Truman Capote is known for being an enigmatic playwright, novelist and screenwriter who dominated New York’s high society in the ‘60s and ‘70s. There have been dozens of plays that have told this version of the man’s story, but Jay Presson Allen’s Tru is not a play about the Truman Capote that the world knew. Instead, Allen offers a glimpse into Capote at his most vulnerable and authentic in a mesmerising one-man show, creating the dialogue from Capote’s own words, writings, and interviews.
We meet Tru in his New York apartment in December 1975, reeling from his exclusion from high society after Esquire published some shocking confessionals about his peers from his unpublished novel, Answered Prayers. He is all alone, but spends a good chunk of time on the phone trying to get through to his close friends Babe Paley and Nancy ‘Slim’ Keith to get back in their good books. Set designer Paul Farnsworth fills the set, Tru’s living room, with gorgeous Tiffany lamps, a record player, his typewriter, plastered faces resting on the bookcase, a portrait of Capote, a Christmas tree and books. Tens of books. I’m told that the Menier Chocolate Factory theatre looks rather different for the UK premiere of Allen’s play. It’s a very intimate affair, with the audience seated around the set in close quarters. Two audience members are even seated on one of Tru’s sofas in centre stage; immersive theatre at its best.
Jesse Tyler Ferguson reprises his role of Capote in Tru, having first stepped into the role in an Off-Broadway production earlier this year. The Tony Award-winning actor is utterly mesmerising as Tru, with a stunning transformation into the infamous writer. His presence is irresistible; you can’t keep your eyes off him. His mannerisms, tone of voice and dress are just how I imagine the enigmatic writer to be; Capote reincarnated. Tyler Ferguson commands the attention of the audience in the way he moves around the intimate set, waltzing as if in a dance with the audience’s eyes. It’s an incredibly captivating piece of theatre and a sure-fire way to keep an audience enthralled.
Allen portrays her version of Tru through a sharp stream of consciousness in the aftermath of the Esquire article. Tru talks to the audience as though we are his friends or therapist, with the audience teetering on wanting to respond, but remaining quiet until Tru is finished talking. He talks of his friends, frequently namedropping those he mingles with, from Marilyn Monroe to the Kennedys, Norman Mailer to Andy Warhol, to Ava Gardner and Johnny Carson. He tells us that he likes to talk ‘to myself and about myself’; telling us what we need to know about Tru’s character: he is self-indulgent and self-important.
The play is essentially a 90-minute confessional, with Tru divulging anecdotes and stories about the very friends who have ostracised him, flitting between happy recollections and despair as he goes on. One moment he’s expressing his wonder at having known four out of five of the Tate-Manson victims, Lee Harvey Oswald and the Kennedys; the next, he is reflecting on his research on death row killers for In Cold Blood and how he stole his grandmother’s necklace as a boy. Tru reflects on his childhood and getting drunk off whiskey aged seven; something he jokingly traces as the cause of his alcoholism in adulthood.
What becomes clear is that Tru is not sorry about writing the Esquire article, but is sorry about its implications, mostly that he has upset Babe and Slim. And yet, there is evidently something else that is lurking in the shadows, lingering over him and the merriment of this time of year. Not even a lavish bouquet of flowers (or two) and Christmas lights could distract from the deep-rooted sadness that looms over him, which Tru eventually reveals in one of the more tender moments of the play.
Tru’s despair and, ironically, his happiness is encapsulated in Charlotte D’Amboise’s character, The Swan, the collective name Capote held for his inner circle. She swans around the set, sometimes following Tru and other times hiding in the corners. Seemingly, her presence signifies those who are everywhere and nowhere, lingering in the shadows waiting to be noticed. D’Amboise appears fleetingly, capturing the nature of these New York high society circles and dynamics; transient, perhaps insincere, and certainly unpredictable. While I understand Allen’s choice to include The Swan, the play does not necessarily need the character. The performance is strong enough without needing its presence, which neither adds to nor detracts from Tru’s characterisation; nor does it deepen our understanding of Tru at this point in his life.
The work of lighting designer Jamie Platt and sound designer Adam Cork is exceptional at maintaining the focus on Tru at all times. The lights and sounds follow Tru as he waltzes around his living room, working to entrap Tru, as though he were a caged bird, cloistered in the four walls of his apartment. It works to keep the focus fixed firmly on Tyler Ferguson and his performance for the full 90 minutes.
Tru is a magnificent production, guided by Rob Ashford’s direction and anchored by Tyler Ferguson’s faultless performance. He moves through the 90-minute stream of consciousness with an enviable ease, familiarity and precision: a seasoned captain of a ship. If you miss the chance to see Tyler Ferguson in this role, you are missing a career defining performance. This is certainly a must-see production; bravo to everyone involved.
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