One of the most unfortunate things about living outside of New York’s Old Broadway is the amount of memorable theater that you miss. Had The Tony Awards not alluded to many of the best high-end productions, it’s likely that general audiences wouldn’t even get a chance to know these works, if just by name. Unless they go around and tour, the limited run makes it a hot commodity that could make stars of its cast, a best-kept secret that most will have to wait until these actors transition into a cinema to possibly appreciate.
So, how does anyone who is in love with theater but can’t afford a flight out to Broadway see these shows? There’s of course the bootleg market, though that comes with a whole host of ethical issues. The best that one can hope for is a professionally shot version, released on various streaming services. Or, on rare occasions, the most significant stories get a film adaptation. Even then, they’re often lesser versions of what worked on stage, thanks in large part to the limitations of the imagination on film. More often, it’s the fear of losing something in a few pieces of recasting. Even then, you have to ask yourself if it was worth translating at all.
That is what makes The Boys in the Band (2020) a particular miracle. While this isn’t the first adaptation, William Friedkin directed a version in 1970, it feels special thanks to what it symbolizes for a new generation. Written by Mart Crowley, the stage play was considered groundbreaking for how it represented a Pre-Stonewall version of homosexuality by reflecting every significant archetype. Sure you had the flamboyant, out and proud characters, but you also had the more conservative and reserved. It’s definitely a fascinating concept that has struck a chord with theatergoers, and one that set the bar for what can be explored onstage. Given that it avoids any of the celluloid closet tropes, its impact cannot be overstated enough.
But, in all honesty, one has to ask what The Boys in the Band has to say in 2020. After all, queer narratives are more socially accepted. What does translating it to film do to preserve the story for a new generation? That is where the Netflix version slowly unravels something ingenious. Having won Best Revival of a Play in 2019, producer Ryan Murphy helped director Joe Mantello translate the whole experience from the stage to screen. Every actor who was in the original production makes a return here. Given that they’re all young queer actors, it feels like a chance for the modern generation to argue what makes this story worth holding onto.
There’s definitely plenty in Crowley’s script that sparks with brilliant wit, excellent character dynamics of a birthday party that dwindles into an existential crisis. For at least 70% of the story, it’s one condensed location (an apartment) where everyone has these offshoots of conversations meant to build character. It’s a place where they are allowed to be free. As we see the rest of the characters in the world outside, passing by theaters and churches, and working great jobs. In a lot of respects, these are more backdrops meant to give subtext to the character, though isn’t exactly necessary. It’s one of the nice aspects of the film, to allow for those minute-long scenes to feel as fanciful and detailed as possible.
But beyond that, it’s a story of people arriving at an apartment, ready to have a great party and turn over the odometer on another year. The one thing that feels the most exciting is the fact that every actor understands these characters on a deep and personal level. You get the impression that they’ve lived with them for years, whittling down the character to something that feels authentic. It’s in their inflections and posture, or how they know when to interrupt each other. Everything feels calculated, and it slowly builds. The plot is progressed largely by dialogue, and sometimes the audience has to follow the gradual shift in emotion to fully understand the tragic turns that feel built into years of personal friendships.
Among the unexpected standouts is Jim Parsons as Michael. Having been known as a TV actor for the past decade with The Big Bang Theory, his recent partnerships with Murphy have seen him branch out, taking more risks. Whereas Hollywood can be seen as more of a campy bad guy, here he feels like the clearest chance he has at a sustainable career beyond Sheldon Cooper. There are times when he is vindictive, but there are layers to him, where you can feel him acting out due to insecurity. His story becomes tragic, but the camera won’t let you see him cry. He’d rather run away, hiding from the world.
The big question from here is if Parsons (or any of the supporting cast) will stand a chance come Oscar season. Given how strong Netflix’s line-up is right now for awards contention, one can see a few titles slipping in. This feels reminiscent of another adaptation that found the Best Revival of a Play winner line-up bringing the story to the big screen. Similarly, it’s limited in locations, and yet it uses a lot of its key scenery far more effectively to convey the potential of this story.
August Wilson’s 1985 play Fences has long been a beloved play about an arrogant Black father trying to mend the ways of his family. While Denzel Washington (who played the lead in 2010) has promised to adapt all of Wilson’s work to the big screen (Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (2020) coming soon), Fences remains the playwright’s best work thanks to some of the meatiest scenes that allow Troy to really dive deep into a character. Nowhere is that clearer than in the difference between James Earl Jones (1985) and Washington, where the former is more confrontational and the latter more collected. There’s a range in how this one character can be played, and again it feels like Washington has his own personal reading.
A key difference between The Boys in the Band and Fences (2016) is that the introductory scenes feel more purposeful. While both are more driven by the authentic voices of the playwright, the action surrounding them adds depth to the character. When Troy is introduced, he is riding a garbage truck, wisecracking with his friends while doing his job. There’s something immediately likable about him: working class, earns every dollar the hard way. You’d think that he was the best father in the world because of how well he’s got things in control. Most of all, the garbage truck scenes have a life to them. It’s not stagnant. The actions give depth to our understanding of him.
Sure, The Boys in the Band has a more difficult task in introducing a near-dozen characters, but it feels more staged. There is little that doesn’t feel essential in just filming a live version in a theater, watching the actors flow more organically through a scene. These are scenes where they’re lounging around in scenes, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. For Fences, there is something more manic, like Troy needs to constantly be in motion in order to feel vital to the story. It helps that the director, Washington again, understands the source material so clearly that he knows how to block a scene. He knows when there is a need for an artistic flourish or a long shot of silence to take in the tension.
This is of course reliant on the source material and the approach to theater is very different between queer stories in 1968 and Black narratives in 1985. While both do plenty to deconstruct these archetypes and find the universal substance underneath, the way that these stories move is incredibly different. Crowley is slower and more calculated, building to major revelations in silence. It’s easy to call The Boys in the Band a boring movie because conversations go long without these accentuated moments. There’s some melodrama, but it’s dryer and straightforward. Meanwhile, Fences is constantly in motion, developing a plot that requires you to pay attention to.
By himself, Troy is a great character. With his wife Rose (Viola Davis), the story becomes something even greater. It’s about a man who feels like he’s past his prime and there is a constant shocking conflict of how he tries to regain his youth in nefarious matters. There are arguments that happen in their backyard, the camera moving constantly between profile and close-ups in order to accentuate emotion. There is not one performance in The Boys in the Band that feels as gratifying as Rose’s in the third act, managing to convey deeper loss. Sure, Michael does a compelling job of playing a very complicated character, but it’s a stage performance in a movie. It feels a bit disjointed.
Washington knew how to make Wilson appealing to cinema. It doesn’t necessarily have the strongest dynamic, but it knows how to block a shot, when to cut around to different reaction shots. For something that’s largely stagnant onstage, it manages to flow so often between high energy and deep focus that it becomes a miracle. These characters have a richness, making a dining room table feel like the most exciting place to be. It could just be that there are showier moments throughout the story, but it keeps the viewers’ attention, drawn in by these performances and rotating supporting cast.
It works to have the whole architecture explored. Even if it’s not any richer in visual symbolism, it allows for everything to feel more organic. That’s one of the benefits of natural and necessary use of exterior sets. It’s true that The Boys in the Band has similar shots that could be read as necessary. The final few minutes in particular find the characters going their separate ways and having slow revelations. Some go to church, others feel alone in public spaces. It’s the one moment where it becomes clear what is enhanced by doing a cinematic interpretation of this story. Otherwise, it suffers from being an internal story, where it’s no different than just filming a slightly better-looking set.
Both serve value to this form of preservation. By having these stories in an accessible manner, it allows future generations to hold onto them and understand how these topics were explored. The Boys in the Band and Fences share a cultural significance to the arts that have helped to influence decades of creators. However, there feels like there’s more urgency in Wilson’s work because of how complicated it treats Troy’s life. Whereas the other story has a vast series of arcs competing for focus, Troy’s struggle feels central to the whole narrative, making you understand the pain of a character not often seen.
Maybe it’s just the interpretation of art in 2020, but The Boys in the Band feels quaint in comparison. A lot of these figures have become normalized, meaning that what could be considered groundbreaking is missing. While it’s exciting to see a young generation of all-queer actors talk about their personal lives in such candid detail, it doesn’t hold the same gravitas to carry a drama anymore. It’s not that these characters are boring, but very little feels vital that couldn’t have been better captured onstage. While the same can arguably be true for Fences, one could make the argument that the stage version was merely an outline of something with greater potential.
In all honesty, both are worth your time. While I greatly prefer Fences, The Boys in the Band definitely continues Netflix’s recent run of great new titles. There is something valuable in putting these theatrical shows to film in any capacity. I hope that it’s a new trend that lasts, if just so that those outside of New York can appreciate art and feel the drive to support theater, especially in a time where its future feels uncertain. Art has a way to bring people together and make complicated stories easier to digest and understand. Because of these two shows, Black and LGBT stories have become more accessible. Let’s hope that keeps happening as new generations find inspiration to take to the stage.
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