A Behanding In Spokane

It’s one thing to use off-putting language to make a point.  However, epithets and bigotry used for the same of calling attention to yourself is entirely another story.  Martin McDonaugh is a master of being off-putting, and his newest play, A Behanding in Spokane, finds the writer very clearly in his element.  However, that’s not always a good thing.

The play opens with Christopher Walken sitting on a bed.  And just seeing his delightful scowl is enjoyable.  Walken, here as an aging white supremacist, does his best to chew the scenery and own every moment he’s onstage.  Particularly enjoyable is the final scene, where he’s on the phone with his mother.  It’s  vintage Walken, done magnificently to the nth degree.

However, his dialogue leaves something to be desired.  Laced with racial and homophobic epithets without much else, the language McDonaugh generally favors is lacking in further meaning.  In, say, The Lieutenant of Inishmore, the violent and virulent language the characters took up had much more to say about loyalty, intent, and drive.  Here, however, there’s no such subtext.  It’s just anger and bile without substance.

Also upsetting are the supporting characters.  Sam Rockwell is a proto-Walken waiting to happen, and has proven himself quite well in him film career.  Here, however, he’s a hotel lobby worker who harbors the same antagonism Walken’s character holds, but isn’t given much of an opportunity to really be interesting.  While Walken can overtake any character he’s playing, Rockwell is best utilized to ferret out the minutiae of a role.  That subtle difference leads me to think Rockwell’s been miscast here.  Or, perhaps, the role just doesn’t have any intricate details to flesh out.  Likely the latter.

As for Walken’s combatants in his quest to find his missing hand (the titular plot point), Anthony Mackie and Zoe Kazan are given ham-fisted stereotypes to deal with.  Mackie, in particular, has a role so generically and stereotypically written that I’m actually surprised he took it.  Allegedly written for Chris Rock, all of the grace and nuance Mackie possesses are wasted here.  Most of the reviews I’ve read refer to him embodying Stephen Fechit.  I’m not quite there, but it’s not too far off, frankly.

Kazan has a similar problem.  Instead of a poorly written black drug dealer (yes, indeed), she’s his hipster girlfriend.  While she delivers some generally amusing bits, Kazan is saddled with generally unmemorable dialogue, which is actually a saving grace.  She does have a choice bit of physical comedy, both in trying to grasp Walken’s suitcase and her response to what’s found in it.

At the end of the day, the play simply didn’t have much to say other than pushing the boundaries of acceptable dialogue.  The acting was generally enjoyable, and the last fifteen minutes are, to be sure, quite hilarious (mostly due to an avoidance of profanity and a reliance on Walken).  I just didn’t find much else to enjoy.  If you can get discount tickets (and you can), it might be worth it to see for Walken’s dynamic closing moments.  Might, that is, if you can stomach otherwise useless epithets, including the racist n-bomb and homophobic f-bomb.

Of course, seeing Mackie, Rockwell, and Kazan move their careers forward is always a nice touch, but I would actually like to see them act onstage.  Walken, too, for that matter.

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