"The Audience' in London; "Ann' in New York.

"You can tell a lot about a society by the people it chooses to celebrate."

So said Woody Allen, commenting on our national obsession with "celebrity" in his eponymous 1998 film.

If you take Allen's satire seriously, as I do, you'll learn a lot about England and America by noting who is celebrated in the theater these days. Two fascinating women— Elizabeth and Ann— are featured this month on the London and New York stages respectively.

By Elizabeth I mean, of course, Queen Elizabeth II, portrayed with panache by Helen Mirren in The Audience, a new play by Peter Morgan on London's West End. By Ann I mean the late Ann Richards, the former Governor of Texas (1991-1995), played with equal panache by Holland Taylor in Ann, her one-woman show at Lincoln Center in New York.

Both protagonists are international celebrities, both are legends (one living, one deceased), both claim a special place in history, and both are the hottest ticket in their respective towns. Yet these women couldn't be more different— and their differences highlight the inherent distinctions between our two cultures.

The queen's men

Mirren has played Elizabeth before, of course"“ on film in The Queen, which focused on Elizabeth's relationship with former prime minister Tony Blair during the Princess Diana debacle. Playwright Peter Morgan has capitalized on his previous success by bringing Elizabeth back— this time with a host of her PMs"“ and offering us a keen insight into this self-effacing woman and her place in history.

The play's title refers to a weekly meeting established by Elizabeth II and Churchill, consisting of a private session on Tuesday evenings at 6:30 at Buckingham Palace between the monarch and the prime minister. The meetings were so mutually satisfying that they became a fixed ritual, continuing to this day.

With the queen's equerry (personal attendant) as our ceremonious narrator, we are taken through a succession of "audiences" between Queen Elizabeth and seven of her 12 prime ministers: Churchill, Anthony Eden, Harold Wilson, Margaret Thatcher, John Major, Gordon Brown and David Cameron. As the equerry explains, there is a strict protocol: First, the "audiences" are entirely confidential; and second, there is to be no record of them. Their purpose has been— and continues to be— an opportunity for the prime minister to bring the queen up to date on the week's activities and use her as a sounding board.

Frank exchanges

As researched and re-imagined (remember, no notes were taken) by Morgan, these dramatized "audiences" are far from dry and perfunctory. They are lively, frank, entertaining exchanges between two individuals who are well aware of their place in history and deeply appreciate the opportunity to reflect on it regularly with mutual respect and good humor.

Prime Minister James Callaghan (1976-1979) often remarked that the "audiences" were like visits to the psychiatrist, and indeed some of the interchanges sound very much so. In one dramatized audience, John Major (1990-1995) complains of pressure and feelings of inadequacy, to which Elizabeth responds: "Why don't you resign?"

Morgan humanizes these historical figures at the same time that he provides a brilliant overview of six decades of British modern history. And he does it with entertaining flourish, aided by a crack cast of 20 actors (plus a pair of Welsh corgis).

Self-effacing queen

But the play's greatest revelation is the humanization of Queen Elizabeth herself, as played with restraint and humor by the splendid Helen Mirren. In the interchanges with her prime ministers, Elizabeth comes across as honest, direct, practical, self-effacing and, at the same time, attentive, insightful and compassionate.

Above all, she is dedicated to her role as monarch, executing her responsibilities with unwavering focus and seriousness. Her prime ministers are awed by the queen's meticulous preparation for these weekly meetings and her astute grasp of the issues at hand (she reads every piece of information that comes across her desk).

And while the queen's role requires her to remain apolitical, her steadfastness has clearly provided her country with formidable leadership for 60 years. After all, she has a greater breadth of experience in British politics than any other figure of her time.

'Postage stamp with pulse'

Morgan cleverly alternates the "audience" scenes with appearances of an apparition— that of a young Elizabeth— with whom the older one exchanges confidences. These scenes humanize a figurehead who is once referred to in the play as "a postage stamp with a pulse." They reveal her insecurities, self-doubts, and occasional bitterness over criticism leveled at her. In a delicate private moment, she ruefully muses over "the unlived life within us all."

But in the end, Elizabeth's unflagging sense of tradition, continuity, responsibility and service prevail. "I'm an ordinary person," she describes herself— a woman who, as she sees it, is fulfilling her duty.

Dynamo diva

"Ordinary," on the other hand, is hardly the word to describe Ann Richards, the celebrity who has captured New York's audiences this spring in Holland Taylor's show.

This political dynamo-diva may have come from "ordinary" origins, but her meteoric rise from behind the kitchen sink (as a housewife and mother of four) up the Texas political rank-and-file to the governor's mansion is a flashy, flamboyant saga— in cartoonish contrast to Elizabeth's stoical 60 years of service.

Whether she's delivering a graduation speech (the play's unifying structure) or seated behind her governor's desk, the wisecracking, foot-stomping, free-cursing Ann captures our attention (and hearts) for two hours, as she "mans" the mansion phones and runs her state with guts and gusto. With her blond beehive, skin-tight suits and high heels, she cuts a Technicolor figure, in contrast to Queen Elizabeth's conservative couture.

Schmoozing with Clinton

How we Americans love our "rise and fall" stories! Ann, the divorcee, the recovering alcoholic, sits behind her desk, legs crossed, schmoozing on the telephone with Bill Clinton and various heads of state, and New York audiences cheer her on— for her daring, her individuality, her brashness, her ambition, and her equanimity in defeat (she didn't win a second term).

In contrast, British audiences cheer Elizabeth not for her "rise and fall," but rather for her self-effacement, stoicism, sense of duty, service, continuity and tradition.

Therein lie the differences— between Elizabeth and Ann, between Britain and America.

To be sure, Elizabeth has a telephone moment, too. During an "audience" with David Cameron, a cell phone actually goes off. It turns out to be the queen's.

"The secret service insists," she sighs, digging into her pocketbook. "It doubles as a tracking device, in case I try to escape."♦


To read a follow-up comment about Ann by Carol Rocamora, click here.
To read another review of The Audience by Steve Cohen, click here.