Giant rabbit invades Southland

WHAT’S SO FUNNY

A local column called “What’s so Funny” would be remiss if it didn’t

mention that there’s a piece of writing on display at the Laguna

Playhouse that has been funny for nearly 60 years.

Mary Chase’s “Harvey,” the one about the invisible six-foot

rabbit, was a smash when it opened, and is familiar today to

millions, although it came close to being familiar to none.

In the out-of-town tryout period in Boston in 1944, when the show

was still called “The Pooka,” Harvey was played by an eight-foot

rubber rabbit, and he wasn’t working out.

Chase and her producer agreed that the rubber bunny had to go. He

was replaced by the actual invisible Harvey, who has played the part

ever since -- a textbook example of the importance of casting.

Much of the success of the play depends on the rapport between

Harvey and Elwood P. Dowd, the man who can see him when no one else

can. In the Laguna Playhouse production, which premiered Saturday and

runs through August, Elwood is Charles Durning, and it was clear

during the premiere that Harvey liked him. This isn’t really

remarkable because everyone likes Charles Durning. On opening night

they even danced together.

The production co-stars Joyce Van Patten as Veta, Elwood’s

long-suffering sister. Veta is basically my old Aunt Jessie and

although I never considered Aunt Jessie hilarious, Joyce Van Patten

killed on Saturday. Her brother Dick Van Patten, as Dr. Chumley,

confided a lifelong idyllic dream to Elwood which features Akron,

cold beer and a strange woman -- a small gem of a scene, and not the

only one.

After all these years there are a few creaky bits, but only a few.

There are also at least a dozen lines that stay in the memory.

“Harvey” offers touching moments but no soppy ones; wisdom but no

pretensions.

You can take your 14-year-old daughter and her friend Irene to it,

which is what I did. I was afraid they’d be a tough sell after seeing

four zillion fantasy and special-effects movies, but they laughed

too.

If you don’t have a 14-year-old daughter you might go for

yourself. The charm of the players matches the writing, and charm is

not so plentiful today.

A producer with a well-known Midwestern theater company, a man who

has seen far more than his share of scripts, recently confided to me,

“It’s hard to write a good play.” It’s particularly hard to write a

good comedy-fantasy, but Mary Chase did it, creating a benign

illusion so attractive that it finally became persuasive as well.

Go see “Harvey.” You might see Harvey.