Theatre in Review: Kramer/Fauci (St. Ann's Warehouse)Kramer/Fauci is in the latest entry in the found-drama genre, which draws on transcribed broadcasts, official inquiries, and even wiretaps for textual material (Recent examples include Baldwin and Buckley at Cambridge, about the famed debate between two famous American writers; Are You Now or Have You Ever Been, taken from the House investigation of Communist influence in the film industry; and Is This a Room, about the investigation of whistleblower Reality Winner). Here, Daniel Fish, who conceived and directed the production, draws on a 1993 C-SPAN interview, held on the eve of World AIDS Day. In the studio is Dr. Anthony Fauci, who spearheaded the search for safe, effective treatments; on a live hookup from his New York apartment is Larry Kramer, playwright, activist, and world-class scourge. This faithful recreation certainly casts C-SPAN in a different light. Are all its interview programs this dramatic? The episode unfolds at a crucial moment. The epidemic is well over a decade old, causing two hundred thousand ghastly deaths in the US alone. The only effective treatment is AZT, which is no cure and comes loaded with side effects. Promising new treatments are on the horizon, but their efficacy is uncertain and their long-term implications unknown; the rigorous, lengthy review process infuriates many advocates and patients, who have lost faith in the medical establishment. (Years earlier, AIDS researcher Mathilde Krim argued for the compassionate release of relatively untried drugs, arguing that patients facing certain death were entitled to roll the dice, so to speak. But the drug-development process continues at what seems like a snail's pace.) Kramer and Fauci -- the government insider and the furious voice of the disenfranchised -- have formed an unlikely alliance against the disease, but after years of effort, they remain stuck in the trenches. (The so-called AIDS cocktail, the first really effective drug, is still two years away.) The C-SPAN show offers a vivid snapshot of their contrasting styles. Fauci speaks in measured tones, touting a new government task force and stressing the challenges of understanding what makes HIV tick. Kramer, an Old Testament prophet in a ratty sweater, hurls denunciations in many directions: The National Institutes of Health is "a cesspool of bureaucracy." President Bill Clinton is "sanctioning intentional genocide." New York Senators Alfonse D'Amato and Daniel Patrick Moynihan "don't even know how to spell AIDS; they don't even know what the word means." By 2000, he warns, one billion people will be dead. Fauci takes the verbal lightning bolts in stride, disagreeing with Kramer about certain points (that one billion figure, for example), aligning with him about others, and pushing back forcefully against a call-in viewer who wants to know why the government doesn't round up and isolate HIV-positive citizens. Dispensing with his mild manner, Fauci firmly rejects this as a "very bad public health idea, not to mention ethical and moral and a few other things." And, faced with yet another Kramer jeremiad excoriating official indifference, he casually replies, "I love ya, Larry." Make no mistake: The feeling is mutual. In its brief, compact way, Kramer/Fauci explains that each is essential to the other. Fauci efficiently works the system, raising money and directing research in fruitful directions. But he also dares to listen to Kramer and others from the activist group ACT UP, earning their trust by publicly admitting their criticisms are often accurate. And despite his scorched-earth rhetoric and magical thinking, Kramer is unignorable, ensuring that the world won't forget a disease that mostly afflicts the poor and marginalized. The spectacle of Thomas Jay Ryan, as Kramer, stalking the vast, empty playing area at St. Ann's, furiously chanting "Urgency!" is enough to shake the stoniest heart. For those who lived through it, Kramer/Fauci is a gut-rattling reminder of years in which despair, hope, and rage were linked like strands of DNA. If you're too young to have been there, steel yourself for a stunning history lesson. Ryan captures the unappeasable anger that threatens to devour Kramer, especially his penchant for ad hominem attacks. (This is, after all, the man who wrote a play outing Mayor Ed Koch while alleging that Nancy Reagan obtained her Hollywood career by sleeping her way through Hollywood's executive suites.) But he also takes the time to thoughtfully demolish a caller who, disingenuously insisting, "I'm not a bigot," argues that "teaching people that these alternate lifestyles that have really made the problem worse is the answer." Later, savaging and praising Fauci in one breath, he also candidly admits, "I think I probably have a more complicated relationship with Tony than anybody in my entire life." It's a multilayered, warts-and-all performance, Shakespearean in its dimensions. Given far less to work with, Will Brill's Fauci is soft-spoken, cagey, and unshakable in his belief in measurable data. (The only time he shows any irritation with Kramer is when the latter grossly inflates certain numbers.) Yet, speaking quietly in a Brooklyn accent you could slice and serve on rye, he conveys Fauci's remarkable poise and authority. It's especially fascinating to see Kramer/Fauci in light of Fauci's recent ritual grilling in Congress about the origins of the COVID pandemic. To be caught in the crosshairs of history is a peculiar fate; to have it happen twice is bad luck of a cosmic order. As the moderator, Greig Sargeant's patient manner and emollient speaking voice perfectly mimic the laconic style of C-SPAN personalities. (Note how he receives the most inflammatory call-in comment with, "Thanks for making the point.") There's only one big drawback to Kramer/Fauci, and it's a doozy. Fish, apparently desperate to put his stamp on the production, collaborates with his creative team on some frankly wacky staging effects. It's hilarious that three scenic designers (Jim Findlay, Joshua Higgason, and Amy Rubin) were required to come up with an empty stage, dominated by an upstage wall of lighting units that designer Scott Zielinski runs at an annoyingly bright level before the show begins. Weirdly, the piece stops dead at the midpoint, and three foam machines are rolled onstage, flooding the playing area while everyone sits in silence. Whatever this is supposed to suggest, it only reminded me of the Steve McQueen vehicle The Blob. Brill spends a fairly lengthy sequence lying on the floor amid the bubbles; when he gets up, his suit is dripping wet, which made me feel bad for costume designer Terese Wadden; then again, she okayed that inflatable chicken suit worn by Jennifer Seastone, who capably plays all the callers. Such desperate tactics only distract from the actors' exemplary work. Fortunately, Tei Blow's sound design (with an additional contribution from Brendan Aanes), works like a charm, especially when delivering excerpts from a press conference with Secretary of Health and Human Services Donna Shalala. At one point, when asked about his career before AIDS, Kramer lists various achievements, including his novel Faggots, before cutting himself off, saying, "I don't remember the earlier part of my life anymore." Of course, there was much more to him. Among other things, he wrote extraordinary plays (The Normal Heart and The Destiny of Me), plus the screenplays for the landmark Ken Russell film Women in Love and the world-historical musical bomb Lost Horizon. But he is likely to be remembered for his obsessive sounding of the alarm, a deeply personal campaign that, however grating, got the job done. To his eternal credit, he understood that he needed Fauci to do it. Despite its kookier touches, Kramer/Fauci is a gripping document that captures something essential about a unique friendship that helped to alter the course of a global disaster. --David Barbour 
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