbach scowls at the proceedings without injecting himself into the scene, except to let us know that his range of facial expressions is two.

Big Mama (Beatrice Paipert) and Big Daddy (Reggie Stuart) surmount their monotonous blocking with lively and intelligent performances that would grace any production. Miss Paipert's skillful and rapid transitions from mood to mood and Stuart's adept coarseness help keep things running smoothly while they were on stage.

A more sapient director might have restrained Kendra Stearns (Mae) from overacting quite so much, but it is difficult to see what anyone could have done with Gooper (Robert Higgins) or Doctor Baugh (Nick Pyle), except perhaps not casting them. John van Sickle, on the other hand, was quite adequate as Reverend Tooker.

Steven Lubin's tilted stage and scrim-filled set were flexible and just modest enough for the small area allotted them. The lighting done by Thomas Bever was unobtrusive, which for this show means good; but someone really should get that door to close by tomorrow night.

Not to have seen Maggie, Big Mama and Big Daddy would have been a mistake. But I think John van Sickle was the envy of many when he said: "I think I'd better slip away at this point."