Regional

Roy Cohn/Jack Smith

 (Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles; 162 seats; $15 top)

By TOM JACOBS

The Museum of Contemporary Art and the National Performance Network present a theater piece conceived and performed by Ron Vawter, written by Gary Indiana, Jack Smith; created by Gregory Mehrten, Clay Shirky, Vawter, Marianne Weems; directed by Gregory Mehrten; produced by Weems.
 
Roy Cohn/Jack Smith - Ron Vawter
Stagehand/Chico - Jeffrey Porter

 

There's no loathing like self-loathing. Ron Vawter makes that point with subtlety and elegance in his superb "Roy Cohn/Jack Smith," currently playing at the Museum of Contemporary Art.

In what is, essentially, a one-man show, Vawter presents sharply edged portraits of two gay Americans who achieved a certain notoriety before each died of AIDS in the 1980s. While attorney and right-wing activist Roy Cohn and avant-garde film and theater artist Jack Smith had little in common, Vawter postulates that both their lives were shaped--one might say warped--by the small-minded, homophobic society they lived in.

The piece is an indirect indictment of that society and a look at two bizarrely fascinating individuals.

The first of the two 40-minute acts consists of a speech Roy Cohn made before a conservative forum in 1978. Cohn, the attorney best remembered for defending the infamous Sen. Joseph McCarthy, made a number of such talks; Vawter's text, written by Gary Indiana, is a fictional re-creation of one of them.

In it, Cohn, dressed in black tie and a red dinner jacket, derides with almost frightening vehemence liberal thought in general and homosexual rights in particular. Using the mantra of "family values," (an emotionally loaded phrase that has re-emerged in the current presidential campaign), he declares that gays can and should alter their behavior and stop demanding that others accept their "abnormal" lifestyle.

Vawter's Cohn practically bites off each word of the speech; his tone is mocking and dripping with sarcasm. The root of his anger gradually becomes clear; he has projected his self-hate onto others who remind him of his own perceived weaknesses. That theme lifts the play beyond its immediate concerns and strikes a universal chord.

The second act is a mercifully condensed re-creation of one of the theater pieces of Jack Smith, who reportedly influenced artists as disparate as John Waters and Spalding Gray. Vawter/Smith, wearing a green headdress, black cape and little else, sits perched on a throne of sorts while a series of vacation slides are projected on a screen next to him. As tacky music plays in the background, he stumbles his way through a nearly incoherent monologue.

It's an amusing, pathetic spectacle to see him shuffle through his script to try to find his place, knock over props to kill a roach and cut an onion on stage in the vain hope of making the audience cry.

Vawter suggests, and it's easy to agree, that Smith is filled with as much self-hatred as Cohn; why else would he make a fool of himself in public this way? The key difference between the two, one could argue, is that Smith turned his self-loathing into an art form.

Vawter does a superb job in each piece; his snarly Cohn and his spaced-out Smith are equally convincing. If, in the end, Smith becomes the more moving character, it's because he asked for our love and acceptance in a more direct way.

There's something oddly heartbreaking about the kitschy finale to Smith's half of the show, in which he prances about in minimal clothing in a dance tribute to a favorite film goddess. It's so ridiculous, so amateurish -- and so heartfelt. It makes for a memorable conclusion to a thought-provoking show.

Lighting, Jennifer Tipton; costumes, Ellen McCartney. Reviewed Aug. 6, 1992; closes Aug. 29.