481 CHRONICLESnthe cliches dredged out of John Sayles’snhead.nThey don’t know it, and never bothernto try to know it, but still there is somenpower to Appalachia that keeps drawingnthe moviemakers back. Perhaps it’s becausenAppalachia is another world nestlednright here in the midst of our own, anwhole other culture, in some ways asnforeign and as far away as Tierra delnFuego. Also, mingled with the respectncity people have for folks who live still sonclose to the land, goes a good bit ofnromanticizing about the glories of thenso-called simple life. Not that there’snanything simple about scrambling for anliving in those mountain areas of Kentucky,nVirginia, and West Virginia thatnare still backward, without much industry,nchoked with kudzu and rusted-outncars, and scattered with hill farmers. IfnJohn Sayles’s Matewan falls short onnother scores, it does manage to conveynthat, although little else.nKatherine Dalton writes from NewnYork.nSTAGEnThe Search fornSalvationnby David KaufmannThere is a popularly held belief that thenpromise of theater resided throughoutnthe country. According to the theory, ifnBroadway was dying, then Americanntheater was thriving west of the Hudsonnand south of the Delaware Water Gap,nnurturing not only the talent but also thenaudience.nThere has been a problem, of course,nso overwhelming that no one has evenndared address it: how to deal with theneffect of theater sprawl. Fifteen yearsnago, Robert Brustein asked, “Where arenthe Repertory Critics?” Ever since regionalntheater became a force to bencontended with, the question has been,n”Where are the regional critics?” Brusteinnhimself, as critic for The New Republic,nhas made it his business to visitnMinneapolis, Washington, DC, Chicago,nNew Haven, and yes, even NewnYork. To a lesser degree, John Simon ofnNew York Magazine, Jack Kroll ofnNewsweek, and a bevy of Times criticsnhave made their excursions to the provinces,ncatching the prominent offeringsnat the more fashionable regional theaters.nBut Broadway has not been replaced sonmuch as diffused. Regional theaters havencome to secure attention on the basis ofnreputation alone, thereby emulatingnBroadway.nTwo summers ago, American TheaternExchange was set up exporting threenregional productions to the Joyce Theaternin New York. But beyond the conceptnof the American Theater Exchange itselfn(and ironically, there was never any “exchange”ninvolved), there was nothingndistinguished about Faulkner’s Bicyclen(which originated at the Yale RepertorynTheater), In the Belly of the Beast (fromnLos Angeles’ Mark Taper Forum), ornSeason’s Greetings (from Houston’snAlley Theater). If this was the best thatnregional theater had to offer, then regionalntheater seemed no healthier thannNew York theater. If the Goodman, thenGuthrie, the Actors Theater of Louisville,nthe Mark Taper Forum, Steppenwolf,nthe Alley Theater, and certainnother celebrated companies or theatersnbecame acclaimed, haven’t they reliednon marketing as much as Broadway everndid?nNow, two years later, the AmericannTheater Exchange has sponsored its secondnprogram of plays, once again at thenJoyce Theater, with results hardly anynbetter than before. This time four productionsnwere featured, and only thenlast — HoZy Ghosts — proved worthwhile.nThe Long Wharf Theater productionnof Joe Cacaci’s Self Defensenprovided little more than a few strongnperformances (notably by Charles Cioffinas a DA); the Berkeley Repertory Theaternversion of Dickens’ Hard Times, asnadapted by Stephen Jeffreys, had somenhighlighted theatrical moments undernRichard E.T. White’s direction butncould never really shed the shadow ofnthe Royal Shakespeare Company’s NicholasnNickleby; and the Wilma Theater’sn(Philadelphia) rendering of Orwell’sn] 984, as adapted by Pavel Kohout, was anletdown in every respect, particularly innits technologically busy production.nWhatever else the American TheaternExchange may advocate, it seems to lackna respect for the playwright, since thenplaybills for both Hard Times and J 984nfailed to include them, no matter hownnninadvertent such omissions may havenbeen. There also seemed to be a messagenin the poster designed to promotenthe festival. As rendered by Polish artistnRafal Olbinski, it featured three theaternmasks that allude to the American flag.nBut instead of the characteristic smile ornfrown, each of these masks has an enigmaticnexpression, suggesting better thannanything else the confused state of ourntheater today.nHoly Ghosts, however, was a superbnproduction of a valuable work. At itsnbest, Romulus Linney’s play about anbackwoods Pentecostal religious meetingncaptured the spirit of a class of peoplenwho might have stepped out of Let UsnNow Praise Famous Men. To this end,nthe San Diego Rep production is trulynan asset, evoking the mood of the ruralnSouth. But Linney’s blessing is also hisncurse, for in creating 15 distinctive personalitiesnand telling their stories innroughly two hours, he could not avoidnmaking them into types. The sense ofnverisimilitude he so masterfully achievednis necessarily undermined by the formulanat work.nThe leader of the clan is one ReverendnObedia Buckhorn Sr., a selfproclaimednminister who preaches thengospel (“Well, friends — what is real religion?nOne thing I know is it don’t havenno beginnin’ and don’t have no end —nit’s a happenin’ all the time”) and who,nas effectively portrayed by Ollie Nash,nlooks and sounds like Burl Ives. We learnnthat Rev. Buckhorn has had six wives —nand is working on his seventh, the woebegonenNancy Shedman (Diana Castle),nwho is miserably married to Colemann(Bradley Fisher).n”They shall speak with new tongues;nthey shall take up serpents; and if theyndrink any deadly thing, it shall not hurtnthem.” While such practices are decidedlynillegal, their existence is well-knownnsouth of the Mason-Dixon line.nColeman is as “dumb as a ditch,” an”clod,” and “the fool of creation,” as hisnwife Nancy calls him. About the onlynthing he had going for him was then”fish-farm” he inherited from his father,nbut even that has dried up throughnneglect. While it would be difficult tonblame Nancy for fleeing Coleman andnentering “into a tender, human relationship”nwith another, it’s equally hard tonsee Buckhorn as an improvement.nBy the end of the play, Linney suppliesnan ironic reversal as hard to antici-n