by Alex Bentley , Sarah Crisman

He said: Nye Cooper is more jerky than funny. She said: I miss David Sedaris.

DALLAS — PegNews staffers Sarah Crisman and Alex Bentley caught the 2009 premiere of The Santaland Diaries at the Contemporary Theatre of Dallas. Read on for a he said/she said review of the one-man play that runs through December 20.

Alex's take

The Santaland Diaries, playing for the second straight year at the Contemporary Theatre of Dallas, is an adaptation of an essay by humorist David Sedaris. Sedaris' writing is always sarcastic and self-deprecating, and a big reason for his success is how he is able to make his listeners/readers commiserate with all of the inane and ridiculous things with which he has to deal in his life.

Nye Cooper plays Crumpet, Sedaris' pseudonym when he took a job as an elf at SantaLand in the Macy's in New York. Cooper should know this role by heart at this point, as this marks the eighth time he has played it locally (six times at WaterTower Theatre, two times here). Cooper bears a slight resemblance to Sedaris, which may be half the reason he's kept the job for so long.

One would suppose that the other half is that he is able to voice Sedaris' sardonic wit, but at least on opening night, that element was missing. Cooper's craggy face certainly embodies the negative attitude that Crumpet has toward almost everything that he encounters at SantaLand. However, instead of making his crazy stories relatable, Cooper's delivery more often than not makes him seem like just your garden-variety jerk. He frequently pauses at the end of an anecdote, as if waiting for the audience to laugh instead of truly selling the joke. He succeeds in garnering laughter sometimes, but it feels as if the audience is only doing so on reflex, not out of true enjoyment of his performance.

The set is very basic, consisting only of three wooden boxes painted like presents, a sleigh, Santa's huge chair, and a mock fireplace with stockings. The chair doubles as a dressing room for Cooper, who transforms into Crumpet behind its massive frame. The presents are really the only other pieces of the set that come into play much, as Cooper, for no particular reason, moves and stacks them at various points. Since he has no one else with whom to interact, it's as if he and director Coy Covington had him do so just to create some kind of action on the stage.

The Santaland Diaries only lasts for about an hour, but it feels much longer. To get a feel for the real thing, listen to Sedaris reading portions of his essay on NPR.

Crisman's take

You would think with two critics at the same show, perhaps we would take a good cop/bad cop approach to Santaland. But I'm afraid I can't bring myself to good cop any of this. Like Alex, I felt myself underwhelmed at the stage adaptation of a modern holiday tradition (at least among the bookish crowd). I wanted to give Cooper the benefit of solid taste, in hopes that he too would do justice to the Sedaris piece that ultimately introduced me to one of the most influential humorists I've encountered. Unfortunately, choosing (several years ago) to adapt a well-known performance so perfectly captured by the story's creator isn't so much bold as it is tail-coating theatrics.

It's true, Cooper does well to vocally recreate Sedaris' dry tone, but the delivery ultimately leaves more to be desired -- namely the feeling to leave the theater, turn on NPR, and curl up with Holidays on Ice, the anthology originally featuring Crumpet's story. It's hard to escape the feeling you'd rather be somewhere else, particularly when trapped in a live theater grappling for something positive to say about a performance. (He knew all of his lines and even added a topical Wii reference for good measure). Still remained an inescapable community theater vibe -- not bad theater, just not on par for the material in question.

Granted, this could be an unfair assessment. Stage adaptations of established performances are tricky -- especially when the only character involved looks just enough like Sedaris to remind those familiar with the story that Sedaris is no where to be seen. He's probably in France. Not Dallas. This bitter truth stings as you settle in to think about the absent instrumentation and inflection familiar to Crumpet's tale. Diet Sedaris doesn't cut it for a hard-core user, though it might could be entertaining if you've never read Sedaris, listened to NPR, or had any pre-disposed distaste for worn-out theater.

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