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 t h e a t r e

Poor Richard



Poor Richard, by Jean Kerr
(Richard Ford) 2.xii.64, Helen Hayes Theatre, Broadway
directed by Peter Wood with Gene Hackman (above)

 

from the Journal American, 3.xii.64

"Poor Richard" (at the Helen Hayes Theatre, Broadway)
by John McLain
 
LAST NIGHT AT the Helen Hayes Theatre was a nervous night for me. Jean Kerr, wife of Walter Kerr, the critic from the Herald-Tribune, had written a play to follow "Mary, Mary" which has run longer than all of us, and here we were sitting in judgment on the new one, "Poor Richard," in the same seat which might have been right behind Mr. and Mrs. Kerr, as is usually the case.
It is hard to say what I would have done If it had been a bomb, for I dearly love Mrs. Kerr and do not think she is capable of writing anything truly trivial, but it could have been a let-down after her earlier success and there would have been the old scrambling around trying to be polite.
Happily this is not necessary, for I believe she has another winner. I am a big soft sucker for stage characters that seem to make sense to me and these did. I was concerned and captivated.
Her hero is a sort of Dylan Thomas drinking poet, a Britisher who has come here to attend or not attend a ceremony dedicating the wing of a hospital in the memory of his rich and deceased American wife. He is supplied a secretary, a most decorative young doll, who almost immediately announces that she has been his fan -- and wants to marry him.
This is her original intent, but then as she comes to know him better she changes her mind. She decides that he is something less than his writings; he can charm a bird off a bough, but has he the ability to cherish and comfort and live with a wife?
There seems to be this big thing about whether he really loved the departed first wife or whether, as he protests, he married her merely to make it possible for him to further his career as a writer.
There are sub-situations. His publisher is in love with this loan-out secretary and there is a sister of his wife who comes along to urge him to take part in a ceremony in her honor which he strenuously rejects, and there is the diary of the deceased which proves that she loved him deeply. This guy is not beyond redemption, however.
What really makes the piece is the writing of Mrs. Kerr and the brilliant performances of Alan Bates, the non-conformist poet, Joanna Pettet, the secretary, and Gene Hackman, as the square publisher.
Mrs. Kerr's lines are riddled with wit and wisdom: She has the facility of bursting into the most serious scene with a remark of miraculous nonsense without losing the essence.
These people talk and behave like living and breathing humans, and so I became seriously concerned with what was going to happen to them. I guess that's about all you have to do, as long as you keep them interesting, and Mrs. Kerr never lets them go dull.
 
Poor Richard closed 13. iv.65, after 117 performances.