As the country waits to learn who will be our next president, Tallulah Bankhead is on stage at the Mechanic Theatre, presiding over a fund-raiser for President Harry S. Truman's re-election.
The ironies abound. The presidential races in both 1948 and 2000 were breathtakingly close. Fifty-two years ago, the Chicago Tribune erroneously declared Thomas Dewey the winner; yesterday, several papers prematurely ceded the victory to Republican George W. Bush.
Both elections made for great theater - more so than the one-woman show at the Mechanic. The difficulty doesn't lie with Turner, however. She's the best thing about Sandra Ryan Heyward's Broadway-bound play. Indeed, Bankhead is a role Turner seems born to play.
"Tallulah" takes place in the bedroom of Bankhead's Westchester County home. Bankhead, the flamboyant mid-20th century film and stage star, makes her entrance following the sound of a flushing toilet and amid the constant ringing of one of three phones in the room. Her first word, uttered in a voice that's low in all senses of the word, is an obscenity.
For the next two hours, Turner takes control of the stage in a grand manner - by turns ranting, confiding and primping, with a diva's prerogative. Whether or not Turner is accurately limning Bankhead is almost inconsequential. Heyward's play, written with Turner in mind, is a star vehicle, and Turner flaunts her stardom with every sweeping gesture and baritone-tinged pronouncement.
And yet, the script can feel formulaic, particularly when it relies on phone calls and lengthy reminiscences. Though these are common failings of one-person shows, the drama suffers when too much information is narrated to the audience.
Bankhead's bedroom was never a very private place. No doubt there were times when the star considered it her stage. So it isn't that much of a leap for her to welcome an entire audience into its opulent confines, decorated here by set designer Derek McLane with a profusion of honey-colored drapes.
The central conceit is strikingly similar to "Full Gallop," the hit one-woman show about fashion editor Diana Vreeland. In both cases, the main character is throwing a party, "Tallulah" begins with Bankhead awaiting the guests - 350 of them, including President Truman - for her fund-raising party. (It's a fictitious event, although Bankhead was an ardent Truman supporter, speaking on his behalf on national radio as well as at a Madison Square Garden rally.)
Between conferring with the help over the phone (again, like Vreeland in "Full Gallop"), Bankhead takes calls from everyone from Tennessee Williams to her agent. The agent is haranguing her on two counts: He wants her to accept the role of "mistress of ceremonies" ("Sounds like bondage in white tie," she quips) on a radio variety show, and he's distraught that she's fled the pre-Broadway tour of a Jean Cocteau play, insisting that her co-star, Marlon Brando, be fired. Bankhead has her own agenda - she's planning to announce a change in careers at the party.
The second act takes place at 4 a.m. The party's over, literally and figuratively, and Bankhead is hung over and feeling more than a little sorry for herself.
"At four o'clock in the morning you can talk about anything," she says - although she's been doing that pretty much all along, with subjects ranging from her extensive sex life to politics, and from her penchant for drugs and alcohol to her theories on acting.
The latter consists largely of keeping the spotlight on herself. "I've always adored having people look at me," she proclaims. In case your attention dares to stray, Heyward has crafted "Tallulah" so that Turner addresses comments and questions directly to the audience, particularly to those seated in the first few rows. Furthermore, under Michael Lessac's direction, she makes full use of the stage, stalking her massive boudoir like a lioness. She's a daunting presence, even in designer Bob Mackie's less-than-flattering black pleated evening gown.
"There is no one exactly like me. No one. Sometimes even I have difficulty doing it," Turner says near the end of "Tallulah." The line refers to Bankhead, of course, but Turner could just as well be referring to herself.
`Tallulah'
Where: Morris A. Mechanic Theatre, 25 Hopkins Plaza
When: 8 p.m. tonight and Friday; 2 p.m. and 8 p.m. Saturday; 1 p.m. and 6:30 p.m. Sunday
Tickets: $11.50-$54
Call: 410-752-1200
