Written by: Ronald Weihs
Directed by: Molly Thom
At the Artword Theatre
Closing Date: Feb 19th 2006
Review by Stage Door Guest Reviewer Ari Lipsey


Ronald Weihs’ “The Gambler” is a fusion of Fyodor Dostoevsky’s novella by the same name, and parts of his third wife Anna Grigoryevna Snitkina’s autobiography. The former is of a seedy group of utilitarian upper class gentry, while the latter is the story of a young woman who believes in an older artist mired in self-doubt, though for the first time in recent memory, the artist character isn’t played by Woody Allen.

The most noticeable contrast is the women of the stories. In the novella section, they are glamorous but scheming, while Anna is an angelic, without sin and the instrument of Dostoevsky’s deliverance. We can all relate to this. Our youths are littered with lovers whom we gravitated to on a ferocious instinct we believed to be love, only later to discover that it was all for naught. These objects of affection become less appealing with every subsequent heartache. But “The Gambler” is not a celebration of these valorous women. It, like us in our youth, is seduced by the wrong women and the life they inhabit. The stage is literally set at the opening, as it’s stage split in two: on our left is Dostoevsky‘s (David Ferry) dwelling, taking up about 1\6th of the stage, where all the action between him and Anna (Claire Jenkins) takes place. The rest is the lavish set of Roulettenberg, the location of most of “The Gambler”. Now there may be several excuses for this: The geometry of the stage; the fact that “The Gambler” section has more actors/action/take up more of the play etc.

But despite Anna’s claims that she is a modern woman, she’s not given a modern play. Forget the fact that she’s not a collaborator to the work; she doesn’t even rise to the level of muse. She’s a cheerleader, albeit one with an eye on the game, but that’s it. Jenkins acquits herself admirably, giving a performance that bursts beyond the confines of her blocking during a particularly crucial monologue, but the character is underwritten and she’s been left to fend for herself. This becomes evident during the denouement, which is three excruciating scenes long. Had the love between Dostoevsky and Snitkina been built up gradually, at the same pace as the events of “The Gambler”, we would have had all we needed for the happy resolution that follows the climax. Instead, we watch the history of these two unfold in a space smaller than a bachelor pad kitchen. Wiehs took the easy way out here, and it’s a mistake.

That said, the inclusion of Dostoevesky and Anna are probably dramatically necessary. In fact, a 1997 film on the piece uses the same device. Both Weihs and the writer of the film probably encountered the same problem: the characters populating Roulettenberg are pretty irredeemable. They’re all focused on money, and seem to not mind how they get it as long as they can use it to gratify themselves. Both The General (Karl Pruner) and his step-daughter Polina (Irene Poole) are both waiting for her land-owning elderly Grandmother (Jennifer Phipps) to put her other foot in the grave. It doesn’t quite work out as planned, as the Grandmother shows up near the end of the first act. Thank God, as the play lags until Phipps wheels into the scene. Prior to her Grandmother grand entrance, we follow Alexei (also David Ferry), a 25 year old gentleman, who has taken to borrowing money off every good heated soul he can find, notably Mr. Astley (Brett Christopher), all the while pining for Polina. It’s made clear he has a better chance of beating the house than scoring with this lass, though he tries to do both on a number of occasions. The General, for his part, has taken a fancy to Mlle Blanche (also Irene Poole), a notorious black widow of a lover.

There isn’t much movement until Act 2, but I respect that, as too often, productions tend to play their best cards early. But by the second act, the roulette table has morphed into a narrative device, and winning and losing seem dictated rather conspicuously by narrative need. Still, for a story about addicts, it makes for a more interesting device than heroine.

It’s not so much that “The Gambler” is bad, but that it’s unremarkable.

These characters, save Polina and The Grandmother, aren’t particularly interesting, but Weihs conveys emotions like honor and pride effectively to a modern audience that may not so easily buy into these concepts. There’s also some neat costume design. Characters interchange so rapidly, there isn’t much a costume designer can do, but I appreciated that Brett Christopher’s French Comte des Grieux had a top hat, while his Mr. Astley sported a bowler.

It should be noted that, if I read the audience correctly, I was in the minority here. Then again, I was about 30 years younger than the median age.

These women were born in a time where a story about a voice of encouragement from the sidelines was a tribute to women, not condescending to them. But it was a sold out house, and the show got a standing ovation, and having seen almost 40 plays in the last year, I can say that in theatre, it’s much rarer for the house to win.

Ari Lipsey reviews Toronto Theater at torontotheater.blogspot.com