Doing Dean
A year ago, writer and actor Ry Kincaid told me over coffee that he had a play about James Dean rolling around in his head. Because the road to hell is paved with good, sometimes artistic intentions, I was surprised to hear a couple of months ago that the play was almost finished. Indeed, Little Bastard, written by and starring Kincaid as Dean, is on its feet at the Westport Coffee House.
Titled after a nickname Dean gave to the Porsche he died in nearly 50 years ago, Little Bastard opens on the set of Dean’s last film, Giant. He’s preparing for a scene in which he has to lasso something convincingly while photographer Sanford Roth (Bob Kohler) clicks away. Roth is transfixed by Dean’s rope tricks and, more telling, his looks. The fact that Roth is married deters neither his obvious crush on James nor his successful effort to insinuate himself into his favor.
The remainder of the impressive 55-minute play takes place in the home of Dean’s father, Winton (a persuasively brusque Rick Holton), and his stepmother, Ethel (a weak Claudia Copping). Dean stops by for an overnight visit after being incommunicado for two years. Seconds into the visit, it’s clear where Dean gets his anxious brooding and clipped, monosyllabic manner. Winton is a gruff, cold man who doesn’t understand — and completely dismisses — his son’s artistic side. And he’s fairly disgusted by the presence of Sanford, whom he suspects is sexually predatory toward his son. Kohler’s sly performance in these scenes captures a man who is probably gay but cagey about it, using his wife as a convenient shield when push comes to shove.
Dean attempts to tape-record an interview with his dad, including long-buried questions about Dean’s biological mother, who died when he was nine. The recorder works about as well as the interview; the deepest Winton will go is to say, “I married her, didn’t I?” He’s more obsessed with his son’s sudden urge to reconnect. At least three times, he asks (but gets no reply), “Why did you come here, Jim?”
Playing someone so famous is difficult, so it’s a relief that Kincaid’s James Dean isn’t embarrassing. He merely has to squint his eyes a few times and run his hands through his thick, gelled hair to capture the icon’s essence. Kincaid manages to convey Dean’s palpable introspection and sexual ambiguity. There’s a nice scene in which Dean is overcome with emotion and almost suffocates Sanford in a bear hug. Initially stunned by Dean’s gesture, Sanford naturally completes the embrace. Dean’s immediate reaction is to accuse Sanford of hitting on him. “I’m not that way,” he angrily spits at Sanford. It’s a moment Dean knew all too well — everyone wanted a piece of him. And it may have contributed to his death, one caused by racing away from complex feelings at 100 miles an hour.
