Little is known about this shadowy figure who calls himself "Mordecai Goldberg"² except what one can glean from reading between the (copious!) lines of these twelve turkeys. Not that many normal people would want to engage in such a masochistic enterprise. For a scholar like myself, however, Goldberg is much more fascinating than his socalled "characters" for his sheer persistence in violating every rule in the How To Write A Prizewinning Play Book!

Nevertheless, having dismissed³ him as a pretentious bore whose only "talent" consists of a pathological refusal to recognize his literary shortcomings, there may be some benefit for the average person in reading at least one or two of his shorter works. In Saroyan & Son, for instance, there are several moments of genuine emotional magic—especially for those of us who haven't been ideal parents. Similarly, The Pianomakers Of Gruenwald does manage to ring a Brechtian bell or two now and then. (Although anyone with a closed mind about Hitler not being the quintessence of evil would be wiser to confine his or her playreading to those of Tennessee Williams—or better yet, Harold Pinter, timesavingwise.)

As for How Mao—according to Goldberg it is: "Not just my"Magnum Opus but possibly the greatest play of the 20th century."—what can I tell you except that the Chinese government regards its Famous Seduction Scene (performed nude or othersise) as, "An egregious slander against the George Washington of our nation and all those who fought and/or died to remove the yoke of Yankee Imperialism from our collective Chinese neck!"

ToBolivia Or Not To Bolivia?, or The Che Play is a complete enigma. Is it about Che Guevara? A Puerto Rican TV producer? Or the author himself? All of whose revolutionary schemes for "raising mankind's cultural consciousness" ended as collossal fiascoes. Like the PRC, Cuba has formally protested against what it describes as: "The gratuitous befouling of a Socialist Martyr whose Sainthood is recognized throughout the civilized world!."

The Death & Transfiguration Of The New Frontier Kid, an early (1964) work, will be off limits for any patriotic American. As its title suggests, the author is no gentleman when it comes to venerating his country's Presidents—dead or alive. Nevertheless, one can't help "admiring" Goldberg's (fatally flawed) attempt to deal with JFK's death as the Greek tragedy it most certainly was.

Many of you will, naturally, be tempted to take a peek at Confessions Of A Parisian Nymphomaniac. This would be a mistake. There is nothing about nymphomania in the play! And what sex there is can hardly be called "kinky" by today's standards. As one of the characters herself says: "This is a boring play about boring people." Although Confessions might have some appeal for middleaged white male Europeans who feel the world is conspiring to make them extinct.

Of all his plays, The Watergate Blues is—or was until he actually wrote it!—the one with the most potential for a modest commercial success. As usual, however, Goldberg manages to avoid constructing a plot or developing his characters in a way audiences demand a playwright do for their (the audience's) hardearned money. This is a shame because the basic idea—of putting four generations of Richard and Pat Nixon on the stage simultaneously as they struggle to elude the endlessly repeating history of Watergate—is a divinely inspired one. Perhaps God will motivate a more conventional author to exploit what could be a theatrical and/or cinematic gold mine.

The best that can be said for Salt is that it has a few nice tunes; and an allegorical message which isn't totally outlandish when you think about it. Namely: The petty atrocities we commit, such as insulting a waiter (and who doesn't now and then?), can—and should—be equated with genocide and megalomania!

Refreshing The Memory Of An Austrian Amnesiac is strictly for I Hate Kurt Waldheim types, or those who believe literature can shed at least a little light on contemporary events after their headlines are used for wrapping fish.

Basketball fans should appreciate The OutOfBounds Play. Or is Goldberg trying to deliver a "message" about America's love affair with micromanaging what should be life's simplest activities?

Don't be fooled into thinking Fundamental Factors is a tribute to Casablanca. It is nothing less than a diatribe against Hollywood as the arch enemy of culture.

Finally there is The Great American Hitler Play, or Private Parts. This has to be the absolutely worst play ever written in any language! For starters the audience is literally kept in the dark for the first 45 of its 180 minutes! After which they are treated to the spectacle of watching (through a "prosceniumsized trick mirror") 13 actors auditioning for the real life role of Adolf Hitler! It's enough to make you Americans wish for a repeal of the First Ammendment! Once again, the basic concept of secretly observing a dressingroomful of men and women!) preparing themselves to compete for the one role every actor (supposedly) wants to play is a sound one—maybe even a brilliant one—but for some inscrutable reason (lack of selfdiscipline, madness, delusions of his own dictatorial grandeur?) Goldberg turns it into a "treatise" on the psychological complexities of a man we all know was, in point of plain historical fact, a homicidal sociopath with a funny mustache.

Please don't bother me with your comments after reading any of this trash. They should be sent directly to the author at [email protected].

Footnotes:
¹As defined by the number of rejections not only by Broadway producers and regional theater groups, but highschool drama departments, amateur acting societies—and even his own mother who, for some years, managed one of America's most distinguished repertory companies!

²Once again, his mother steadfastly refuses to acknowledge her maternal connections to this theatrical pariah!

³See my article ("The Great American Playwright Or A Case Of Selfproclaimed Monumentality?" in the June 1996 issue of The Scandinavian Review Of Obscure Theatrical Personalities.