Shepard’s finest sheep
True West
My first encounter with Sam Shepard occured when I was 12 or 13 years old. Steel Magnolias was my favorite movie, and although it was a film about women, the men were better at catching my attention. I was at that romantically impressionable age. Dylan McDermott was the dreamy, doting beau. Tom Skerritt portrayed the silly, impulsive spouse, and Shepard became the unsociable, taciturn drifter who had little conversation for his wife but was undyingly loyal to her.
Add to his repertoire of rugged and reticent film roles a successful career as a playwright and Shepard becomes a real stud. Among his better-known plays is True West, and Brüka Theatre has taken on the task of producing it, which is no easy mission, as it has been reviewed in the past as a clichéd dud.
It seems Shepard wrote True West self-mockingly, well aware of the cliché. The story is summed up as follows: One “bad” brother and one “good” brother engage in a showdown of intellect, raw emotion and scare tactics as they attempt to co-write an over-the-top screenplay; the screenplay’s a western focused on two cowboys fighting over one woman and chasing each other across the Texas desert. The brothers, played by real-life siblings and RN&R contributors Mike and Bob Grimm, also happen to be living in a desert—they’re house-sitting for their mom (Stacey Spain) on the edge of the Mojave—and both fight for their father’s love.
One crucial thing saves Brüka’s True West from the realm of the trite: excellent acting. The Grimm brothers steer away from clichéd performances. They are original in their interpretations and give their characters almost impenetrable depth. Director Scott Beers also deserves credit in this department.
Bob plays Lee, the bigger, more rage-prone brother, who gives his brother noogies one second and swings golf clubs at him the next. He’s a petty larcenist and a man-child who wears dirty underwear, sagging pants and a tank top that grows progressively grimier throughout the play.
The violent temper tantrums Lee throws are evidence of his emotional instability and mental naivete. Bob as Lee is gifted enough to throw a unique tantrum all seven or eight times. Every fit has its own idiosyncrasies and is frighteningly different than the one before, so that you never know what Lee is going to do next.
Mike plays Austin, the clean-cut brother with an Ivy League education. Austin is a screenwriter by trade and is working on a project when Lee shows up. On the verge of being picked up by a big-time producer (George Randolph), Austin’s screenplay idea is usurped by the “western” that Lee proposes.
Mike is subtle in his portrayal of Austin. Austin tolerates Lee’s temper only because he seems afraid to let himself turn into the uncontrollable ogre Lee so easily becomes. Mike makes Austin spineless on the surface but reveals a hint of something brooding underneath. By the end of the play, Mike is able to shape Austin into the man his brother was in the beginning.
The fact that the Grimms are actual brothers comes across strong. Their slaps and shoves look like they’ve been practiced thousands of times before, and they seem so intensely involved with one another on stage they forget they’re being watched.
Brüka’s True West is violently intense, witty and funny drama that plays as smoothly as a snake sliding across the desert floor. When two men—both traipsing around with their naked tummies hanging out, drinking beer, fighting and belching—can sustain a two-hour play, they are doing something very right. I’m sure the Grimms played True West the way Shepard intended.