Weekend Review: 'The God Of Hell'
By Justin Bilow
July 16, 2006 9:00 p.m.
“The God of Hell” Geffen Playhouse THROUGH
JULY 30
Playwright Sam Shepard has written more than 45 plays, won 11
Obie awards and is a Pulitzer-prize winning author, so one wonders
why his latest play, “The God of Hell,” induces pulling
of hair and gnashing of teeth. Perhaps the problem with the play,
which will run at the Geffen Playhouse through July 30, is that
every time the words “cow” and “heifer” are
said (which is a lot), a long, loud “mooo” rails
through the theater. Or maybe the problem is that this play is
Jason Alexander’s (“Seinfeld”) directing debut
““ popular L.A. theater has attracted audiences recently by
attaching Hollywood names to theater productions. Another way is to
create versatile, creative sets like that of “The God of
Hell.” But big names and expensive sets don’t guarantee
a good story. Emma (Sarah Knowlton) and Frank (Bill Fagerbakke)
have taken in Haynes (Curtis Armstrong) as a house guest. Then
Welch (Bryan Cranston) arrives to take over their lives with a
briefcase full of patriotism and a mind to root out Haynes,
brainwash Frank and destroy the life that Emma takes for granted.
When “The God of Hell” premiered in New York long ago,
one week before the 2004 presidential elections, the play might
have been salient and insightful. There’s something terribly
wrong with the current American presidential administration, this
play says to the blue cities of New York and Los Angeles. Since
then, however, shirts and bumper stickers bemoaning the current
administration have become as redundant and inept as a broken
record. Likewise, “The God of Hell” preaches to the
choir while simultaneously beating a dead horse. What artistry!
“The God of Hell” has a good idea, emphasizing
sensationalism, irony, absurdism, and overt farce on American
governmental double-speak. But it seems like a rookie attempt at
saying something profound without knowing how to say it, making it
half-baked at best. Simply put ““ the champagne liberals who
would dish out up to $110 to see this play would find a better
investment in a new pair of organic Dior underwear. The mantra of
this play seems to be: Forgo a coherent narrative and believable
characters and embrace vague, clownish personifications of American
superpatriotism, dopey Bible-belt farmers and cow noises. This play
is not for Los Angeles, where our problems are urban sprawl,
wilderness degradation and growing poverty. Sure, “The God of
Hell” takes up a problem ““ plutonium, the simple yet
vague answer to why the patriotic mood in America seems
increasingly fascist to some. The nefarious rock has taken over the
minds and hearts of every American ““ so much so that a person
can’t pick up a newspaper without seeing the word
“plutonium” in headlines. Oh, wait! That doesn’t
happen! Still, plutonium is a metaphor for the simple and
anxiety-inducing answers that many seek to solve the problems of
the post-9/11 political climate. And while the answers are, in
fact, far from simple, “The God of Hell” gives little
insight into their complexity.
