WEST
Berkoff’s work isn’t really as troglodytic as this parody suggests. In fact, if you see the Lookingglass Theatre production of West, you’ll find Berkoff can be pretty witty and erudite. West is written in what the Lookingglass press release calls “Shakespeak”: a sophisticated mix of Shakespearean diction and 60s London street talk, yielding a half ludicrous, half marvelous poetry that resonates with the ambiences of all its sources. When some gang members, for instance, tell their young leader, Mike, about their encounter with a warlike “geezer/all armed . . . his coat stitched and embellished with fine latticework of studs,” we find ourselves flashing on the speech in act one of Hamlet, where Horatio describes his encounter with the dead king’s ghost. And when the gang members go on to recount that same geezer’s horrid aspect and violent ways, we’re reminded of the bit in Macbeth where a Scottish captain reports Macbeth’s valor against a bunch of invading Norwegians. Shakespeak makes West silly with anachronism and rich with reference.
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Berkoff’s Shakespeak captures the pathetic grandeur of Mike’s effort. So does this literally kick-ass Lookingglass production, directed by David Catlin. Brilliantly cast with the sad-faced, anything-but-vicious-looking David Schwimmer as Mike, the Lookingglass show subverts the heroic aura even as it gets all sweated up trying to generate it. There are some incredible gymnastic pyrotechnics here, carried off to an industrial-rock beat that says everything we need to know about anger and emptiness in the First World. The choreography is West Side Story played for keeps, while the great costumes by Alison Reeds run from the conventionally sleek sharkskin suits of Mike’s gang to the mythic leather and steel of Curly, that infinitely daunting geezer.
