RON PERLMAN IN "BUS STOP"

Review by Linda S. Barth

"Bus Stop" by William Inge, Circle in the Square, New York, February 1996

A man both haunted and hopeful, William Inge was destined to become to the literary world what he'd always been within himself, an acutely insightful chronicler of human life in all its stoic desperation and bittersweet promise. He wrote of people constantly struggling to connect -- to themselves, to each other, to the painful places their lives had become. His characters are not larger-than-life heroes; they are ordinary people who have found that they know themselves too well; men and women who are honest enough to make eye contact with their own mirror images, but who would change the things they see there if only they could. They are people we know, people much like ourselves, who keep moving through life, alternately eager and resigned, until they once again reach the inevitable moment when they must stop and stare into that mirror. It is then they must make choices to change their vision or to truly accept what they see, and those choices are never easy.

Drawing upon his complex, inner self and the tormenting illusion of a happy life, Inge often wrote of deceptively commonplace people and events. Yet as we see his characters come to life on stage, we quickly realize that to dismiss them as stereotypical or simple is quite impossible. Inge would not allow us the comfort of such a pretense, and all too soon we find ourselves genuinely caring about these people. When their stories are touched with humor, our laughter in response is tinged with discomfort. When their lives unexpectedly hold a gift of hope, we find ourselves wanting to see those unlikely promises fulfilled. We watch and listen, drawn deeper and deeper, for in these characters we can see and hear each other and ourselves.

Inge wrote of people who can't help wanting what everyone wants -- to love and be loved, to set aside their aloneness, to truly find a home, not just for an hour or a night but for as long as it takes to find true happiness. As long as his characters have hope, even only small, shattered bits of it, they have possibilities; but within those possibilities they find not only happiness but pain, and they see not only chances for new beginnings but countless, heartbreaking endings as well. They see themselves, all that they are or might become and all that they will never be.

In "Bus Stop" Inge's characters come face to face with themselves in a blizzard-bound diner in a little town thirty miles west of Kansas City. This is a way station for them, not a journey's end, but the events that will happen here in this ordinary, mundane place are ones that will change their lives forever.
Inge often wrote of people caught up in various journeys, some running from and others running toward another place, another job, another life. In "Bus Stop" we meet Cherie, a young, would-be nightclub singer, half vulnerable sweetness and half self-possessed selfishness, who is running from - or perhaps just seems to be -- a naive, emotionally unrestrained cowboy named Bo, who is determined to marry her and carry her away to his ranch in Montana. Bo has spent his entire life in the hyper-masculine, frontier-like atmosphere of his homestead and has left it only to retrieve Cherie, having fallen in love with her after a one-night-stand and now desperate not to lose her.

With Bo is Virgil, father figure and friend, who provides guidance in the form of the emotional reins Bo seems to lack almost entirely. Virgil is the patient advisor, the unselfish surrogate parent who gives of himself willingly, even though he will pay a terrible price for his acts of generosity and kindness. In complimentary counterpoint to Virgil and Bo are Grace, the owner of the diner, and Elma, a teenage waitress. Displaying more overt self-awareness than any of the other characters, Grace seems to have come to terms with her life. It wasn't what she had dreamed of, but she makes the most of it. Elma represents the play's greatest promise and possibility. She is very bright, full of dreams and drama; her vulnerability is tempered by a true inner courage which she will use to succeed in life, unlike Cherie's which seems somewhat contrived and has become a pathetic form of weaponry she uses to obtain what she wants. Elma is strong, but not yet hardened by life, and we know almost from the start that her journey has the best potential for reaching a truly happy destination.

Two of the remaining characters are of lesser stature and importance to the play, Will, a stern but understanding sheriff, and Carl, a bus driver who has seen it all and isn't surprised anymore by anything he finds. Then there's Dr. Gerald Lyman, who, since he is played by Ron Perlman in this production and because he is most like Inge himself, I'll discuss in depth later in this review.

No matter how bleak or desperate their circumstances, Inge always left his characters an "out," a chance to turn things around and maybe, just maybe, find that happy life somewhere, sometime, somehow. Acutely aware of the pain of isolation and the tragedy of never quite achieving one's dreams, it's almost as if he knew and loved these people too much to condemn them outright to a tragic ending, and he leaves doors open, sometimes literally, for each person to take another road and perhaps find themselves on the way to a better place. Sadly for Inge himself, the roads of his life finally led to suicide at age 60. While on the surface his professional life appeared to be a very successful and happy one, he suffered from severe bouts of depression and devastating emotional vulnerability. At one time he quoted lines from Emily Dickinson and added his own insight to her words: "'Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed,' according to Emily Dickinson, and I realize what she meant when I compare the success I once anticipated with the success I found. They are not the same at all." Those lines might have been spoken by the character Dr. Gerald Lyman, a former professor of English and Inge's alter ego in "Bus Stop." Clad in slightly disheveled tweeds and careworn dignity, Dr. Lyman moves haltingly through life, alternately mocking and mourning whatever worth his past had held, yet too painfully self-aware to ignore the truth he tries to hide from others in grandiose gestures and dramatic dalliance. A middle-aged, alcoholic runaway, he lets us know that dreams of success once had been within his grasp, but he could not hold onto them long enough to let them become real. Now his only success and self-worth lies in the sometimes brutal honesty with which he faces himself and the occasional forays into human decency which he offers to others.

When we first meet Dr. Lyman, it is as a bus passenger rushing into the diner to escape the frigid snowstorm. For several long moments, he stands before a window, silently staring out into the night, and we wonder what he sees there. In an impressive bit of acting, Ron Perlman lets shards of emotion slide across his face, each showing the audience a broken piece of Gerald Lyman's life. We cannot yet know if the first darting flash of his eyes and quick search of the darkness hints at fear of pursuit or if the tension in his jaw and mouth speak of nothing more than impatience at this unexpected stop in his journey. Then, without warning, Perlman's face alters and Gerald Lyman becomes a poignant image of quiet despair.

Much later we realize it was in that moment, just before he puts on the well-used masquerading cloak of a somewhat seedy cavalier, quoting bits of Shakespeare and hinting at past glories, that we have seen the heart of this man, a man bent and broken by life from within and without, who knows with excruciating honesty that he will never quite escape not only the confines of his entrapment but also the torments of an inner hope that refuses to let him go.

Unable to resist indulging in his preference for romantic encounters with young girls, he almost immediately begins to court the teenage Elma, instinctively knowing she will be the last person there to see through his facade. He flatters her outrageously by seeking her out, exchanging confidences, easily dazzling her with a sophistication and wit all far outside her everyday realm of existence, yet extremely well-suited to her dreams. He speaks to her in a lowered voice and follows her movements with a thoughtful gaze and an easy smile. He hints at intimacy, but as the audience we are uncertain whether we are watching newly sparked sexual interest of a relatively insignificant nature or the controlled arrogance with which a predator stalks his prey. In very effective body language and delivery of lines, Perlman exudes a charm that we can easily understand Elma would find irresistible, but he instills in us a growing sense of distrust.

Yet as written by Inge and played by Perlman, it is impossible to dislike or dismiss Dr. Lyman. Moment by increasingly painful moment, we watch the layers peal away to reveal a depth of vulnerability, unresolved hurt, and the kind of despair no amount of enforced optimism can dispel. He drifts through life in an alcoholic haze, sometimes sneering at life and himself with sarcasm and smugness rather than making any further attempts to improve his lot; often allowing himself to reveal self-truths cloaked in quotations instead of speaking with his own voice; and now seemingly doomed to always run from, never toward, anything of lasting value.

Sensing in Elma a certain kindred spirit, he finds himself trying to tell her who he really is. After briefly recounting his failed academic career, where little of the failure he can willingly admit is attributable to him, Elma comments, "You must have disapproved of that college." And he replies, "My dear girl, I have disapproved of my entire life...But I suppose I couldn't resist living it over again." Those words belonged not only to Lyman, but to Inge and to many of us, as well.

There is a scene about halfway through the play which reveals Dr. Lyman with a sense of honesty that is at once brutally overt and painfully discreet. The restless group inside the diner decides to hold an impromptu talent show, at which Dr. Lyman and Elma will present a scene from "Romeo and Juliet." At first, it is all rather comical, with the blustering silliness of Lyman's scene-stealing excesses and Elma's well-intentioned but adolescent histrionic interpretations; and then we realize just how much we are seeing of the real Gerald Lyman in the subtly escalating breakdown of his self-controlled facade and hearing in the all too accurate words of Shakespeare's Romeo. The spoken lines become his confession, words scratched onto the mirror of his inner self. And the worst part of it all for us as witnesses, is that we can't ignore the fact that he knows it, too.

When Elma speaks the lines, "Thou art thyself, though not a Montague...," he interrupts her, responding, "I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and -- I'll be new baptiz'd; Henceforth -- I never -- will be Romeo." Perlman is brilliant here, never tipping the balance into overly emotional or self-conscious posturing, and he maintains Dr. Lyman's dignity even as the truth destroys a little more of his soul. Particularly in the effective use of his voice, including a hushed raspy whisper that seems torn out of his character's heart, Perlman shows us a man no longer able to find the tenuous comfort of being able to hide behind words or gestures, for now they are far too truthful and self-revelatory, even to this small group of people he had assumed he might dazzle and delude. Lyman has only deluded himself, and now that, too, is over.

As Elma continues to act her part as Juliet, she asks the key question, "What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in night, So stumblest on my council?" But for Lyman, the theatrics have ended, and when he replies, for once someone else's words really are his in all their devastating truth: "By a name I know not how to tell thee --who I am: My name, dear saint, is -- hateful to myself."

Repeating that final line, he stumbles away from center stage and collapses in upon himself, quickly followed by the confused and concerned Elma, to whom he offers some of his rapidly depleting supply of hope: "You couldn't possibly do anything wrong if you tried...Just tell your audience that Romeo is suddenly fraught with remorse." To me, it seemed as if he wanted to let her know he recognized in her a still strong sense of pure promise and to warn her away from choosing paths which might lead her to his same sorry destination. The possibilities he'd once had are nearly gone now, wasted by a man who had never learned to cope, but perhaps it won't be that way for the still eager, expectant Elma.

In the end, from somewhere within the shades of grey that make up Dr. Lyman's moral and ethical character, he finds the strength and self-control to leave Elma alone. They had made plans to meet in Topeka, ostensibly to attend the symphony, but in the end he withdraws his enticing request. I think he saw that within Elma still existed the possibilities that had once lived in him, and that in plotting to steal away some of her hope and innocence -- both literally and figuratively -- he would be committing emotional suicide with what ragged shreds were left of his own.

Ron Perlman's performance in this production of "Bus Stop" stands out as one of the very best among a highly talented cast. Several of the NYC area critics mentioned they felt the director, Josephine R. Abady, put more energy and effort into bringing out stronger levels of performance from the supporting cast members than she did with the leads, Mary-Louise Parker and Billy Crudup. I would agree with their findings, but it's also well worth considering that Perlman, Patricia Dunnock (Elma), and Larry Pine (Virgil), as well as Kelly Bishop (Grace), Scott Sowers (Will), and Michael Cullen (Carl) are simply better actors. They show us characters who are human beings with many easily recognized layers, not an easy task in little over two hours' time despite having the advantage of the evocative, effective lines written for their characters. The people they present to us never fall back on becoming the stereotypes they might be if portrayed by actors less insightful, talented, and responsive.

Unfortunately, the performances by the two leads were not as successful, at least when I saw the play on February 18 which was still early in its limited run. Crudup's Bo is made of far too much adolescent angst and unnecessarily out-of-control bravado, but not enough touching revelation of his multi-faceted innocence and simplicity. However, toward the end of the play, especially in his final scenes, we see this side of him much more clearly, and I think it indicates the growth Crudup can -- and should -- make in his portrayal of this character.

Parker's Cherie never gave me any reason to care about her very much. Her rather blank, wide-eyed stare and perpetual pout should have hidden a confused girl, scared and scarred from having grown up much too soon. Instead, I just found her superficial and cold, to the point where I wished Bo would go back to Montana and find someone better to love and marry. In interviews, Parker has made a point of saying she never watched the Marilyn Monroe film portrayal of Cherie. Well, it's quite obvious from the tone of her voice to her posture and her walk, that she has seen the rest of Monroe's films and has studied them closely. She might rethink her decision about watching "Bus Stop" -- as they say, couldn't hurt, might help. To her credit, she looks the part and there is always potential for growth. I hope as the days pass, she will develop her own understanding of the character so that we can see more of Cherie's heart and soul and less of her selfish manipulation and posturing. We can forgive her literally using Bo to buy a ticket out of her disreputable lifestyle if she lets us know that there's something still very sweet and worthwhile within her; otherwise, it's just another ride to a temporary stop-over in an ever more destructive existence.

In addition to Perlman and Dunnock, I felt Larry Pine gave a particularly strong performance in his portrayal of Virgil, whose "good, old cowboy" veneer truly reflects the lifestyle and good-hearted nature of this seemingly simple man, yet cannot compensate for the heartbreaking pain his loving, unselfish soul will bring him all his life. As the play ends, we know that all the various characters have no choice but to embark on the next phases of their life-journeys, but Gerald Lyman's and Virgil's are the ones most truly shadowed and forlorn, the former through his inescapable spiral of self-destruction and the latter by means of a selfless act of kindness.

The play is staged "in the round" and appears to have equally good vantage points from all seats in this small theatre. The presentation is such that all the important characters are on stage throughout the play, alternately taking on the parts of protagonist and observer. In fact, the characters themselves often are seated on the periphery of the stage as they watch each other play out the events of their lives. They become an audience within an audience, concentric rings of spectators and players. It is an interesting design and one that works well for this "Bus Stop." As all B&B fans know, it is not often we have an opportunity to see Ron Perlman perform live in such a fine dramatic role, and it is a pleasure to watch him act in a play such as "Bus Stop." You leave the theatre very impressed -- once again -- by his talent, sensitivity, insight and creativity, and you'll be glad you were able to see him in a work of this caliber where he can put his abilities to excellent use. It would be wonderful for us as an audience and, I would assume, for Perlman as a highly accomplished actor, to see him in plays like this much more often.

In addition, in "Bus Stop" you will you see a fine production of a fairly recent American classic, and for a few hours you will become part of an evocative, sometimes painfully honest examination of the sadness and celebration, the resignation and reality of human existence. Inge's characters dream our dreams, and we're comforted by finding that he holds out to them even a little bit of hope, for it validates the hope for a happy life that we all keep within ourselves.

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