Thursday, October 25, 1 990
The Battalion
Page 5
Stop! in the name of good taste, Mary
By JOHN MABRY
The story of the Supremes, one of
the most successful groups in rock
history, is, by now, a legend — three
young, black girls from the Detroit
projects sing and dance their way to
the top of the pop charts and into
America’s hearts.
In her 1986 autobiogra
phy, Drea/ng'/rV, former Supremes
member Mary Wilson revealed some
of the nasty goings-on behind the
fairy tale — the manipulation of Mo
town artists by then-president Berry
Gordy, the cutthroat behavior of
lead singer Diana Ross, and, of
course, the tragic fall of Florence
Ballard, the Supreme who became a
martyr to many fans when she died
on welfare at the age of 32.
After reading Supreme Faith
($19.95, HarperCollins Publishers),
Wilson’s 1990 follow-up, however, it
is obvious that Wilson should have
stopped with the first book.
What Supreme Faith lacks is exac
tly what made Dreamgirl the most
successful autobiography in music
publishing history — information
not about Wilson, who only sang
“oohs and ahhs” behind Ross’s lead
vocals and little else, but an insider’s
look at other more notorious artists
behind the trademark “Motown
Sound.”
Supreme Faith, however, focuses
primarily on Wilson’s failed mar
riage and her futile efforts to keep
the group alive after Ross left in
1970.
But, let’s face it, Mary — most
people probably don’t remember:
1. your name, and
2. that the Supremes continued
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into the ’70s (the group had only a
handful of meager hits after Ross
left).
Throughout the book, however,
Wilson acknowledges the Ross-less
Supremes as successful, and herself
as talented. But, considering her
musical track record, she is clearly
not the star she’d like you to think
she is. Wilson, in fact, has never sung
lead vocals on a hit single.
To read a book written from such
a disillusioned and entirely incorrect
perspective can get to be, quite
frankly, annoying.
For instance, the first paragraph
in the liner of the book reads, “Su
preme Faith begins in 1970... While
Ross has only one Top-10 hit in the
next four years, the Supremes (now
with Jean Terrell) see hit after hit... ”
Wrong, again. Diana Ross hit Bill
board’s #1 position with “Ain’t No
Mountain High” in 1970 and the
same position in 1973 with “Touch
Me In the Morning.” Wilson also
forgot to mention the fact that dur
ing this time period Ross made a hit
movie and was nominated for an
Academy Award.
When Wilson finally has to admit
the failure of the new Supremes,
she, in true fashion, blames it on
Berry Gordy’s failure to promote
their records, not on a lack of talent.
When Wilson discusses more no
torious artists than herself, as she
did most of the time in Dreamgirl,
the book becomes more interesting.
Wilson’s favorite topic in Supreme
Faith is, as it was in Dreamgirl, Diana
Ross, or Diane, as she calls her in the
books.
While Dreamgirl confirmed what
people had long suspected about
Ross — that she could be a manipu
lative, conniving person — Wilson’s
description of Ross’ antics in Su
preme Faith now come as no sur
prise.
Although Wilson insists that she
still loves Ross, it is obvious that Wil
son is resentful of Ross for leaving
the group and has no qualms about
capitalizing on it.
No one likes a bad loser, and my
prediction for Supreme Faith is that
no one is going to like it, either.
And while Dreamgirl is an inter
esting book, Mary Wilson’s latest ef
fort is proof that she’s simply run
out of names to drop.
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Problems distract ‘Monique’ audience from thrills
By JOHN MABRY
Lackluster performances from
a brassy script make StageCent-
er’s production of the mystery/th
riller “Monique” a less-than-
thrilling evening of theater.
The first disappointment is not
the acting, but set designer
Scott Bagley’s living-room set, or
the lack thereof.
Unfinished edges, doors that
do not shut properly and inter
mittent wall trim are defects that
not only make the set extremely
unappealing, but are distracting
as well. For instance, the audience
can clearly see straight through a
set of double doors to a white
sheet that draped the backstage
area.
And not only does the acting
space itself look bad, the furnish
ings selected obviously conflict
with the late 1950s French set
ting.
While the costumes suggest the
period, the set looks like a mix
ture between early-’70s craft
overdose and Hallmark waterco
lorstationary: electric purple and
bright blue walls hung with such
1950s items as a brown macrame
owl and woven paper-plate hold
ers.
The wooden-framed sofa’s
cushions are beige and decorated
with big flowers in various earth
tones. About as French as apple
pie and baseball.
Bagley’s lighting? Imagine the
mentioned scene washed in a dim
yellow haze. That, I think, speaks
for itself.
To add to the anachronisms,
director Charles Pitman chooses
to play period show music like
Steely Dan’s “Do It Again” and
Phil Collins’ “In the Air.”
If I hadn’t known beforehand
that “Monique” takes place in the
1950s, I would have placed the
time of the action somewhere be
tween the moon landing and
disco.
Set, lighting and music, of
course, are theatrical elements
long forgotten when the acting in
a production is operating at full
force.
Most of the performances in
“Monique,” however, only em
phasize the technical shortcom
ings.
Although he looks every bit the
Frenchman, Dwight Scott Miller’s
portrayal of Fernand Ravinel, the
principal character, just isn’t
strong enough to carry the play.
Although his character goes
through turbulent emotional
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changes — disgust, burning pas
sion, guilt, fear — Miller chooses
to be quietly worried throughout
the entire play. Instead of cre
ating empathy for Fernand’s situ
ation, Miller’s deflated perfor
mance makes it quite difficult not
to discard him as a mere wimp.
And although his nervous, ag
itated performance is appropri
ate in certain scenes, it greatly
hinders his believability in others.
Miller’s flatness in the begin
ning of the play does little to con
vince us that he is so overly con
sumed with his flaming desire for
Monique that he would actually
go so far as to murder his wife.
The biggest disappointment of
the evening, however, is Doree
Fackler’s performance as the
murdered wife, Lucienne.
Fackler has some of the best
written material to work with in
the play but she never comes
close to living up to her charac
ter’s tremendous potential.
The witty, saucy Lucienne, is
not given an ounce of life by
Fackler. So many remarkable op
portunities for laughter are com
pletely passed by. Instead of be
ing colorful, Fackler appears as if
she is merely reading the lines off
of a teleprompter.
Danyah Arafat’s Monique,
however, is as refreshing as Fackl
er’s Lucienne is stale.
Arafat, clearly the most out
standing thing about “Monique,”
is a joy to watch whether she is
barking at Fernand like a watch
dog or lounging seductively cat
like on the sofa.
Clearly establishing the sireni-
cal Monique right off the bat, Ar
afat manages to do the one thing
that most of other actors seemed
to forget — make specific charac
ter choices. While Arafat is in
control, the others seem lost and
out of focus. And although she is
short, Arafat’s command of her
body and voice manages to el
evate her above the others.
The two exceptions are Laura
Egg, who plays the neighbor girl,
Lisette, and Harold Presley, who
gives a great performance as the
suspicious Inspector Merlin. The
one scene between him and Ar
afat is the most convincing in the
play.
But both Egg and Presley have
minor roles, and, unfortunately,
the play drags
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Ferdinand (Dwight Scott Miller) and Monique (Danyah Arafat)
scheme in the presence of his wife (Doree Fackler) during Stage-
Center’s presentation of “Monique” in Bryan.
This problem is only exacer
bated by many of Pitman’s direc
torial choices.
One example is the long scene
when Monique and Fernand
carry Lucienne’s corpse from
room to room. Although much of
the scene is played in silence, the
stage time is made even more
lengthy by Pitman’s failure to fill
the time with bits of stage busi
ness to keep the audience’s atten
tion. Often Pitman even leaves
the stage completely empty.
There are, in addition, two
other minor problems with “Mo
nique.” The first is that actors
who are no longer on stage are al
lowed to view the remainder of
the play from the audience area.
This is a real no-no, especially in
plays of a more serious nature
such as “Monique.”
The second problem is an in
consistency in the sound effects.
The sound from the telephone
onstage comes from the phone it
self and later from the speakers.
Also, the fact that voices on the
other end of telephone conversa
tions are amplified is unnecessary
and distracting.
“Monique,” as a result, delivers
none of the mystery or suspense
that the script does have great po
tential for. The majority of the
actors simply don’t actualize their
characters, and, as a result, “Mon
ique” is a thriller that thrills no
one.
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ERIC H. ROALSONThe Battalion
Reba McEntire responds to the G. Rollie White
crowd after Baillie and the Boys got them to their
feet at a Town Hall concert.
Baillie, Reba reign in Rollie
while Gill sputters in concert
By JOHN RICHTER
Strike one up for the ladies. Although Vince Gill
sputtered through Sunday night’s MSG Town Hall per
formance, Reba McEntire and Kathie Baillie provided
plenty of substance and flash for the three-quarters full
G. Rollie White audience.
RCA/BMG artists Baillie and the Boys started Sun
day’s triad (a miscast of positions). I first heard Baillie
and the Boys last fall during their performance with
Restless Heart, a set that upstaged the night’s headlin
ers. By evening’s end, Kathie Baillie and husband/gui
tarist Michael Bonagura had successfully defended
their crown.
Two things stand out in Baillie/Bonagura’s songs:
they write most of their material (unlike McEntire), and
while the songs are personal, the subject matter is nei
ther wishy washy nor blindly conventional. With songs
such as “I Can’t Turn The Tide” and “She Deserves
You,” Baillie offers an unsuperficial approach to an
area that has long pandered to the static black and
white notions of “isn’t love swell” and “there’s an empty
bottle staring back at me.”
Obviously, the audience agreed. Baillie and the Boys
received a standing ovation at the end of its set, a feat
unmatched by Gill and applied somewhat obligatory to
ward Reba. Baillie’s gutsy deliveries and natural rap
port, especially during the acoustic “Treat Me Like A
Stranger,” retain enough of the simplicity that makes
conventional country so endearing, yet injects aspects
of a more progressive-pop approach. In this case, Bail-
lie provides the best of both worlds.
Country Music Association Single of the Year winner
Vince Gill failed to provide as smooth a transition to
McEntire. Gill never quite recovered from an awkward
beginning (an awkwardness that resurfaced in his
butchering of “Oklahoma Swing” during McEntire’s
set), mumbling about Oklahoma and the audience’s
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subsequent hissing.
Interestingly, although Gill won his award for a bal
lad, “When I Call Your Name” (a surprisingly weak
number for a CMA winner), it was the faster-paced,
dance hall-swing numbers, such as “Everybody’s Sweet
heart” and “Turn Me Loose,” that went over best.
Part of Gill’s awkwardness might be a result of a shift
from more intimate settings to larger audiences; a fac
tor propelled by the CMA award. An entertainer’s role
within a club-like setting is vastly different from that of
a predominantly gimmick-oriented arena setting. Inti
macy and spontaneity take a back seat to isolation and
choreography.
The award must also have been the logic behind
Gill’s positioning after Baillie and the Boys, who never
theless severely upstaged the ex-Pure Prairie League
singer.
Performing a tight, choreographed set, McEntire
closed the evening with an abrupt, hour- and five-min
ute performance. Focusing, especially the second half
of the set, on material from her latest release, Rumor
Has It, she opened in semi-dramatic fashion with
“Climb That Mountain High,” utilizing fog, lights and
an extended platform.
From there McEntire intermixed ballads such as
“You Lie” and “One Promise Too Late” with jazzier,
choreographed numbers, including Otis Redding’s
“RESPECT,” the traditional, Bobby Gentry-penned
“Fancy,” and “Walk On” from ’89’s Sweet Sixteen.
Although McEnitre is more revered for her ballads,
it was mostly the'uptempo numbers that demonstrated
See Reba/Page 8