THE LADY CRIES MURDER
by John William See
directed by Joseph Hardy

Producer - Joseph Stern

starring Sam Anderson, James O'Connell, Kathleen Doyle,
Randy Patterson, Jay Garner, Julie Payne, Paul Michael Glaser,
Robert Picardo, Pat McNamara, James Ray,
Caroline McWilliams, Ray Stewart, Haunani Minn

Set & Lighting by Gerry Hariton & Vicki Baral
Costumes by Charles Berliner
Stage Manager - Steve Donner
Sound by Bill Hewlett
Associate Producer - Sam Weisman

REVIEW - L.A. WEEKLY, Nov. 28-26, 1981

It is 1938. A successful radio producer has purchased a detective story from a writer named Raymond Chandler. Chandler is incensed that the producer is rewriting and distorting the story but seems powerless to do anything. With that as a background, playwright John William See segues into one of the slickest, smartest, funniest spoofs of the hard-boiled detective genre ever to hit the boards. It's a panoply of characters and scenes straight out of Chandler, Hammet and James M. Cain. The literary allusions and double entendres abound, many of the best lines taken straight from the best detective novels and movies. Under the sure directorial hand of Joseph Hardy, a truly versatile cast turns in excellent performances, particularly Paul Michael Glaser as the shaggy, tough-as-a-toasted-marshmallow detective. And to top it off, there's a real existential twist at the end in which the two storylines merge — the feud between the writers and the representation of their detective story on stage. The resident technical staff at the Matrix has mounted another understated, right-on-the-nose production of this clever, clever play from a smart new writer. - Anne Haskins

REVIEW - L.A. TIMES, Thursday, Nov. 17, 1981

By SYLVIE DRAKE, Times Staff Writer

When Raymond Chandler asked in 1949, "Why is it that Americans do not see the strong element of burlesque in my work?," little did he know that, one year later, a young man aptly named John William See, would be born to answer it. See saw—and gave the world "The Lady Cries Murder," a Chandler parody within a parody that opened Sunday at the Matrix.

See was not the first to see, however. Chicago's Organic Theater did a Chandler parody in 1979 and suggestions of the same idea have become popular on many fronts recently. But so far "Lady" is the best, written of its genre and certainly the wittiest. It has its weaknesses, but the production at the Matrix, if a little unsteady, is very handsome and gains enough momentum as it progresses that the possibilities, if not entirely realized, are strongly visible.

"I heed a gimmick," wails Charles Sartone, the drippingly successful author of the play within the play.

And playwright See instantly delivers several. Prom that point on—an early point—things pick up. We move into a hilarious 1938 world of sexy women, hard liquor, missing persons, pretzel-plot twists, guns and gumshoes and funny lines. (A sampler: "He was shot 790 times .... The officer who investigated said it was suicide.")

Production values are impeccable. The action unfolds on a gray, all-purpose set excellently devised and lit by Gerry Harriton and Vicki Baral who have proved their worth to this theater more "than once. Charles Berliner has designed wonderful '30s costumes in every combination of black and white to give us the feel of those pre-war detective flicks. And the hero, of course, is Philip Diamond, the nearsighted dick who's hired, in the play within the play, to unravel the disappearance of—well, several people. No sense giving away the plot, particularly since it would be hard to do. Suffice it to say that the show becomes densely populated with cops, robbers, butlers (all played by Ray Stewart), one dowager, a secretary (well, two), libidinous forsaken wives and Shanghai Sue, who can't pronounce her "r's" and whose last name is Spivak.

Charming nonsense, all of it, with our hero spouting such lines as, "Call it a hunch, call it plot expediency . . . ," or another character threatening loudly, "Just because I'm a stereotype don't mean I don't get my way." You get the drift. And See gets subtle too. There's nothing wrong with "I dreamt beautiful dreams, the kind of dreams butterflies have when they envision Chinese philosophers."

The problems—there are problems—are mostly with getting the device on the road. The opening scenes are forced, definitely so in the acting, but one suspects in the writing as well. Early allusions that Sartone might be shamelessly pla-  Please see MYSTERY, Page 5

The rest of the review is lost.

 

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