David Duchovny is one of those actors where you can never really tell if he's flagrantly bad or awesomely great—and his diabolical, Cheshire-cat act has been one of the great mysteries of celebrity acting for years now. From his Mulder days on The X-Files, where Duchovny's flat, knowing line readings were deliriously inventive, to his Californication rascal of late, you just can't figure the dude out. And something tells me that in that Ivy League-educated/Celebrity Jeopardy!-champ head of his, he knows how to play you like a violin.

So herein lies one of the most wizardly examples of celeb casting ever. Playing an office massacre's sole survivor (named John Smith, natch) who tries to convince the world he has been touched by God while furtively eyeballing possible fame from the wreckage, Duchovny orchestrates Neil LaBute's new play The Break of Noon like a virtuoso, simply in that you never can tell what is sincere and what is, as described in one of David Lynch's most prized films, horsepucky. Trying to change his whoring, gambling ways, John is right in line with LaBute's stage men: searching, intense, befuddled by women. But eschewing his 11th-hour twisteroos, the LaBute of recent years unleashes surprising challenges to himself, even nakedly addressing his own past criticism in one key scene when John appears on a talk show with a caustic, pointed hostess (Tracee Chimo, arch but fully committed) that results in the latter exclaiming, "Us women can be awfully touchy when it comes to gender." But this self-reflexive nature hasn't dulled the big boy one bit. Say what you will, the man writes killer two-person scenes (not to mention this production has two boffo monologues), and in this current climate of let's-talk-about-our-feelings plays clogging our institutional theaters, his dramatic bravado is worthy of bravos. Continue Reading »