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B
efore this week, we knew everything the average
citizen needed to know about Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. Or so we thought.
The story, as we understood it, was this: two friends from Boston write
and star in a schmaltzy movie with Robin Williams. Over the next seven
years,
they
become
Hollywood
royalty
thanks
to a few lucky breaks, a vaguely homoerotic friendship and a series of
celebrity romances. The greatest generation had Bob Hope and Bing Crosby;
we have Ben and Matt. Which makes us wonder, what will they call our generation
years from now?
The good news: in the meantime, we have Matt
and Ben, a bioplay which recently began a six-week, off-Broadway run at
New
York's
PS 122. It's
the duo's best work by far — all they provided was the inspiration.
We decided to prepare for our evening of theatre by renting Good
Will
Hunting, which neither of us had actually seen. Unfortunately, none of our
neighborhood video stores seemed to have
it
on
DVD, so we substituted episodes of The Robyn Byrd Show and VH-1's Celebrity
Haircuts.

Pictured:
Brenda Withers as Matt Damon (at door) and Mindy Kaling as Ben Affleck
in Matt & Ben.
(Photo: Robert Zash) |
Honestly, that was probably
adequate preparation. You don't need to know much about Matt, Ben or their
history to understand the
play. It's a story as old as time. Just as ancient cultures turned to mythology
to explain the inexplicable, Matt and Ben posits the idea that Hollywood
success
is another phenomenon beholden to the whims of the gods. In Act One,
the
completed script for Good Will Hunting falls from the ceiling of Ben
Affleck's apartment. Both characters perceive this as fate, and debate ensues:
Can
they take credit for this script? Can they both take credit for
it? Who gets to play the lead role? Can they coast on the probable success of
this script forever?
The hook — and you knew there had to be one — is that
Matt and Ben are played by women (playwrights Brenda Withers and Mindy Kaling).
File
under "S" for
superfluous post-modern headfuck, right? Not really. The women play the roles
affectionately, keeping the play safely out of rant range. Aside from a trip
back in time, the play is confined to one Saturday afternoon in Affleck's
apartment, after School Ties but
before the Oscar-winning Good Will Hunting script
was "written." There, the duo's past, present and conjoined futures are played
out before us. We learn that Matt is intense, talented and kind of creepy.
Ben is revealed to be obnoxious, popular and possibly the victim of a devastating
head
wound.
Gwyneth Paltrow and J.D. Salinger appear to offer guidance.
We learn that Ben upstaged Matt during a high-school-talent-show performance
of "Bridge Over Troubled Water." Ben
declares his desire to meet Daisy Fuentes — you see, he really likes
Latin women.
This tendency to play it safe-and-pleasant results in
a performance that's conspicuously lacking in sexual charge you might expect. Matt
and
Ben's
Ben and Matt live in a suspended, sanitized adolescence, one that involves a
lot of cute practical jokes, pizza and a counterproductive admiration for Catcher
in the Rye. (When we first encounter them, they're trying to adapt Catcher for
the screen. It later turns out that Salinger has already sold the rights to "a
charming Chinaman," action
director John Woo.)

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The
lead performers' gender swap is cute and charming, but not particularly
weighty. If anything, it's an indication that Damon and Affleck have
become
such
plasticine celebrities — so totally dehumanized by tabloid speculation
and Hollywood ambition — that they can be replaced, for the course
of an evening, by girls. We'd be tempted to make much of the possible
homodynamic between Matt and Ben, but here, it's relegated to a couple
of obvious jokes: Ben dismisses all of Matt's schemes as "gay," like
balking when Matt insists that they stare into each other's eyes intently
to
practice
their roles.
This is not a play about gender, masculinity or the meaning
of male friendship. Rather, it's about bored fans and their eagerness to conjure
complete identities out of E! soundbytes. In a way, it's reminiscent of the books
of Harry Turtledove, whose novels present intricately imagined alternate realities
based on the slight revision of historical events. With Matt and Ben, we all
know the end result, so fun lies in playing with ideas about how it came to pass.
(By "the end result," of
course, we mean the release of Gigli.)
It would be the easiest thing in the world to spend an
hour and fifteen minutes tearing apart Affleck and Damon: they're
obscenely lucky, possess dubious talent, have jaws that make them look like they
have
some
sort of glandular disease, and they're are total sluts. Not as easy is
creating a play that's hysterical and sharp (the duo's "adaptation" of Catcher
in the Rye
consists of Matt reading the text out loud, spelling out the hard words,
while Ben
types; in a fever dream, Gwyneth Paltrow convinces Matt it's okay
to take
credit for the script, in a play on tabloid rumors that she stole the script
for Shakespeare in Love from Winona Ryder's coffee table) without
being
nasty or prurient. Not that there's anything wrong with nastiness or prurience,
we're just saying. Matt and Ben is Before They Were
Rockstars meets Choose Your Own Adventure meets Square
Pegs meets Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It's whip-smart
and surprisingly enjoyable. We can only hope that Withers and Kaling enter
the script into Project Greenlight.
n°
©2003 Nerve.com, Inc.
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