The other night I saw Bekah McNeil’s production of Cowboy Mouth, a play written by Sam Shepard and Patti Smith, at The Exit Theater. The Exit’s an unassuming place with only a sign reading “EXIT” out front to distinguish it. This sign, which glows right near the entrance, is a very Shepard-like touch. His plays often contain out-of-place objects that make deep sense; that is, they seem to originate in our dreams, where the anomalous symbol takes on a meaning personal to the dreamer.
But before I tell you about what I witnessed that night, I have a question: have you ever secretly wished to be famous? Or more to the point: can you imagine sabotaging your wildest dream?
The play begins when one character, Slim, enters a dirty apartment at gunpoint. Behind him, dancing and waving a pistol, is his lover, Cavale, who lives in the apartment. Aside from their physical attraction, the two have a strong artistic connection because Slim WANTS to be a creator/star and Cavale is creative to the point of near-madness. But on the night of the play’s action Slim can’t give himself entirely to Cavale because he’s remorseful about what he’s just lost by chasing her — his wife and his child. In other words, he’s thrown away his entire past in service to his dreams of fame. All evening Cavale urges him to shed the past entirely and emerge in a future where he will be a rock n’ roll Jesus.
I can only imagine how emotionally difficult it must have been for Shepard to play Slim’s role when Cowboy Mouth opened in 1971 (which he did, for one night, then he fled the production) because at the time he’d just left his wife and child for Patti Smith. But this production’s Slim, Chris Carlone, is mischevious, reckless, and volatile. The real anguish of the situation — Slim’s (and Shepard’s) sudden uprooting — never seemed to make it to the surface. Instead, Carlone’s Slim comes across as spoiled, critical of his lover, and certainly not deserving of the worship Cavale wants to heap on him. Cavale, played by Kimberly Schooling, is mad, vulnerable, and full of a potential she (that is, the character) doesn’t realize. Her Cavale is full of charisma, which is interesting, because Slim believes that HE’S the main attraction, as he made the greater sacrifice in order to carry on with Cavale. This isn’t necessarily a brand-new spin on the play, but for me it was a new spin on my view of Sam Shepard, who I’ve revered since the first time I read something by him. It’s very apparent in this production that the Shepard who co-wrote the piece was young and confused and felt out of his league when dating Patti Smith. He was very human, indeed.
In between scenes Chris Kaup, a sweet-faced, mournful man wearing a fringed cowboy shirt, provides an unobtrusive but haunting soundtrack of original music. This device is a little startling at first, but once I got used to the idea of having a musician off to the side of the stage, I found that the accompaniment provides a soft frame for — and a little respite from — the cruel drama.