A contrarian view...
We heard nothing but rave reviews before going to see “The Lehman Brothers” at the Ahmanson Theater yesterday. I beg to differ.
So… the set was ingenious—pretty much a minimalist revolving glass box with transparent, mostly rather nondescript office spaces through which we could watch the actors, three of them, one for each brother, as they perambulate leisurely from scene to scene. The props were no more than a couple of couches, a couple of desks and infinitely variable stacks of file boxes, used to keep the action glowing. A screen at the rear of the stage allowed for the projection of various land- or cityscapes and sometimes dramatic lighting as storms or battles rage in the background of the story. The acting, too, was excellent, with each actor rapidly exchanging roles to fill in for the characters—wives, children, colleagues—who do not themselves appear. The result can be funny, rapid-fire, poignant… (A small complaint: we had a hard time following the dialogue from the mezzanine; big theater, inconsistent projection.)
The story, too, is an engaging one. Three German brothers arrive in succession in America in the mid-19th century in search of a new home, a place in the world, financial success; their business acumen serves them well, first in the purchasing and sale of cotton in the South (there are matters of conscience to be overcome in profiting from the labor of slaves, but they are, after all, just “middle men”; then in the expansion of their business north to New York, soon becoming the financial capital of the country, then the world; survival through two world wars and, between, the Great Depression; and the final disaster that follows the dissolution of the family and the shift from legitimate business to an abstract concept of money for the sake of money, and eventually sheer greed. In short, the American story.
It’s also a story of Jewish immigration, Jewish customs and religion, Jewish survival, central to the narrative of the Lehman Brothers. Jewish humor, too.
But—and here’s where I find myself in disagreement with friends and theater critics alike—there is a fatal flaw to “The Lehman Brothers” as a theatrical production. There is an abundance of narrative—nearly two centuries of it—but no drama. I’m a traditionalist, even an Aristotelian when it comes to drama and narrative is not drama in that sense. It has no single, purposeful action, no “plot”. It is rather a progression of actions and events that lack the dramatic mainspring of a true plot. It may have many heroes and many heroic moments along the way, but no single hero, whose downfall is the necessary outcome of his actions and his character. It may have moments of conflict, but conflict is not the apex of plot whose resolution satisfies the expectations of an audience. In short, it lacks the suspense that, to me at least, is the necessary ingredient of drama. It is, as the saying goes (variously attributed to Churchill, Edna St, Vincent Millay and a number of other suspects) “just one damn thing after another.”
It's an interesting story, yes. Even an instructive one. It’s just not drama. It’s history. And maybe I’m just old-fashioned but when I go to the theater, it’s drama I’m looking for. Something to raise my expectations, get me engaged, cheer for the hero or hiss at the villain. Make me pick sides. No matter how visually impressive or "dramatic", great storms enacted on the backdrop don't cut it. Not do big bangs or pistol shots. Narrative—especially three hours’ worth of it—can get, um… boring when it’s talked out on a stage.
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