The premise of Stephen, Scott’s Son, the new Phyllis Anderson Prize-winning play by Michael M. Ragozzino ’01, is rather unlikely. It turns out that there is only one mind behind all of the “great” (or even merely good) artistic works of the twentieth century. Picasso? Gershwin? Hemingway? Updike? The list goes on and on, and all of their work was actually produced by one Scott Anderson, who will die on his 183rd birthday. (The longevity is hereditary, but not in the way you think.)

It’s a good thing that this premise turns out to be secondary to the actual substance of the play, although the script apparently began as “a short story, a writer’s attempt to come to terms with the somewhat old notion that there is nothing new under the sun,” says Ragozzino in the program. Stephen, Scott’s Son is another collaboration between Ragozzino and director Andrew Boch ’02, who staged Ragozzino’s In Between O’Clock last spring. What saves this production from its unlikely starting point and its unnecessarily long duration (running way over its supposed two hours and 15 minutes) is its discussion of a question that gnaws away at so many of the people sitting in the audience. The play does indeed focus on Stephen, Scott’s son, and Stephen is middle-aged and nowhere near as creative, productive or great as his father, and not because he doesn’t want to be. God knows he’s been trying, but not with much luck. The poor guy. Imagine having to live up to a father like Scott! The quest for greatness is especially pronounced and poignant in Stephen’s case, and what we end up with is a long-winded and somewhat exaggerated look at the universal desire to be immortalized, to be remembered, to be known and loved by millions of people. As Boch noted, “On a campus where greatness is etched into the gates and measuring up to one’s forebearers seems an impossibility, what better story to tell?”

Having Scott Anderson as the creative genius behind the major compositions, paintings and literary works of the twentieth century provides a convenient and heavy-handed way of getting at these themes and questions, although the highly improbable scenario has a certain forced, unreal tone. Instead of making an insightful comment on how we define artistic greatness and bestow fame, it actually takes something away from the ambitious discussion of our desire for those things. The precarious arrangement behind which Scott has hidden his genius from the outside world is all about to come undone, two days before Scott’s 183rd birthday. In pursuit of relative peace and anonymity, Anderson has traditionally had so-called artists, like writers F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein and Ernest Hemingway, sign contracts where they get all the credit and half the money if they just keep their mouths shut. The problem is that Scott has suddenly decided he wants full recognition for all the work he has done. He wants people to remember him.

This, of course, seems like a terrible idea to Scott’s son. Stephen is already dealing with his own need for recognition (his hopes are riding on his latest attempt, an off-Broadway play), so having to deal with his father’s sudden desire for fame is a bit much for him. The twists, turns and complications that ensue are too numerous and tedious to fully recount here, but the major point is that the action hinges on two choices. Will Scott actually go through with it and reveal his secret to the world? And will Stephen, Scott’s son, choose to keep trying to live out his potential 183 years, even though they will most likely be full of mediocrity and lacking in greatness?

The development of these questions takes some time, but it’s all made a bit easier by the cast’s excellent work. Jay S. Chaffin ’01 convincingly conveys Stephen’s frustration, hope and depression in an almost archetypal manner, and Dan A. Cozzens ’03 wonderfully conveys the arrogance and frailty of the greatest mind in history. Jared M. Greene ’03 gives a strong performance as Stephen’s good friend Dr. Yaran Noti; Marie, the maid, played by Sara E. O’Brien ’04, is subtle and charming; and Ingrid A. Liff ’04 does a wonderful job as Katherine Dunn, Stephen’s similarly insecure girlfriend.

The acting in Stephen, Scott’s Son is solid, the production is solid, but the production also suffers from length, overdrawn scenes and discussions that verge on tediousness. It seems that the importance and timelessness of the themes under consideration here started to get in the way of the play’s coherence and power. Stephen, Scott’s Son is still an ambitious attempt to get that whole quest for greatness complex that taunts so many of us. Even if it doesn’t completely succeed, you can tell that like Stephen, the play desires greatness on a grand scale. So then the question is: What does it matter if, in reaching for glory, you don’t quite make it?

STEPHEN, SCOTT’S SON