Ah, Hollywoodland, what will they dream up next? Imagine, if you will, a theater production that actually encourages you leave the room if you are not intrigued with the plotline at a particular moment. In Tamara the rules are this: you choose one character and follow that character throughout a gorgeous 1920s villa and witness from room to room how this player fits into the whole scheme of things. Up to eight different scenes are going on at any given time in different parts of the house, and the action is so impeccably timed that the actors can swiftly enter and exit a scene with no break in the timing, even though they might be traveling from a basement boudoir to the master's bedroom on the top floor.
You are spy, observer, comrade, intimate friend to the players in a plot which entertains the idea of a wealthy political philanthropist, Gabriele D' Annunzio, placed under house arrest in his very own home (read "mansion"). This man occupies his time by inviting only the most intriguing (and most beautiful) people to take up residency with him. One of these beauties is Tamara, young aspiring artist commissioned to paint D' Annuzio's portrait, arriving the very evening we see the play, January 10 1927.
The play defies any complete synopsis as the ten different actors often times appear in two character scenes involving many various relationships and plots and subplots and the whole thing just multiplies. The story which becomes "super plot" is the search for a Mussolini conspirator who wishes to see D' Annuzio's demise. Yet, this has little to do with a fabulous moment when Tamara storms from the house, jumps in her period automobile and quite literally drives away, right down the street. What, when, where why, you consistently ask of the goings on. But the point is, who cares if you are confused jumping from a scene in the banquet hall to a scene in the bathroom? Running and panting along the trail of your actor or actress is more fun than you can imagine.
The production values are exquisite. Each room is a sumptuous museum designed by a five-time Emmy Award winner Robert Checchi, and contain the perfect pieces on which Gianfranco Ferre's costumes may drape. The production has caught on so well in Los Angeles that major stars sometimes take on one of the roles for several weeks--after some serious training to get the timing down.
The moment you walk in you are interrogated by Finzi, a fascist policeman who issues you a passport and explains the rules. As you sip champagne in the elegant central room, the actors move in and out of conversations, all in character, letting us as invisible observers see hints of the tensions within the household. Based on the encouragement of Finzi, you separate from your theater party and are on our own, though you occasionally pass your friends in a hall or possibly end up locked in a room together with several actors.
The acting style is somewhat like a historic soap opera, and all characters by the end of Act I have been compelled for one reason or another to meet in the art deco bar downstairs where we as theatergoers are treated to a lavish array of platters catered by Ma Mansion. Yes, the tickets are expensive, but worth it. Should you be able to attend more than once, bring the same passport and you are entitled to a reduced entrance price. (Five-timers are treated like privileged guests.) As intimate observer you'll find yourself an authority on your
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