Theater review
THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY
Two hours with no intermission. At the Music Box Theatre, 239 W. 45th Street.
What could be more vain than a 15-foot-tall image of an actor’s face onstage glaring at you?
How about a high-definition video screen? And not one, but five of them — all for one person?
In a flourish of theatrical magic, with the help of mind-boggling technology, the surely exhausted “Succession” star Sarah Snook plays 26 roles in “The Picture of Dorian Gray,” which opened Thursday night at the Music Box Theatre.
Directed by Kip Williams, it’s an often breathtaking show with risk coursing through its veins. If any of the army of cameras are on the fritz, if a single cue is missed, if sensational Snook skips a few lines, the whole impressive experiment comes crashing down.
And then there’s devil-may-care Dorian, Oscar Wilde’s Victorian Era Narcissus who makes a dangerous bargain to preserve his beauty forever — at the expense of his soul. As his innocence fades and he indulges in wild excess, his life spirals out of control with deadly consequences.
Both the play and playboy walk a perilous tightrope, and the result is riveting.
What makes the difference between a trick and a triumph is the remarkable Snook. As Shiv on “Succession,” she did some of the subtlest work on the series as her power-hungry scion quietly connived with a disarming smile.
The Aussie actress brings that same infectious grin to Broadway. She’s hilarious and haunting as, well, everybody. The subtlety? She wisely left that back at Waystar Royco.
Snook, more volcanic than Vesuvius, inhabits these distinct parts — aristocrats, a bumbling artist, a cuckoo starlet and a vengeful brother, just to name a few — in a Russian doll of ways.
She begins, like in most one-woman shows, by popping in and out of different people while the aerobic act is displayed on one giant screen. Seven crew buzz around her getting shots, changing sets, ripping off outfits and tossing in props.
Just when we’ve become used to that quick-cut style, a freaky disembodied hand reaches onto the frame to touch Dorian’s shoulder. The limb belongs to Lord Henry Wotton — and Snook!
Yes, many pre-recorded videos of the actress in elaborate costumes and major makeup start to interact and even merge with the person in front of us.
At one absurd point, like a scene out of a 1990s comedy movie, seven Snooks eat dinner together.
Now that we’ve grown accustomed to her faces, the director shakes up the formula again.
Mobile phones and Instagram filters are thrown into the mix, cheekily and eventually grotesquely, making the case that Dorian is not unlike modern influencers who project a gorgeous life to the world that hides a dark and ugly truth.
It’s discombobulating. It’s fantastical. And, in the end, it’s crushing.
My one quibble is that, at two hours with no intermission, “Dorian Gray” is about 10 minutes too long. Physicians won’t approve of this advice, but Dr. Johnny recommends arriving at the theater fully dehydrated. Sardi’s after, not before.
But what the worthwhile play offers — and I know there are many who pooh-pooh screens onstage as a rule — is the childlike wonderment of not understanding the logistics of what you’re looking at. The first hour is marked by awed and confused “How did they do that?”s.
“How did she do that?”
And then, all at once, the audience is wholly consumed by the tech wizardry and timeless tale of destruction.
Much like a promising young man who discovers that his soul has become mysteriously trapped in a decaying portrait, we just go along for the ride. Unlike poor Dorian, though, we end elated.
