Testing the limits of Hollywood ambitions

February 25, 2009|Joel Brown, Globe Correspondent

Corrosive screen satires like "The Player" and "Swimming With Sharks" have set the bar pretty high - or rather, low - for fictional Hollywood misdeeds. Lives and careers are destroyed. Sociopathic ambition turns to sadistic violence. Unfortunately, Andrew Clarke doesn't go far enough in his new dark comedy, "The Random Caruso," at the BCA through March 7 in a likable Centastage production. A little light pimping and a single punch in the nose seem ho-hum by today's standards for off-screen bad behavior.

Clarke's setup references "Sharks" and the three-handed game of David Mamet's "Speed-the-Plow." Harvey (Robert Pemberton) is an egomaniacal, debauched, and deeply insecure actor. (OK, maybe that's redundant.) Harvey bullies his long-suffering assistant, Tom (Michael Forden Walker), over the temperature of his pancakes. But he expects Tom to act as go-between when he wants to hook up with the attractive waitress, Decca (Tracy Oliverio), who is - of course - an aspiring actress.

Harvey tells Tom he's pulling out of his role in a big-screen costume drama. But Tom, who is also an aspiring screenwriter, can't let that happen; the movie's producer, George (John Porell), has promised to option Tom's script if Harvey does the movie. So Tom convinces Decca to help him manipulate Harvey. Decca - of course - wants something in return: She wants to be in the movie, too.

And that's about it. Decca does Harvey, Harvey does the part, and the shoot starts smoothly. Then Harvey once again declares he's pulling out, meaning both Tom and Decca will find their ambitions stymied. Can they change his mind again?

"The Random Caruso" is a build-out of Clark's 10-minute play "Breakfast With Harvey," which Centastage produced for the Boston Theatre Marathon and Plays on Tap. There are laugh lines throughout, and director Joe Antoun's production entertains. But it feels like there's a scene missing at the end, a twist or two to ratchet up the stakes and show how far Tom and/or Decca will go to get what they want. For now, they don't go all that far, and nothing especially terrible happens to anyone.

Oliverio scores as the waitress who turns out to be more of a player than anyone expected; her delivery of Decca's kiss-off to Harvey in the second act drew a whoop and applause on Saturday night. Despite a few fumbled lines, Pemberton is believable as the disheveled and oblivious Harvey - especially when he snaps to attention at the scent of betrayal. Porell brings a bracing jolt of insanity in his one scene as the producer, one of those Hollywood monsters who confuses his own base instincts with some sort of trendy spiritual quest.

Walker's Tom is, apparently, supposed to be our viewpoint character, lobbying for art amid the commerce. But he comes off as an asexual cipher, without underlying feelings for Decca or Harvey. Maybe that's what's missing from Clarke's plot: the third leg of the triangle. One more juicy betrayal would be more compelling than Tom's final exit as it stands now. He walks off with chin up but his ideals in tatters. And there's nothing funny about that.