Sarah on theater

Final performance of “Good Night, Oscar.” A last-minute chance—likely the very last one—for the likes of me, a recently-initiated Broadway junkie, to catch up on a Tony-winning performance of yesteryear. And, wow. I think I’m coming in above consensus here, maybe even against my better judgment. This was unabashed star-vehicle award bait, for better or for worse, written by Doug Wright for the express purpose that Sean Hayes could play Oscar Levant. The inconvenient thing for the aspiring cynic is that Hayes was brilliant in the role, justifying the whole enterprise and elevating the merely-solid material into the stratosphere.

Levant, a mid-century multi-hyphenate, was known for (1) being the foremost interpreter of George Gershwin’s piano works, (2) his acerbic, proto-Woody neurotic wit, and (3) publicly struggling with mental health and substance abuse, frequently exhibiting his obsessive-compulsive and nervous tics live on national television. “Good Night, Oscar” sees Levant granted a four-hour pass from a psychiatric hospital to make an appearance on “The Tonight Show” with Jack Paar in 1958—a fictionalized encounter, but more historical than that would imply.

I took a spin down a (presumably well-worn) rabbit hole after the show and found that much of its “on-air” interview is composited from real excerpts. Levant wrote several memoirs documenting his health concerns. His contemporaries openly admitted to bringing him on this and other programs because he was a complete wildcard, liable to stomp all over your sensibilities, making for very engaging (if not always enjoyable) TV. He typifies the archetype of this, like, tortured genius—he tells you about his Demerol abuse, makes some off-color wisecrack, and bangs out a piano concerto moments later—and platforming him feels as culturally essential as it is exploitative.

It’s especially important, then, for this particular bioplay to tread carefully. It’s a trope for actors to look for clout in playing the obsessive-compulsive, often exaggerating the presentation to a phony degree. And, more importantly, if you can’t act with genuine empathy—in any case, really, but especially when portraying someone who presents a little differently than most—doing any impression at all can quickly turn into exploitative mockery, fueling the same cultural machine that the play depicts. Sean Hayes’s performance is career-defining for striking the sophisticated balance—career-re-defining, I suppose, for someone with such a decorated history of comedic roles.

He’s still funny here, of course, at least for awhile. Oscar rips himself with one self-deprecating crack after another until the laughs run dry, and then he keeps going. And going. And going. It’s couched in a physical impression that’s exhausting just to watch: the accent, the persistent jiggle of the left leg, the shaking of the head. Repetitive tics. After the Broadway run, Sean was on record saying that this was too demanding to continue performing, and they took a long break before it ever transferred to London. (I heard a whisper in the theater that he changed his mind the day they threw out the costumes.) Like Oscar, he’s giving a lot of himself for our entertainment. It’s not a flattering portrait, but it is an honest one, consistent with how Oscar represented himself and how he appeared, and there is dignity in that.

I’m at the top of paragraph six and I haven’t mentioned another performer yet. This isn’t an accident—it reflects the structural imbalance of the show. Other characters really only exist to draw the boundaries around Oscar: June, his wife; George Gershwin, his mentor turned spectral haunt; Jack Paar, the interviewer and exploiter-in-chief. This isn’t inherently a weakness—it’s a decision to tell a small, self-contained story—but it places all the chips on a compelling central performance. The surrounding cast is solid, but Rosalie Craig stands out for portraying June with compassionate firmness; it’s an impressive realization of a wife doing an extra job, managing her unhealthy husband at arm’s length with love.

“Good Night, Oscar” hums on boundaries. June sets and enforces them with her husband and with the folks at NBC. Oscar violates them when he opens fire on politics and religion on national TV. Jack Paar explores the intersections of platforming and exploitation, or, more generally, art and commerce. The play at large ponders the relationship of genius and neuroatypicality. The Barbican Theatre highlights the tension between a lovely, comfortable venue and a very confusing floor plan. And Sean shows us the difference between mere impersonation and accomplished bio-dramatic performance.

The moment of transcendence is when he sits down at the piano. If you haven’t seen the show, you’d be forgiven for not knowing that Sean Hayes is a highly-skilled, classically-trained pianist. If you have, you certainly won’t forget it. At the climax of the play, Oscar is goaded by the spectral George Gershwin—the real Oscar described himself as living in Gershwin’s shadow—into playing his most famous piece, “Rhapsody in Blue.” This is a difficult piece to begin with, requiring fast fingers and strong familiarity with both classical and jazz performance, and Sean performs it for seven minutes—in character, maintaining Oscar’s tics. For as much as my brain knew that this was a manufactured moment meant to show off what the actor could do, I have to tell you—I was gobsmacked anyways. It’s the kind of indelible thing you see where, like, you have to shut off the cynical thoughts for a moment and just appreciate the connections—between actor and role, pianist and piano, performer and song, moment and audience. You open your eyes a little wider, perk your ears up, and hope to God that you can remember this with the vividity that it deserves.

In my head, one of the things that separates a great show from the pack is whether I care to see it again. “Good Night, Oscar” made me reconsider that standard; I loved it, but I just don’t think there’s anything left to do here, and it could only serve to undercut the feeling I had in the moment. I don’t believe there’s another viable interpretation or another actor that could perform this demanding role like this. Seeing it again with Sean would be exploiting Sean, but seeing it with anyone else in the lead would be exploiting Oscar. In that respect, there was something satisfying about catching the very last performance. Let him rest. Meteoric brilliance.