50 / CHRONICLESnbackfire and become a form of selfaggrandizement,nalthough they are designednto win our favor by givingnexpression to the very impulses wenavoid.nA precisely “Gray” irony, and onenwhich he maybe innately understands:nGray’s success relies on his not beingntoo famous, on a perpetually retardedncelebrity. He gets phone calls fromnDavid Letterman’s booking agent andntertiary roles in important films—innshort, he gets close to the fame thatnmany crave to validate their very existence,naccording to the terms laid outnby Andy Warhol’s now famous prophecy.nBut Gray remains on this side ofnthe fame. If he were to cross over thenline that separates “us” from “them,”nthe jig would be up. No longer wouldnhe be “one of us” or EverySpalding.nAnd now that he’s actually been onnDavid Letterman’s show and had anmore fundamental role in a film {TruenStories), he has come perilously closento doing just that.nA more positive explanation of all ofnthis is offered by James Leverett in hisnfawning introduction to the publishednversion of Swimming to Cambodia,nperhaps Gray’s best-received monologue.n”It has gradually become Gray’snchosen lot simultaneously to live hisnlife and to play the role of SpaldingnGray living his life, and to observe saidnGray living his life in order to reportnon it in the next monologue. Perhapsnthis hall of mirrors, this endless playoffnbetween performance and reality, hasnalways been the situation of the artist.n. . . But has it ever been more plainlynthe predicament of everyone else innthis media-ridden age of instant replay?nConditioned by McLuhan andnWarhol, Johnny Carson and PhilnDonahue, we are all to an extent thensubject of our own self-writing lifenstory, our shoot-as-you-go movie. Thenpossibility of celebrity for everyonenseems to grow with each newscast.”nMore succinctly, Leverett refers to thenGray “persona” that “could be characterizednas an incorrigible witness, mirrornor, well, sponge.”nAttending a Gray monologue is tantamountnto believing that only Grayncould deliver the relentlessly autobiographicalnmaterial. Comeuppancencame last spring, however, when Orchards,na collection of seven one-actnplays based on Chekhov short stories.ntoured a network of college campusesnthroughout the country and arrived innNew York in early May, under thenauspices of John Houseman’s ActingnCompany. Gray’s contribution, Rivkala’snRing, loosely derived from Chekhov’sntale “A Witch,” was performednwith remarkable success by Aled Davies.nIn this tour de force monologue—perhapsnthe best in Gray’s repertoirenof 12—the passion of Gray’snparanoia is pronounced. Although littienremains to suggest connection withnthe original Chekhov story on which itnwas ostensibly based, the narrator remindsnone instead of the internalizednmeanderings of a Celine, a Beckett, orna Zeno, with “clues” that take us backnto Dostoevsky and Kafka. Gray’s narratornis a Hollywood writer who ideallynemerges as an overly sensitive soul lostnin the limbo and perpetuity of Californiancorruption. Whether describingnhis experience at a roadside Orientalnrestaurant or literally and metaphoricallynsharing a “glimpse” of his lessnthan successful relationship, his banalnthoughts give way to metaphysicalnmusings centered around the advice ton”embrace your fear.”nBut as fine as Rivkala’s Ring is inncomparison to Gray’s more extendednmonologues, it is still a discursive andnverbally athletic attempt to substantiatenvacancy. His black-hole fantasiesnbenefited here from the distance henachieved while composing this piece,nno doubt anticipating that someonenother than himself would deliver it.nSome similar objectivity is needed innall of his other monologues withnwhich I am familiar, where the content,nephemeral to begin with, is subservientnto the ego that relays it andnfinally no different.nTo return to Leverett’s metaphor, asna “mirror” of the vacuum, the sweepingnemptiness by which Gray and hisnilk characterize our age, Gray’s materialnis ultimately without content andnmeaningless. It is necessarily mediocre,na 1980’s version of “Life in ThesenUnited States” as it used to appear innReader’s Digest (and for all I know,nstill does). Whether he’s describing hisninvolvement in the filming of ThenKilling Fields (in Swimming to Cambodia)nor building a monologue on thenhazards of becoming a home-owner innUpstate New York (in his newest piece.nTerrors of Pleasure), he is pitting him­nnnself with us against the capitalistnpowers-that-be and the media overkillnthat infect the context of contemporarynlife. It’s a formula for automatic collusion.nBut what he’s lacking in content.nGray sashays in technique. His mindnworks like a fly’s eye with each lensnfocusing separately, taking in the experiencenfrom innumerable angles andnthen regurgitating it for the sake ofnamusement. The danger is in expectingnmore than amusement or takingnhim as seriously as he takes himselfnHis reasoning isn’t logical or sequentialnso much as it is angular and cubist,nfacile and free-associative. It builds onnitself in the way a maggot feeds on itsnhost, now twisting this way, now thatnway, in its struggle to climb upwardsnand develop wings. But it never reallyntakes off. It zooms outward only toncircle back on itself and implode.nGray’s fragmentation is similar tonthe device sustained by Renata Adlernin her two “novels”—Speedboat andnPitch Dark. In fact, Adler’s customarynconcerns with deliberately mundanensubject matter as well as her deadpanntone, her casual voice, bear a fleeting,ndeceptive resemblance to Gray. Butnwhile Adler discovers some metaphysicalninsights along the way, Gray is toonmuch the victim of his own conceit.nThe effect he has on us is not unlikenhis description of a moment in Swimmingnto Cambodia: “I’d run down thenbeach and look back to try to see usnthere in the surf and each time I’d missnmyself and then run back to try to benin it all again. Then down the beachnand back and down the beach andnback and the third time back. …”nHe is, ad infinitum, trying to catch upnwith himself, to see himself, to arrivenwhere he already is.nWhereas Jonathan Reynolds at leastnconsidered his experience on locationnduring the filming of Apocalypse Nownand constructed a sturdy drama from itn(Geniuses), by comparison Gray’snSwimming to Cambodia is a longwindedntravesty of undigested recollection,nneither transformed nor transforming.nThe irony, of course, is thatnThe Killing Fields is the superior film:nnot because it is based on fact butnbecause it exists as powerful testimonynto the human capacity for compassionnand for perseverence. One is attentivento Gray’s version and awaits somen