Cannon directs himself
as cranky comedian
No one working in local theater plays cranky old Jewish men with greater range or authenticity than actor-director Glenn Cannon. Cannon won a Po'okela Award last year for his performance in the title role of Manoa Valley Theatre's production of "Visiting Mr. Green," and his portrayal of bitter old Willie Clark in the Actors Group revival of "The Sunshine Boys" is of comparable quality, even though Clark remains a less likable, less sympathetic character.
Clark has reason to be bitter. The year is 1972, and he hasn't worked since his longtime partner, Al Lewis, abruptly quit show business and became a stockbroker in 1961. It was the end of the act -- Lewis & Clark, a k a the Sunshine Boys -- that they'd put together in 1918.
"The Sunshine Boys": Presented by the Actors Group at 625 Keawe St. Plays 7:30 p.m. Thursdays to Saturdays and 4 p.m. Sundays through July 4. Tickets: $10. Reserve at 722-6941 or tickets@taghawaii.org
Clark once lived it up in a five-room hotel suite. Now he exists in a two-room unit (three rooms counting the bathroom). He spends most of his time watching an old black-and-white television with a malfunctioning vertical hold control.
His link to the outside world is his long-suffering nephew, Ben Silverman, a booking agent who dutifully stops by each week with healthy food, cigars and the latest issue of Variety. Silverman sits through his uncle's rambling comments and casual slights while attempting to explain why there's no work for him.
Never mind that Clark couldn't remember the name of the product the last time he was hired to do a commercial. He's so far out of touch with reality that he doesn't understand why "blackface" -- a style of vaudevillian comedy in which performers wore black makeup and mimicked "colored people" onstage -- is no longer acceptable.
Then comes big news. The producers of a TV special want Lewis & Clark to reunite for a single performance on the show. The job will pay $15,000 apiece if they do it, but can Clark set his grudges aside long enough to work with Lewis one more time?
"There was nobody else like him. He was the best," Clark admits, having already made it clear that he loathes Lewis. Silverman gets them together, and when the verbal sparring is over, the ex-partners agree, "We're both against (a reunion), but we'll do it!"
Playwright Neil Simon provides a sample of vaudevillian comedy as Lewis, Clark and several secondary actors rehearse a sketch in which the humor is based on things like the similarity between the words "virgin" and "Virginia," and sight gags in which a doctor repeatedly tricks his sexpot nurse into bending over a desk so he can ogle her backside.
Cannon, who is also directing the TAG production, takes an interesting approach in emphasizing the differences between the ex-partners. While Clark is an abrasive active-negative type, Lewis, played by TAG veteran Sam Polson, is a quieter passive-negative guy. Polson's smooth straight-man portrayal suggests he is also the more pragmatic of two, realized that vaudeville was on the way out in 1961 and might be aware that Clark needs the money more than he does.
Polson also does a fine job with his share of the comic one-liners playwright Simon uses to spice up the offstage conversations between Lewis and Clark. Polson's neatly underplayed performance also keeps us guessing as to whether Lewis is aware of how deeply his idiosyncrasies irk Clark.
David C. Farmer adds a strong performance as the dutiful nephew and shares credit with Cannon and Polson for keeping the first act from bogging down.
Lauren Murata provides the visual impact as the nurse in the television sketch. The single-monikered Mane laces quiet dignity with hints of humor as a real-life nurse who refuses to put up with Clark's bluster and bullying.
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