The appeal of Hollywood is undeniable. The glamour, the possibility of the Hollywood machine all glitter above it's unmistakable corruption and ability to chew people up and spit them right back out onto the concrete. This is certainly the case in Tim Fountain's cleverly written Rock at the the Oval House Theatre. This is the story of Henry Wilson, the real-life talent agent who shrewdly redesigned geeky, unknown Roy Fitzgerald into the uber-masculine, Hollywood hunk, Rock Hudson.
Wilson, played by the exceptional Bette Bourne, is a closeted man powerful enough to virtually create many of fifties Hollywood's leading beefcakes, only to die poor and friendless after being outed as a homosexual in the process of preventing the same from happening to many of his similarly closeted clients.
Bourne is fantastic. A leading representative of openly gay actors himself, he adds wonderful depth and humanity to his character. He stumbles over his lines a bit, belches on occasion and had a coughing fit at one point that was too awkward not to be real but Bourne brilliantly adapts what could easily be snags, to fit into his character and creates real sympathy and believability.
Michael Xavier plays Hudson and delivers the transformation from squeaky Midwestern nobody to sexy man-beast well. He does come off a bit corny, like he's stepped right off the set of Leave It to Beaver, but this ultimately works within the context of the play.
The real transformation, though, is the one from Wilson's initial quick-talking bravado to stumbling, broken drunk. There is scene when Wilson, in the onset of McCarthy's Hollywood purge, gets a call from the FBI to answer for Hudson's secret homosexual flings that have leaked into public view. In an instant, he falls a dozen notches from brash confidence to stuttering, ‘sir, I am a Republican' and the effect is indisputably sad.
Wilson is anything but angelic – he bellows 'Ignore the Bible – the meek shall not inherit the Earth!' - but his successes and failures encapsulate the realities of the American Dream and the people who believe in it. In fact, Bourne's rendering of Wilson's end is so heartbreaking, I honestly would have cried were my soul not utterly desensitised through years of Hollywood-generated tragedy. Can't help but love the irony of that.
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