Youngstown Playhouse’s performances in ‘Season’ outshine the material

March 13, 2011 at 12:00a.m.

Like “All in the Family,” another early 1970s artifact hatched by an upstanding liberal (Norman Lear), Jason Miller’s “That Championship Season” held up a mirror of self-loathing to its audience. Filled with the tangible disgust of an uneasy era — the knee-jerk cynicism and piecemeal mistrust of institutions (the government, the military, etc.) that permeated every strata of post-Vietnam, pre-Watergate American life — both works gleefully trafficked in soul rot. As reflections of the ugliness of their racist, sexist, xenophobic times, “AITF” and “TCS” were water-cooler-buzz hits that eventually would congeal into museum pieces.

Imagine five Archie Bunkers drunkenly spouting off about what’s wrong with America — and how the Jews, blacks, you name it are taking over the world — and you’ve got a pretty good idea of Miller’s play. What was considered shocking and transgressive to Broadway (and TV) audiences 40 years ago now just seems depressingly out of touch and seriously dated. (The fact that Lear and Miller both used sledgehammers to get their satirical points across certainly doesn’t make either work more palatable, or relevant, to contemporary audiences.)

The current Youngstown Playhouse revival of “That Championship Season” is skillfully acted and strikingly designed (Leslie Brown’s set design is aces), but still leaves an acrid taste in the mouth. Miller couched his then-fashionable critique of the ills of American society in the comforting form of Old School Broadway dramaturgy (no wonder it was a smash hit and won every award — including the Pulitzer and Tony — under the sun). And it’s precisely that creaky, “well-made play” quality that rankles today. The character/plot revelations occur with metronomic, nay, mechanical, precision, and there’s such an overarching predictability that it seems less like life than a potty-mouthed Philco Playhouse retread from an even earlier era. Also mildly disconcerting is its weirdly misshapen quality. While Act 1 runs a svelte 35 minutes, the second act clocks in at a wearying 75 minutes. (Perhaps it should have been staged sans intermission.)

During the course of one long, alcohol-fueled evening, four ex- high-school jocks reminisce with their former basketball coach (Sam Perry). George (John Cox) is now the town mayor; Phil (Chuck Simon) is a successful businessman; and brothers James (Chris Ferencik) and Tom (Johnny Pecano) are, respectively, a junior-high principal and ne’er-do-well drunk.

Coach is a real piece of work (he’s perhaps the only human being who ever idolized Joe McCarthy and JFK with equal enthusiasm), and his Alpha Male piggishness has left an icky emotional residue on the assembled members of his championship team. Individually and collectively they’re an unpleasant lot.

Veteran director Joe Scarvell does a nice job of blocking the overly determined action, and — just like the Coach’s “boys” — his all-star cast keeps perfect time. Cox continues his award-worthy streak of superb performances (“Speed-the-Plow,” “Pillowman”); Simon does wonders with his slimy character; Perry is aptly loathsome as Miller’s designated Nixon surrogate; Ferencik earns well-deserved sympathy as the pitiable James; and Pecano performs thesping miracles with the script’s most egregiously underwritten role. Even with some fumbled line readings and a missed lighting cue in Act 2, Scarvell and company consistently deliver the goods. If only the play itself were more worthy of their efforts.

“That Championship Season” runs through Saturday at the Youngstown Playhouse. For reservations, call 330-788-8739.