'Wife' unveils transvestite's Cold War

The brave eccentric is not what he/she seems in Doug Wright's Tony- and Pulitzer-winning play.

By PAUL HODGINS
The Orange County Register

"I Am My Own Wife" is about the compromises that must sometimes be made to stay alive and free. It didn't start out that way, and its author's journey from naivete to sad acceptance regarding his hero is what lifts this Tony- and Pulitzer-winning one-man play well beyond the realm of a curiosity.

Jefferson Mays, who has been playing "Wife's" principal character (and more than 30 supporting roles) since its workshop days at the La Jolla Playhouse, reprises his Tony-winning portrayal at the Geffen Playhouse's temporary home, the Wadsworth Theatre. In its own quirky way, Mays' performance is a tour de force.

Originally, playwright Doug Wright ("Quills") thought he was penning a heroic bio-play based on bravery, cunning and perseverance. His subject, a German antiques collector named Charlotte von Mahlsdorf, was irresistible, especially to Wright, a gay man from the South who had experienced his share of discrimination.

Charlotte was a transvestite (she was born Lothar Berfelde in 1930) who had managed to elude persecution by the Nazis and, later, the Stasi - the East German secret police force, an organization that kept a watchful eye on everyone and encouraged citizens to spy on each other. Wright was alerted to Charlotte by a journalist friend, who called her "the most singular, eccentric individual the Cold War ever birthed."

Wright first meets Charlotte in the early '90s. The Wall has recently fallen, and she is still getting used to her newfound semi-celebrity status.
In a series of interviews with Wright, she describes her life's many chapters, some hilarious, some hair-raising.

As a child, Lothar knows he is different. His feelings are encouraged by his Aunt Louisa, a confident lesbian who dresses like a man and raises horses in East Prussia. "Nature has tried to play a trick on us," she tells him. "You should have been born a girl and I a man."

Lothar's cross-dressing ways don't sit well with his dad, a brutal Nazi Party member. A violent father-son confrontation leads to four years in reform school - a grim fate cut short by the end of World War II. As Allied bombs rain down on Berlin, young Charlotte plays her beloved phonograph. "I thought they could hear on the planes that I am playing Edison records. If they hear me, they will know I am their friend."

Charlotte's later life is filled with such illusions. She indulges an obsession with furniture and appliances from the 1890s, especially Victrolas and clocks. Eventually, she turns her home into a museum (lavishly displayed on a tiered backdrop by scenic designer Derek McLane). She also harbors a secret club in the basement where gays and lesbians can meet and mingle away from prying Stasi eyes.

But the fall of Communism is a mixed blessing for Charlotte. Her sudden fame brings harassment from neo-Nazis; eventually, she moves to Sweden. And the release of old Stasi files reveals that Charlotte was leading a more compromised existence than she claimed.

Wright becomes disillusioned after that discovery - indeed, it prompted him to drop the Charlotte project for many years. But his long struggle to come to terms with his tainted subject is the best part of the play. It also justifies Wright's decision to include himself as an important supporting character - a conceit that many critics labeled indulgent.

Mays has melded with his main role in ways that few actors achieve. Though we don't know the real Charlotte, there's a feeling that this performance is locked in at the cellular level. Everything is of a piece, from Charlotte's curious, metronomic way of speaking to her mannish, awkward mannerisms.
Above all, Mays conveys the strength that lies beneath Charlotte's wary surface. There's an iron backbone to her willful eccentricity, and a quiet assurance to every remark that makes us realize Charlotte must have believed her own lies.

Mays also plays a dizzying assortment of supporting characters, from a garrulous talk-show host ("Here she is, Berlin's own granny tranny!") to dim-bulb American soldiers and grim Stasi handlers. His portrayal of Wright is particularly revealing - the playwright is soft and courtly on the surface, but underneath he's as relentless and obsessive as his subject.

Director Moisés Kaufman and his actor have worked hard (perhaps a little too
hard) to adapt this intimate show to the cavernous Wadsworth. Mays seems to be pushing at times; he could back off a bit. Charlotte is such a memorable character that we'll gladly lean in close to catch every clipped and measured word.