The Night Hank Williams Died

Saw this Larry L. King play last night for the first time. I can never figure out with King whether he’s simply intent on milking all the Texas cliches (like in "Best Little Whorehouse…") or giving us a genuine view of Texas culture as it once was and might be again. TNHWD, at the Austin Plahouse through Nov. 19. does the latter pretty well, although it piled on rather too many of the former. Like the stereotypical dumb football player who couldn’t forget his big game and so made a mess of the rest of his life. It troubled me some that the one-stoplight West Texas town in the play was named Stanley, and it took me the whole two hours to realize that the title was a metaphor, but I came away liking the actors and pretty much everything else, except the ending. I wanted the Hank Williams wannabee to be redeemed, somehow, and the loose ends (like who was Nellie Bess’s daddy) tied up neatly. I realize that’s not the way Art is supposed to be, but it would be more humanly satisfying, and might sell a lot more tickets.