The Motherfucker with the Hat

I'd only seen one of Stephen Adly Guirgis's plays before this one--a fact I had forgotten until I checked out the Playbill before the show and saw that he wrote The Little Flower of East Orange, a show I deeply disliked a few seasons ago at the Public. So, that wasn't encouraging. But I had an open mind. And for the first scene of The Motherfucker with the Hat, I was blissfully prepared to forget that show ever happened. Opening on Bobby Cannavale and Elizabeth Rodriguez as a recovering addict and his coked out girlfriend, the dialogue popped like nobody's business. It felt completely authentic in a way that most people can't pull off--especially when they write "poor."

When Cannavale notices a hat that is distinctly not his on a table in the apartment and starts sniffing the bed only to discover the scent of "Aqua velva and dick," I was delighted. It was a little slapsticky while also feeling honest and opening the door for some giant drama ahead. That the show doesn't sustain it's initial spark is not completely the playwright's fault, though it does seem he could have cut about 30 or 40 minutes and zipped this on by in a one act. The play itself doesn't quite have the depth or pathos to fully sustain two acts. Without cuts, though, it would be deadly without intermission. It's close, but no motherfucker with a cigar.

The real energy sap from the production, surprisingly, is Chris Rock in his Broadway debut. During intermission I tried to dance around the subject a bit conversationally. "I just don't know if he's really nailing it. Maybe there's something more coming in act two. His natural charisma hasn't quite taken over the stage yet, but..." To which my friend replied, "Wood. Den. Wooden." So much more succinct.

It's true, disappointingly. His performance is strictly amateur hour. His line readings are flat, and you can see him sensing marks and anticipating lines. Don't bother looking at him when he isn't talking: between gesture-filled moments, his arms drop to his sides and he just sort of...stares. If most of acting is reacting as the cliche goes, then Rock is giving maybe 10% of a performance. There's enough working really well around him that I still enjoyed myself, but it's a bad sign when you're watching a show already looking forward to a future production that might allow the scenes to play better. Ah, star casting!

Rock plays the sponsor to Cannavale's addict, and as the show goes on you're invited to question whether it's Rock who might be the titular motherfucker with the hat. It's not a giant role, but it's pivotal enough that you need a firecracker in the part. I can see why he got cast, but it just didn't work.

Filling out the cast are Annabella Sciorra as Rock's wife. I'd like to see her performance be a bit more animated or underscored with more hostility, but she manages to do hurt and quiet rage very well. And Yul Vazquez plays Cannavale's Cousin Julio. It's probably the smallest part, but he's called on for some of the heaviest lifting in a scene where he takes his cousin to task for all the shitty things he's done to him over the years. It's the most lived in, fully realized performance, and it's damned funny.

Cannavale and Rodriguez are also very good and might be phenomenal once the show has some more performances under its belt. Alternating between love and hate, they're both at their best with each other: funny, sad, and revealing.

In the end, for all its profanity, it's a very sweet, good natured show about the ways we love each other and hold onto that feeling even when we get fucked over or fuck other people over. Everyone's an asshole, sometimes, and that's okay. Just don't be a motherfucker.