Theater: Silent Night


No Beckett, no carrots, almost no gloom, but surreal Acts Without Words nonetheless. Scene: a bare Broadway stage. Standing, center, a man a week shy of 60 but supple as a teenager, lean in tights, innocent in whiteface.

The man, Marcel Marceau, making his first Manhattan appearance since 1975, does not speak. He is Everyman, and his stage is Everywhere. He mimes timeless little stories, occasionally tinged with rueful reflections of contemporary life. He calls a dating service in search of a companion, and is sent a dozen of them,...

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