review
"laura"
long beach playhouse
21 october 98
reviewed by
brook stowe

One of the cool things about film noir is that it never goes out of style. If anything, this tawdry genre of lies, obession and sexual treachery only gets more relevant as time and certain current events march on. With "Laura", Vera Caspary's adaptation of her 1942 novel about sex, lies and sawed-off shotguns, the Long Beach Playhouse strives to recreate the polished cold sheen of vintage noir. And while its surface gleams, under Hugh Harrison's bland direction Caspary's dark underworld of sexual fixation and deception lies flatter than a two-bit chump full of lead.

Harrison makes the unfortunate choice of opening the show with the title tune from the definitive 1944 film version, forcing an immediate comparison between the two that this production can only suffer from. Under Harrison's tepid guidance, there is no darkness, no menace, no sneer or swagger. In the pivotal role of
Mark McPherson, the hardened NYPD homicide dick
investigating Laura's brutal slaying while falling in love with her, David Lindstedt is polite and pleasant and completely unconvincing. And there is little chemistry between McPherson and the object of his obsession played by Trisha Melynkov, effectively dousing the smoldering sexual tension that floats this play's boat.

Supporting roles vary. As the delightfully acerbic hanger-on Waldo Lydecker, Jack Battersby seems not to understand most of what he is saying, while Beth Pierson brings an admirably taut and feisty presence to the small role of Bessie, Laura's maid. Set designer Sean Patrick Small provides a tastefully spare Upper Manhattan apartment, and Donna Fritsche's costumes are gorgeously elegant. This "Laura" has the look of vintage noir. If only there were some guts to go with it.

t2k