Based on the memoirs of Florence Aadland (who?), The Big Love examines a woman who sacrificed everything for her daughter’s career--including her daughter. Pretty 17-year-old Beverly was introduced to movie heartthrob Errol Flynn at a Hollywood nightclub. Flynn poured on the charm, and it worked so well he ended up raping the kid. Oh, but Flynn wasn’t such a bad egg--he became smitten with Beverly, and the two actually embarked on a romantic, almost dreamy, Hollywood love affair. Though never married, Errol and Beverly were together until Flynn’s death did them part, at which point, Beverly launched a singing career, and mother Florence paid for her own questionable judgment. Certain moments are illustrated with slides of Flynn in his prime, which only point up the colorlessness of the words describing them.
Had scenes between Flynn and the two Aadlands been staged with three actors in a regular play, the results might have been both sexy and dangerous. But as a one-woman memory spiel, The Big Love gets little mileage out of Flo’s hot air. We keep waiting for Florence to either explode with self-awareness (which may be out of the real-life Aadland’s intellectual capacity), or at least rail against an “undeserved” fate and show herself to be an unrepentant tragic heroine. Instead, the only thing we and she wait for is a phone call from her daughter. The phone rings half a dozen times during the play, giving Aadland six opportunities to shout “Beverly!” and then be disappointed when it isn’t. Structurally, that’s about as weak as a drama can get.
Allen doesn’t even seem to recognize a dramatic moment when it’s in front of her face. We learn that Beverly’s second boyfriend (her first after Errol) was an abusive nut who raped her and then committed suicide. This agonizing, eerie vignette seems merely thrown in, another anecdote to fill up the evening.
As Florence, Tracy Ullman’s physical appearance and mannerisms have been likened to Lucille Ball, but I find her to be a more conversational version of another Flo--the one played by Polly Holliday on TV’s "Alice." There’s little Ullman can do for this material except milk its cheap laughs. The Big Love comes alive only when Florence, acting as her daughter’s choreographer, demonstrates a popular dance she’s taught Beverly. Moving clumsily (Aadland lost her foot in a car accident) but correctly, in a kitschy way, Flo mouths her own instructions as she guides us through the dance routine. It’s one of the few moments that show off the character, the actress, and the play.
On TV, Ullman offers many vibrant personas in several reasonably clever, short sketches. The Big Love sticks us with one mediocre character over two long hours. It’s a big bore.
