13 June 2016

TFANA’S Scandinavian Rep: 'A Doll’s House' and 'The Father'


I started June off with an interesting event.  Did you know that “Strindberg wrote The Father as a direct rebuttal to Ibsen’s A Doll’s House,” as Theatre for a New Audience’s publicity has it?  I didn’t—though I knew both plays.  According to TFANA, in his play, Strindberg is “fulminating against Ibsen’s tale of a woman bravely escaping a stifling bourgeois marriage.”  When I read that in TFANA’s season brochure, I considered the two plays and thought, ‘Yeah, I can see that.  It even makes sense.’  The Father had always seemed just a sadistic, misogynistic joke before—sort of a Gaslight with the roles reversed—but here was a plausible rationale for Strindberg’s having written it.

Theatre for a New Audience was going to present Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House and August Strindberg’s The Father, two vastly different examinations of the collapse of a marriage, in rotating rep with the same director, designers, and acting company at their new home in Fort Greene, Brooklyn, the Polonsky Shakespeare Center, in May and June.  (I saw TFANA’s Pericles there earlier this season, so there’s a profile of the company and its theater in that report, posted on 1 April 2016.)  It seems that neither A Doll’s House  nor The Father has had a major indigenous staging in New York since 1997 and don’t appear to have ever been presented in English together before.  So when the non-subscriber seats went on sale, I booked the two shows back to back on consecutive nights.

Diana, my usual theater companion, and I saw Doll’s House first since it’s the older play and the one that inspired the Strindberg.  TFANA’s production was based on the 1937 adaptation writer Thornton Wilder (1897-1975) made at the request of Jed Harris (1900-79), legendary producer and director, for a star-studded staging he was putting together for Ruth Gordon (1896-1985), both of whom were friends of Wilder’s.  With Harris as director and Gordon as Nora, the rest of the principals were soon cast for the Broadway mounting (which was also expected to transfer to London’s West End after its New York run): Dennis King (1897-1971; Rose-Marie, The Vagabond King, The Three Musketeers, and as Gaylord Ravenal in the 1932 revival of Show Boat, all on Broadway) would play Thorwald; Paul Lukas (1891-1971; The Lady Vanishes, Grumpy, Rockabye; Oscar in 1944 for his role in Lillian Hellman’s Watch on the Rhine, which he also did in the 1941 Broadway première), Doctor Rank; and Sam Jaffe (1891-1984; Yiddish theater; The God of Vengeance, The Jazz Singer, Grand Hotel), Krogstad. 

The production did a three-week out-of-town try-out at the Sixth Annual Play Festival in Central City, Colorado, in July and August 1937, which was so well received that Harris planned a 10-week tour in the fall, starting in Toronto in October and ending in Chicago for two weeks in December.  On 27 December, Wilder’s Doll’s House opened at the Morosco Theatre in New York; it moved to the larger Broadhurst Theatre in January, where it closed on 30 April 1938 after 144 performances, a record for A Doll’s House on Broadway that stood for the next 59 years (Janet McTeer’s 1997 revival closed after 150 regular performances and 8 previews).  The Harris production went on to Philadelphia for two weeks, but it closed there and never made the leap across the Atlantic. 

Though there have been a dozen Broadway revivals (and countless regional and college productions) of A Doll’s House since the play’s 1889 début in New York, plus one Off-Broadway staging in 1963, except for three radio broadcasts (one in October 1937 and two, after the play closed, in 1938 and 1941), Wilder’s adaptation of A Doll’s House, based on German translations of the play (Wilder read and spoke German, as well as French, Spanish, and Italian), was never produced again until TFANA undertook it.  It wasn’t even copyrighted until 1969 and hadn’t been published until TFANA planned its revival when the Theatre Communications Group put out its edition this year.

(There hadn’t been English-language productions of A Doll’s House in New York City that originated here since 1997, but there have been variations on New York stages in recent years. There was, for example, a 2012 Off-Broadway production of Ingmar Bergman’s adaption entitled Nora, translated into English and adapted by Frederick J. and Lise-Lone Marker, directed by Austin Pendleton with Jean Lichty as Nora and Todd Gearhart as Torvald, presented by La Femme Theater Productions. In 2004, the Brooklyn Academy of Music’s Next Wave Festival hosted an up-dated production in German of Nora, the traditional title for A Doll’s House in Germany, translated by Hinrich Schmidt-Henkel and directed by Thomas Ostermeier of the Schaubühne am Lehniner Platz in Berlin, with Anne Tismer as Nora and Jörg Hartmann as Torvald.  Again at BAM, the Young Vic company of London presented a 2014 production of A Doll’s House directed by Carrie Cracknell from a translation by Simon Stephens with Hattie Morahan as Nora and Dominic Rowan as Torvald.)  

The two plays in TFANA’s Scandinavian repertory were both directed by Arin Arbus, Associate Artistic Director at the company who’s helmed many of the company’s productions over the years (King Lear in 2014; Much Ado About Nothing, 2013; Othello with John Douglas Thompson, 2009), with the same design team and (except for the two children in Doll’s House), the same cast.  A Doll’s House, which ran two hours and ten minutes with one 15-minute intermission (Wilder’s script is written in three acts as was the practice in the ’30s, but Arbus presented the play as two acts), began previews on the Samuel H. Scripps Mainstage, the 299-seat, variable-space black box house at the Polonsky, on 10 May and opened on 24 May; the production was scheduled to close at the matinee performance on Sunday, 12 June.  Diana and I saw the evening performance on Wednesday, 1 June.

Henrik Johan Ibsen (1828-1906) was born in the small port town of Skien, Norway (about 80 miles southwest of Oslo—called Christiania until 1877 and Kristiania until 1925).  He was a descendant on both his father’s and his mother’s sides of prominent members of Skien’s political and business elite; his own son, Sigurd, became Prime Minister of Norway (1903–1905).  Ibsen became a major playwright, poet, and theater director, one of the most distinguished dramatists in European theater, credited with introducing stage Realism to Western theater.  Though some of his later plays (A Doll’s House, Ghosts) were controversial in their time, his works, which include verse dramas such as Catiline (1850), Peer Gynt (1867), Brand (1866), and others, alongside his renowned prose plays, are the most produced theater pieces in the world after Shakespeare, with A Doll’s House ahead of all other plays since the beginning of the 20th century.  Ibsen influenced other writers like playwrights George Bernard Shaw (who was a strong advocate for Ibsen’s plays and his ideas—both literary and social), Oscar Wilde, Anton Chekhov, Eugene O'Neill, and Arthur Miller, and novelist James Joyce.  Though he was never a Nobel laureate, he was nominated for the prize three times. 

Though Ibsen went into self-imposed exile from Norway, living in Italy and Germany from 1864 until his return in 1891, his most productive years, he set most of his plays in Norway, often (as with Doll’s House) in towns much like Skien.  In July 1876, Ibsen was invited to Berlin to see a production of his Pretenders by the Meininger, a troupe under the direction of Duke George II renowned for applying realistic staging techniques to their productions.  He was subsequently invited to return with the company to Saxe-Meiningen, their home duchy, where he observed the troupe at work.  The plays the Meininger produced, however, like The Pretenders (1863), werent written in realistic style, but Ibsen was inspired to write for this new theaterHis first realistic prose play was Pillars of Society, completed in 1877, which was a moderate success.  His next effort, though, was A Doll’s House (Et Dukkehjem in Danish, the language in which Ibsen wrote his plays, sometimes translated as A Doll House, most notably by Rolf Fjelde, Ibsen’s chief American translator) in 1879, an immediate sensation across Europe—some of the reactions violent: there were riots outside theaters where Doll’s House was performed.  The notion of a wife and mother leaving her family was simply anathema to middle-class society in Norway and the rest of Europe.

Based on the life of a friend of Ibsen’s who experienced much of what happens to the main characters in Doll’s House, the playwright shaped the events into the successful drama we know:

Nora Helmer (Maggie Lacey) believes she’s happily married to Thorwald (John Douglas Thompson), a lawyer who’s about to become manager of the bank where he works.  They have two small children (Ruben Almash, Jayla Lavender Nicholas), who are in the care of Nora’s old nanny, Anna (Laurie Kennedy).  As the play opens, Nora’s returning from doing some Christmas shopping and, with the help of a porter (Christian J. Mallen), brings home a small Christmas tree.  She’s greeted by her husband who good-naturedly scolds her for her extravagance, talking to her as if she were a silly child—which is precisely how she behaves with him.  Thorwald, considers his wife careless and childlike, and often calls her his “little girl,” his “dear child,” or other infantilizations.  The maid, Ellen (Kimber Monroe), announces that a lady has called on Nora and that Doctor Rank (Nigel Gore), the Helmers’ “best friend,” has gone into Thorwald’s study to wait for him.  

Thorwald goes to join the doctor as Christina Linden (Linda Powell), an old friend of Nora’s, arrives.  Christina, a widow now, has come back to town to look for work, and Nora promises to ask Thorwald to give her a post at the bank.  Then Nora proceeds to tell her friend a secret she’s been keeping from Thorwald.  Soon after they were married, Thorwald became “terribly ill” and the doctors told him “to give up everything and go south.”  Nora had to obtain money in secrecy for a trip to Italy and so she borrowed it from Nils Krogstad (Jesse J. Perez), a lawyer who had been a fellow student of Thorwald’s and now works at Thorwald’s bank.  Because a woman can’t borrow money on her own, Nora went to her father; but he was dying, so she forged his signature on the loan papers.  Ever since, she’s been paying the loan back with money she’s saved from her housekeeping allowance and what she’s earned from small jobs.  

Krogstad arrives to speak with the man who will be his new “chief,” and Christina recognizes him as someone she used to know.  After Thorwald, Rank, and Christina all leave together, Krogstad returns for a word with Nora.  He’d seen Christina leave with Thorwald and asks about her.  Nora tells him Christina’s going to get a job at the bank, and Krogstad explains that that means he’ll be dismissed  because it’s his job that Christina’ll be getting.  In desperation, Krogstad threatens to tell Thorwald about Nora’s loan and the forgery unless she persuades her husband to let him keep his post.  When Nora tries to influence her husband, however, he dismisses her as if she were a simple child who can’t possibly understand the ways of business.  Thorwald insists on firing Krogstad, who was involved in an earlier forgery incident himself, and Krogstad makes good on his threat by delivering a letter to Thorwald detailing the whole story.  

As the letter lies in the Helmer mailbox, Nora becomes desperate.  At the same time, she’s convinced that out of his love for her, Thorwald will take the full responsibility for what she’s done, though Nora says she wouldn’t accept her husband’s sacrifice; she just wants to see him offer to ride to the rescue like a knight.  That’s the “miracle” she hopes for.  Doctor Rank comes to pay a call and tells Nora that he’s dying, the consequence of too much high living at his father’s table when he was young.  Nora considers asking him for help and advice, but when Rank declares his love for her, she can’t ask him for the favor.  Christina, however, who was in love with Krogstad when they were young, gets him to change his mind and withdraw his threats, but Thorwald has opened the letter and learned the truth.  He reacts with anger and fear; far from taking the blame on himself, as Nora hoped, Thorwald sees only the harm her actions will cause him and his “honor”—it’s all about him in the end.  He even shouts at her, “And the children . . . to think that they’ve been in your care all this time!  I can’t trust them to you.”  When another letter arrives from Krogstad telling Nora and Thorwald that he won’t pursue his revenge, Thorwald does a complete reversal, expressing relief and delight that he’s out from under Krogstad’s thumb.  Nora, though, now understands that her marriage isn’t what she thought it was, and that it’s all been a sham.  She explains, “I’ve been your doll-wife, just as I used to be Papa’s doll-child.”  She decides that her action must be to leave her husband and children in the door-slam heard ’round the world

(I must add a note here about a common belief, then thought to be based in science, to which Ibsen subscribed.  He grounded parts of the plots of Ghosts and The Master Builder, as well as A Doll’s House, on the concept, which has two elements.  First, moral corruption can have physical manifestations so that someone who lives an immoral life can suffer physical illness as a consequence.  Thus, Doctor Rank’s youthful dissolution has resulted in his disease of the spine.  Second, such a diseased person can pass the evil on to her or his children.  “It’s like a poison,” says Thorwald of Krogstad’s infection, “especially for the children.”  Later Thorwald elucidates, “It’s really amazing to see how criminal tendencies in children can be traced to lying parents.”  Nora’s father, according to her husband, “had no notion of what principles are . . . no religion, no morality, no sense of duty.”  Once she hears this, Nora begins to shun her own children for fear of contaminating them; just before she leaves Thorwald’s home, she stops herself from seeing her children one last time, saying, “No, I won’t go in to the children.  I know they’re in better hands than mine.”  It’s why she leaves not only Thorwald for his self-centeredness, but must abandon her children for their wellbeing as well.)

TFANA’s variable-space theater had been set up with a runway stage with walls and entrances both up and down stage and the audience seated on the right and left of the platform.  The single set, designed by Riccardo Hernandez, was the white-walled front parlor of the Helmers’ apartment, furnished in late Victorian style.  (The color palette for Doll’s House was much sunnier and brighter than for The Father.)  To allow for the action of the play, the furniture was all along the right and left sides of the stage and the pieces were all low silhouette to permit spectators to see through and over them.  Actors who sat in the chairs on stage left or the sofa on stage right didn’t stay there very long so as not to block the audience’s view or to keep their backs to half the house for any length of time.  Director Arbus, however, managed to keep this somewhat unnatural configuration from seeming awkward and kept everyone moving so that the physical progress of the play flowed credibly.  (I remarked in my report on Allegría Quiara Hudes’s Daphne’s Dive, posted on 29 May, that directing for this “butterfly” stage configuration isn’t easy.)  Though trying to imagine the layout of this apartment was tricky—I suppose it must have been the 19th-century Norwegian equivalent of a railroad flat—Hernandez’s layout worked fine and looked marvelous, right up to the open frame of a coffered ceiling.  The stage was lit appropriately by Marcus Doshi for the gaslight era in a northern latitude in late December (it’s Christmastime). 

Susan Hilferty’s costumes set the right tone for a reputable middle-class family in a provincial city; those with lesser means or disreputable characters were suitably identified by their attire.  And I need to take special note of the work of co-sound designers Daniel Kluger and Lee Kinney who almost made an additional character out of the unseen entrance door to the Helmer apartment.  Every entry was preceded by doorbells and opening and closing doors and other sounds from the off-stage vestibule, making it clear that prospective arrivals were more than just a simple visit, they were either a messenger of joy or a harbinger of misfortune.  The noises from the foyer were always discernable—no one came without being announced with a fanfare—and we soon learned that it was either someone with good news and pleasure or bad news and trouble, one or the other.

The acting was generally fine, with a few shortcomings.  I found Wilder’s adaptation a tad brittle and awkward here and there, as if he were trying too hard to make it sound “colloquial” (for the 1930s, of course) “to give the play a twentieth-century feeling.”  It isn’t actually anachronistic, but it seemed to steer the actors into odd line readings now and then because, I think, the language is neither period formal nor exactly contemporary conversational.  (My recollection is that the language in James Costigan’s adaptation used by George Schaefer for the live 1959 NBC-TV broadcast, which starred Julie Harris and Christopher Plummer, and which I last watched over 25 years ago, was far more natural.)  By far the least effective performance in Arbus’s Doll’s House, however, was Thompson as Thorwald Helmer, who was stiff and seemingly uncomfortable throughout.  As Nora, Lacey played too much into the child-woman image, which I think was a mistake both from the actor’s and the director’s perspective, but Lacey played it believably, if not wisely.  Thompson’s Thorwald came off not just stiff-necked but pompous, even when he was supposed to be playful or tipsy.  It made me wonder why it’s taken Nora so long to be sick of him. 

Lacey’s over-indulgence in the baby-doll behavior made her about-face at the end seem artificial and contrived.  Part of the fault may lie with Wilder’s adaptation, but I think Arbus and Lacey needed to show more of Nora’s backbone, her hidden adult that led her to take command of the situation when her husband was deathly ill and her father was dying.  The rest of the cast had less trouble with their roles, which are a good deal more straightforward, to be sure, and acquitted themselves well.  I found Powell’s Christina convincingly strong and stalwart as Nora’s friend and a woman left to her own devices to get by, and Perez’s Krogstad, who could have come off as a mustache-twirling villain from 19th-century melodrama, was just truly desperate enough to make his sliminess explicable.  Unfortunately, the unevenness of the production as a whole made the work of these actors stand out more than it should have.

On the next night, Thursday, 2 June, Diana and I again drove over to the Polonsky Shakespeare Center to see August Strindberg’s The Father (1887) in a new English version by David Greig, a Scottish playwright and stage director.  (Greig, 47, was born in Edinburgh and has seen his work presented at many of the major theaters in Scotland, as well as London and across the U.K., including the Royal Shakespeare Company.  He’s currently the artistic director of the Royal Lyceum Theatre in Edinburgh, where he lives.  Having previously adapted Strindberg’s Creditors in 2008 for the Donmar Warehouse in London, Greig has translated The Father on commission by TFANA, which is staging its world première.)  The TFANA production, which was presented as a long one-act (though Strindberg’s original is divided into three acts) running one hour and 45 minutes without an intermission, began previews on 1 May and opened on 25 May; its closing performance was scheduled to be the evening show on 12 June. 

Johan August Strindberg (1849-1912), known as a playwright, novelist, poet, essayist, and painter in his native country (but principally as a dramatist abroad), was born in Stockholm, Sweden.  In The Son of a Servant (published in Swedish between 1886 and 1909 and in English in 1913), an autobiographical novel (Strindberg’s mother was a barmaid), Strindberg characterized his childhood as fraught with “emotional insecurity, poverty, religious fanaticism and neglect.”  By all accounts, the nascent playwright’s youth, including his school experience, was harsh and unhappy, leaving a lasting impression that troubled him throughout his life.  He became a difficult and hypersensitive youth and adult, characteristics that were exacerbated by the early death of his mother, with whom he was not especially close, when he was 13—and his father’s precipitous remarriage to the children’s governess.  He drew heavily on his personal experience for his writing and over a span of 40 years, composed more than 60 plays and over 30 other works (not counting his 10,000 letters).  Though most of his best-known plays are realistic or naturalistic (The Father, 1887; Miss Julie. 1888; and Creditors, 1889), Strindberg was an inveterate experimenter and innovator, working with surrealistic and expressionistic effects (A Dream Play, 1902; The Ghost Sonata, 1908). 

Strindberg’s famous misogyny, much in evidence in The Father, developed after the failure of the first of his three marriages—before that he was actually a supporter of women’s rights (or what he later labeled gynolatry), though he came to call feminists “Ibsenites.”  His portrayals of “the battle of the sexes,” which arguably culminated with The Dance of Death (1901), was the burning core of most of his writing, both dramatic and novelistic, for the period of his naturalistic work.  The Father was Strindberg’s direct attack on what he saw as the cult of feminism that was promoted in Ibsen’s Doll’s House.  Though Strindberg vilified Ibsen publicly and vituperously, the older playwright admired his Swedish rival and respected his writing. 

Strindberg’s The Father (not to be confused with an unrelated play of the same title by Florian Zeller, currently at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre on Broadway until 19 June, starring Frank Langella—who, coincidentally played the Captain in the last Broadway outing of Strindberg’s play) has been on Broadway seven times since its 1912 New York début.  These included a 1962 visit by the Royal Dramatic Theatre of Sweden and the 1996 Roundabout Theatre Company revival adapted by playwright Richard Nelson and directed by Clifford Williams with Langella and Gail Strickland.  In 1973, Roundabout mounted an Off-Broadway production of The Father in its then-home in Chelsea, adapted and directed by Roundabout artistic director Gene Feist and starring Robert Lansing and Elizabeth Owens.

In the study of Captain Adolf (Thompson), a cavalry officer at a rural army outpost, the Captain and his brother-in-law, the pastor (Perez), are discussing a young soldier in the Captain’s troop who has apparently—and not for the first time—gotten a young woman pregnant but hasn’t taken responsibility for the situation.  The pastor wants the trooper’s commander to give him a talking-to and get him to own up, and the soldier, Nordstrom (Greig has changed some names from Strindberg’s original text), is called in.  The trooper won’t accept absolute responsibility because, he says, he can’t be certain that he’s the baby’s father.  A woman always knows she’s a child’s mother, but a man can never be sure, Nordstrom (Mallen) asserts in a fateful statement that will have disastrous repercussions.  When Nordstrom leaves, the Captain tells his brother-in-law that he and his wife, Laura (Lacey), disagree about their daughter Bertha’s (Monroe) education.  In a household of women, all of them have vociferous notions about the young girl’s future: while the Captain wants Bertha to move into town and study to be a teacher so she can support herself on her own, Laura wants her to stay at home and become an artist; his mother-in-law (Powell) wants the girl to become a Spiritualist, the child’s governess wants her to become a Methodist, the nurse, Margaret (Kennedy), wants her to be a Baptist, and the maids want her to join the Salvation Army.  The pastor warns the Captain that his sister has always insisted on getting her own way and uses any means to do so.  Indeed, she may not even care about the thing she seems to have wanted—as long as she wins.

When the pastor leaves and Laura enters the study, the Captain tells her that his decision about Bertha’s future will be final, and that the law supports him, because, he points out, the woman relinquishes her rights when she gets married.  The argument becomes heated until  Laura suggests that the Captain may, in fact, not have any authority in the decision because he can’t prove he’s Bertha’s father, throwing Nordstrom’s argument in her husband’s face.  The Captain departs and the new town doctor pays a call.  Laura persuades Doctor Ostermark (Gore) that the Captain may be insane, because, as an amateur scientist, he thinks he’s discovered life on another planet by looking through a microscope.  The Captain later explains that in fact he’s discovered signs of organic life by studying meteorites through a spectroscope (an analytical device used in astronomical studies) and we witness the way Laura manipulates facts and events to her benefit.  Laura also reveals to the doctor that she has obtained a letter that the Captain once wrote confessing that he himself feared he might go mad (a fear that the playwright actually shared).  The Captain becomes frustrated and responds with violence—he throws a lit kerosene lamp in the direction of his wife as she exits, smashing it against the wall and starting a fire in the wood-paneled room.  It turns out that Laura’s deliberately provoked her husband into committing this irrational act so she can have a reason to have him committed.  

Doctor Ostermark has ordered a straitjacket for the now-raving Captain, and the pastor exclaims to Laura how strong she is—and without leaving any incriminating evidence behind.  The Captain capitulates to Laura as the stronger person and breaks down entirely.  When the straightjacket arrives, it is Margaret, who was the Captain’s former nurse, who cradles him and soothes him as she cajoles him into the restraint.  As the captain suffers a stroke and dies, Bertha runs to her mother, who claims the girl as her own child. 

Greig made a few small alterations in the text in addition to the change in some names and he’s compressed Strindberg’s original three acts so it can be performed as a long one-act, but his language in The Father isn’t as alien to the ear as Wilder’s almost-80-year-old adaptation is (this despite the fact that Wilder was American and Greig’s a Scot).  He was, perhaps, facilitated here by Strindberg’s innate bombast—The Father’s a more emotionally explosive play than Ibsen’s well-made middle-class drama.  Besides, there’s an inherent artificiality to Strindberg’s situation anyway, so perhaps a heightened language style fits more convincingly—or less jarringly—here than in A Doll’s House.  In any case, it wasn’t the issue I found it to be the previous evening.

The same can be said of both the central performances.  (More than in  A Doll’s House, Strindberg’s husband and wife are the focal figures in The Father while the other characters are much more peripheral than their counterparts in Doll’s House are.)  Lacey’s Laura was much more on target—of course, the character’s far more single-minded than Nora is—than the actress was in the other play.  She identified her goal and went right after it like a hawk homing in on its prey.  And nothing shook her along the way, either.  Lacey wasn’t only in command of her role, but her Laura was in command of the situation.  Thompson’s Captain was more credible both as the military commander and as the gaslighted husband, even as he descends further and further into doubt, despair, and madness.  From his bio, I see that Thompson has most often played strong men of action (Othello, Brutus Jones, Antony, Tamburlaine) like the Captain was before his wife got to his confidence, less often the petit bourgeois types like the provincial banker Thorwald Helmer, and this predilection showed at TFANA. 

As I asserted above, the people orbiting the Captain and Laura are less integral to the events of The Father than the featured characters in A Doll’s House; they’re more bystanders and enablers.  Nonetheless, the actors handled them nicely, especially Kennedy as the old nurse, Margaret.  Kennedy portrayed a caring but concerned caregiver who steps up when her former charge, now a man driven to distraction, needs a gentle hand—even though she has no idea what’s really happened to him.  It was Kennedy’s nurse who cradled the doomed man as he dies.  Also well-played were Perez’s pastor, quite a different fellow from his Nils Krogstad in Doll’s House (which is half the fun of doing and seeing plays in rep like this) and Monroe’s teenaged Bertha, the daughter much torn between her two parents.

Arbus kept Lacey and Thompson constantly aimed directly at one another—the supposed object of their disagreement, Bertha, virtually became extraneous—like a pair of loaded and cocked dueling pistols.  At the same time, the director didn’t let the satellite characters fade off into the ether or skimp on their characterizations.  Doctor Rank, for instance, may have more to do with what transpires in A Doll’s House than Doctor Ostermark does in The Father, but Arbus assured that Gore gave us at least a glimpse of who the man is, as much as Strindberg allows. 

The scenic work of Hernandez and Doshi for the Strindberg was equally as effective as it was for the Ibsen.  (The wood-paneled study was oriented the same way as the Helmers’ parlor, on the up-and-downstage runway with the butterfly audience.)  The room was more masculine, with a rack of guns behind the Captain’s desk and a row of hunting trophies mounted on the wall above, the better to show how Laura boldly invades her husband’s domain.  Once again, Hilferty’s costumes, from the Captain’s military attire to Laura’s somewhat severe gowns and jackets, set the milieu visually.  The color palette for The Father was dark, mostly browns and greens (with the exception, of course, of the blue military uniforms); there was minimal color in this world.  Though, like Doll’s House, The Father takes place at Christmastime, there was little to betray the celebratory spirit of the season.  The Kluger-Kinney soundscape for the Strindberg included storms and thunder, as if the heavens were at war, too.

In its survey of 17 reviews, Show-Score gave A Doll’s House an average score of 86 and The Father, 88, with 100% positive reviews for both productions.  The Epoch Times was among the highest-rated notices, and Judd Hollander declared of TFANA’s Scandinavian repertory: “Offering up very different commentaries in regards to the age-old battle of the sexes, both productions of ‘A Doll’s House’ and ‘The Father’ are very well done indeed.”  Arbus’s staging “of both plays works well here,” reported Hollander, “especially in terms of building the tension of who will be found ultimately in the wrong,” and Hernandez’s scenic design “is essential in showing a happy and comfortable home for the Helmers and a much more somber and stark place for the Strindberg piece.”  The Epochal reviewer found that “Thompson gives two standout performances here, playing Thorwald as self-absorbed and unsympathetic, but never truly evil.  His performance as the Captain is a particular tour de force, taking him from an outwardly stern and commanding person to one tormented.”  As the two wives, “Lacey plays to perfection what is essentially both sides of the same woman.  In one case, she uses her wits to help her husband even at the risk of going to jail herself and learns to respect the person she has become.” 

In the New York Times, Ben Brantley asserted, “A noise of primal desperation emanates from each of the two suspenseful dramas that have been resonantly paired” at Theatre for a New Audience in Arbus’s “engrossing productions.”  The Timesman noted, “What really awakens the senses here is the feeling of suffocation that pervades two domestic battlefields, an impression of doom woven into the fabric of a social order,” and added that, seen singly, “each production makes this achingly clear,” then explained that viewing the plays “in tandem is to experience two of modern theater’s most influential minds locked in fierce dialogue.”  Praising Arbus, whose “first objectives are clarity and accessibility,” for her “refreshingly levelheaded” direction, Brantley found that her productions of the two plays “maintain a . . . low hysteria quotient (or as low as Strindberg allows), without sacrificing the plays’ anxious and compelling momentum.”  The Times review-writer was especially impressed with Thompson’s “power in conveying raw torment” in The Father, where his performance “is, in a word, brilliant.”  An actor “whose presence always reads large,” Brantley felt that Thompson “is hardly a natural choice for the small-minded Thorwald.  But for that very reason, the character’s egotism has seldom seemed so daunting.”  Lacey’s “ostensible ordinariness,” asserted Brantley, “makes her easy to identify with.”  The reviewer felt, though, that the actress “is more at ease as Nora, whom she endows with an innate shrewdness, but her calm, matter-of-fact portrayal of Laura keeps us from seeing the character as a castrating witch.” 

In the New Yorker’s “Goings On About Town” column, the reviewer called the twinning of the two Scandinavian classics “inspired” but felt that Arbus’s “productions tend toward stuffiness— . . . illustrating the classic plays more than reinterpreting them.”  Nevertheless, the New Yorker reviewer found that “together they provide a theatrical time machine, taking us back to an era when our minds were as cosseted as a bodice-wrapped body.”  Sandy MacDonald of Time Out New York labeled the Wilder version of A Doll’s House a ”loose translation” that “achieves a more accessible, universal resonance,” while Greig “manages to winkle out humor and insight” in his adaptation of The Father.  Lacey’s Nora “has the makings of a modern woman,” MacDonald found, “a smart cookie who has a plan in place.”  Thompson’s “inevitable eruption” as Thorwald “does not disappoint” and as the Captain, he “brilliantly straddles the line of is-he-or-isn’t-he (crazy).” 

The top ratings from Show-Score (three 95’s) were from the cyber press and one of those was TheaterScene.com, on which Deirdre Donovan reminded us that Ibsen’s Doll’s House “became an instant hit” in Stockholm 136 years ago and asked, “So does Arbus’ new outing of the war horse measure up?”  Her assessment?  “You betcha.”  (In contrast to TONY’s Sandy MacDonald, Donovan thinks Wilder’s translation is “taut.”)  In fact, the review-writer deemed Arbus’s Scandinavian repertory “a double slam-dunk.”  Asserting that the  “strong” acting ensemble “delivers the goods,” Donovan declared that Thompson “really displays his virtuosity” as Thorwald, but “balances his performance with displays of hubris early on and then the desolation of a man suffering a severe mental breakdown” as Strindberg’s Captain.  Lacey displays “the necessary range” as Nora, “gradually evolving from the doll-like wife to the determined woman” and then portrays “Laura with all the ruthlessness of Lady Macbeth.”  The cyber reviewer also had praise for Powell’s Christina, Gore’s Doctors Rank and Ostermark, Kennedy’s Margaret, and Monroe’s Bertha.  Hernandez’s “narrow set” for A Doll’s House “conveys the boxed-in atmosphere of the Helmer home” and his “Spartan set” for The Father “hits the mark with its plain furniture and hunting accoutrements.”  Doshi’s “lighting ensures that we catch each beat of” Doll’s House and “is downright eerie” in The Father.  Hilferty’s “period costumes” for the Ibsen “are pure confections” and those for the Strindberg “summon up the military and civilian look of” the time.  Donovan concluded that “this theatrical event is a must-see.”

Another high-scorer was the similarly-titled TheaterScene.net, whose Victor Gluck pronounced the pairing of Doll’s House (in Wilder’s “lucid” adaptation) and The Father “a brilliant idea” and found them “as timely today as when they were written.”  Calling the revivals “inspired,” Gluck deemed that “these productions are dazzling theater whether seen in tandem or seen separately.”  Lacey makes Nora “different in each act” and Laura “cold, calculating and scheming.”  Thompson “plays a low-key, suave, kindly but paternalistic” Thorwald in the first part of Doll’s House but “the fireworks begin” in the second part.  The actor “gives a titanic performance” as The Father’s Captain.  Gluck had complimentary things to say about all the members of the cast, as he did for the design team, especially lauding Hernandez’s “symbolic war zone” of a set for The Father.  The third of the highest-rated notices was on NY Theater Guide, and Jacquelyn Claire confessed, “I am still experiencing emotional aftershocks from the ground shifting so suddenly beneath my feet,” characterizing the plays as “two seismic eruptions” that Arbus has directed “with the magnitude of the Furies in full force.”  Describing both translations as “exquisite,” Claire thanked Arbus for giving “us two precious gifts.”  NYTG’s review-writer felt, “The cast wrestle the charged air with fearless focus,” with special mentions for all the members of the ensemble.  At the pinnacle were “the masterful and astounding performances” of Lacey and Thompson, who “each craft characters of intense complexity.”  Lacey’s Laura “is ruthless, self-possessed, conniving, and brutally honest” and her Nora “is diverting, sensual, frenetic, and transformative.”  Thompson “is a peacock” as Thorwald and his “tantrum is like a fire truck siren on a New York street—piercing, alarming, dangerous, and loud!”  Seeing his Captain is “to witness this unbelievable journey into the depths of a broken man.”  Hernandez’s set is “powerful . . ., a no man’s land between warring factions” and Hilferty’s costumes “gracefully give us the time, the status, and the rigid roles of our protagonists.”

On CurtainUp, Elyse Sommer characterized TFANA’s Scandinavian rep as “insightfully directed . . . [w]ith a terrific repertory ensemble” which resulted in “a wonderfully immersive experience” when she saw both plays in one day.  “It’s fascinating to see Lacey’s Nora turn from fluttery ‘doll wife’ to determinedly independent woman,” wrote Sommer, “and emerge as the always determined to have her way Laura in The Father.”  Thompson’s “Thorwald is . . . relatively understated until near the end,” then “in The Father . . . he gives full reign to the high octane dramatic chops that have earned him a reputation” as one of our best classical actors.  Featured actors Perez and Gore received praise for their dual roles in the repertory.  Hernandez’s set design allows “A Doll's House to reflect a cozier, happy home.  The Father’s set is less homey”; Sommer added, “Bravo is also in order for the costumes [of Susan Hilferty], lighting [by Marcus Doshi] and sound design work [of Daniel Kluger and Lee Kinney].” In the end, the CU reviewer acknowledged, “I can’t remember a more touching finale than this one” in Theatre for a New Audience’s Doll’s House and, though she admitted that she’s “always found The Father something of a yawn, hopelessly dated and excessively melodramatic,” she found that TFANA’s offering “didn’t have a boring moment, full of unforgettable moments.”  JK Clarke reported on Theater Pizzazz that TFANA’s Scandinavian rep productions “transcend the heaviness often associated with these plays.  They feel more accessible and tailored to a wider audience than ever” due to “the capable direction of Arin Arbus.”  The two lead performances, Clarke declared, were “outstanding”: Lacey was “dynamic” in Doll’s House, “more intense, resolute and scheming” in The Father; Thompson, “remarkably adept” as Thorwald Helmer, “confident, smart and authoritative” as the Captain.  Both performances, she felt, were “heart-rending.”  Clarke also gave special praise to Hilferty’s costumes and the “sumptuous sets” of Hernandez.

In Show-Score’s lowest-rated notice (70), Theatre’s Leiter Side’s Samuel Leiter labeled the notion of playing A Doll’s House opposite The Father “ambitious” and “commendable” but found that “not much new is to be gained from this particular rendition” at Theatre for a New Audience.  While the featured performances were “acceptable,” though “no one demonstrates the kind of chameleon-like transformation one looks for in repertory,” Leiter found defects with both the leads in the two plays.  “Melodrama . . . infects the performance of Thompson,” he wrote, especially when his Thorwald becomes angry in the second half of A Doll’s House and his behavior “is a touch overblown.”  As the Captain in The Father, Thompson gave “one of those grand, old-time performances” that swung “wildly” from “childish trembling to Vesuvian bursts of furious anger.”  This was “technically awesome,” but gave Leiter the impression more “of a gifted actor’s physical and vocal prowess than of truthful human despair.”  Lacey “works hard at capturing Nora’s chipmunk-like simplicity” in A Doll’s House,” observed Leiter, however “she always seems to be acting.”  In The Father, Leiter felt, “You understand all of Lacey’s choices as Laura and know precisely what she’s thinking,” but like her performance as Nora, “she’s unable to transcend the sense of an actress at work.” 

On TheaterMania, Zachary Stewart dubbed Arbus’s Scandinavian rep “excellent”—and “uncomfortably timely.”  In A Doll’s House, said Stewart, Lacey “endows Nora with innately comedic qualities.  She’s flighty and cartoonish”; as Laura in The Father, she’s “calculating in her malice.”  As Doll’s House’s Thorwald, Thompson “seems blissfully unaware of the negative effects of his paternalism,” noted the TM reviewer; the character’s “epic meltdown in the final scene is one for the ages.”  His Captain “comes across like an innocuous nut job.”  Stewart also found virtues in the performances of Gore and Kennedy as well as the design efforts of Hernandez, Doshi, and Hilferty.  Tami Shaloum stated enthusiastically, “Theatre For A New Audience has reaped the sweet fruits of their labors with two outstanding productions directed by Arin Arbus,” on Stage Buddy, and the “power dynamics of marriage have never tasted so bitter.”  Shaloum continued, “A strong cast carries both plays,” and made special mention of the performances of Gore and Perez.  Our Stage Buddy singled out “the effervescent Maggie Lacey,” who “plays the youthful, charming Nora” and Thompson, who’s “marvelous” as Thorwald and “at his most stunning” as the Captain. 

[I’ve decided to post my 2004 pre-ROT report on the German production of A Doll’s House (entitled Nora) I saw at BAM for, if nothing else, the curiosity value.  ROTters should look for the archival report on that up-dated adaptation on 18 June.]

08 June 2016

More Words on Words


[Back on 1 February 2014, I posted a trio of articles, two from the New York Times and one from the Washington Post, that I entitled together “Words on Words” because they were about the craft of writing.  As I noted in the intro to that collection, ROTters will know that this is a favorite topic of mine.  So once again, I’m republishing two columns from the Washington Post Magazine dealing with writing and the use—or misuse—of words.  They’re both from humorist Gene Weingarten, so even if writing isn’t something that interests you, you may still find these short pieces amusing.  ~Rick]

“WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE”
by Gene Weingarten

Gene defiantly recommends it

As the world’s leading connoisseur and curator of Bad Writing on the Internet, I often get letters from people about some common misuse of language that happens to annoy them. Most of these complaints are pedestrian. (Yes, I know “ATM machine” is redundant. Zzzz.) But reader Amity Horowitz just wrote in with an eye-opener. Coyly, Amity invited me to Google the peculiar expression “defiantly recommend.”

“Defiantly recommend” has been used 1.5 million times! While one might occasionally recommend something defiantly, at the risk of censure or ridicule – say, the ritual eating of one’s placenta – how often would that sort of thing happen? Not a million-odd times. So I investigated.

“Defiantly recommend” turns out to be a classic example of Internet-induced idiocy, an elegant collision of incompetence and indifference:

A person wants to write “I definitely recommend,” in, say, a product review but spells it “definately,” which is the illiterate’s go-to version of the word. Spellcheck (and its co-conspirator, autocorrect) realizes something is wrong and suggests “defiantly.” The incompetent writer doesn’t know this is wrong or doesn’t care or doesn’t notice. And so “defiantly recommend” gets published a million-plus times. A similar thing happens when inept spellers write “alot,” meaning “a lot,” but spellcheck turns it into “allot,” which explains the hemorrhage of Google hits for expressions like “I have allot of weapons.” This phenomenon has happened more than 2.2 million times, which is allot.

We will call this sort of thing The Law of Incorrect Corrections, and it leads indirectly to:

The Law of Uninformed Uniformity

Before the Web, to be published as a writer, you pretty much had to be a professional. Professionals are unafraid of words and know a lot of them and take pains to use them in entertaining, unexpected combinations. This is not so with many amateurs of the Web, who have much they wish to say but lack the professional’s confidence and extensive arsenal of words. They are to writing as I am to fashion: I know I have to put something on every day, but I have no confidence in my ability to mix and match with style or taste. And so I tend to dress in “uniforms”: safe combinations of familiar things, such as khaki pants with blue shirts. The modern Web-sters are like that with words. With words, they are … woefully inadequate.

Consider that very expression, a staple of the Internet. A Google search confirms that 80 percent of the time the word “woefully” is used, it is modifying the word “inadequate.” It’s difficult to explain how preposterous this is, but I’ll try: It’s as though 80 percent of the time people use salt, it’s on scrambled eggs. Think of all the missed opportunities for flavor.

Finally, The Principleof Trite & Wrong

Cliche is easy – it pops into the mind in an instant and often sounds profound or at least comfortingly familiar. Therefore, cliche infests the Internet, even when it is completely inappropriate to the point being made.

Consider “nothing could be further from the truth.” This expression is always a lie. Repeat: This expression is always a lie. If we scan the Web, however, we find it has been used 13 million times, generally in pompous defense of oneself or of another against allegedly scurrilous allegations. Charles Colson, for example, once decried the popular image of Martin Luther King Jr. as “a liberal firebrand, waging war on traditional values.” Says Colson: “Nothing could be further from the truth.”

Really, now! I think I can refute this without getting into a tedious discussion of a dead man’s politics. Here is one statement, for example, that is palpably further from the truth: “Martin Luther King Jr. was a subspecies of avocado.” See?

I could go on and on, but whatever I said about the absurdity of the situation would be woefully inadequate.

[Gene Weingarten’s humor column, “Below the Beltway,” has appeared weekly in the Washington Post Magazine since July 2000.  He also hosts a monthly humor chat.  As a feature writer, he was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in both 2008 and 2010.  Since 2010, he has co-authored the syndicated comic strip Barney and Clyde.  This essay was originally published in the Washington Post Magazine on Sunday, 5 January 2014.]

“THE MURDER OF ROGET’S THESAURUS”
by Gene Weingarten

When I was a teenager, I loved murder mysteries from the 1920s, ’30s and ’40s, particularly those by Agatha Christie. Until recently I thought I had read everything Dame Agatha had ever written featuring her idiosyncratic Belgian detective Hercule Poirot. So I was surprised and delighted to discover in a bookstore a collection of Poirot short stories I had not seen before. Most of them were from very early in Christie’s career, published only in magazines.

I bought the book and settled in for a trip down Memory Lane. Alas, it turned into a trip down the descending colon. These stories stank. Christie had yet to figure out exactly who Poirot would be. Instead of having a charmingly ordered mind, he was an annoying fussbudget. Instead of being a likable aesthete, he was comically effeminate. Instead of being a little full of himself, he was an insufferable egomaniac. The plots were derivative: Poirot and his loyal sidekick, Hastings, did not so much resemble Holmes and Watson as duplicate them to a potentially litigable degree.

Far from feeling betrayed, as a writer I felt relief. If Agatha Christie had once been this bad, there is always hope for hacks like me. Maybe I’m not mediocre, maybe I just need more time to find my voice. Y’know, work out the kinks.

I bet all the great writers had dreadful misfires before they got it right. Who knows what you’d find in that first balled-up sheet of paper in the trash can next to their writing desks?

Gabriel García Márquez:

“Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father taught him to use the potty like a big boy.”

Jane Austen:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a prudent investment strategy.”

Charles Dickens:

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. I mean, it was just nucking futz.”

Groucho Marx:

“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog is whatever maggoty dreck they last snorked up from the gutter.”

Vladimir Nabokov:

“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins, irritant of my pancreas . . .”

F. Scott Fitzgerald:

“In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. Never drink orange juice right after brushing your teeth.”

Leo Tolstoy:

“Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way, but it usually stems from the uncalled-for implementation of noogies.”

Edward George Bulwer-Lytton:

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies) . . .”

(Actually, that last one’s verbatim, as written. Couldn’t make it worse.)

[This column was originally published in the the Washington Post Magazine on 27 April 2014.]

03 June 2016

Signature Plays


For a theatergoer, one-act plays can be part blessing, part predicament.  If you’re enjoying a one-act play, it’s over too fast; if you aren’t, it’s a short unpleasantness, quickly ended.  Because few one-acts can stand alone as a full evening (or matinee) at the theater, they’re often presented together with one or two others.  That can multiply the issues: you can be set up for an interesting and enjoyable time at the theater and then be disappointed far more than if a great first act is followed by a disappointing second one.  Your enjoyment meter could bounce up and down wildly as well.  Sometimes, even when all the plays on offer are excellent ones, you could still be unsatisfied the way my father felt about what used to be called a mixed grill: not enough of some things, too much of others.  (Dad generally stayed away from mixed grills, as you might guess.)

I wasn’t really thinking about this dilemma when the Signature Theatre Company announced that its 2015-16 season would include one-acts drawn from seasons devoted to three former resident playwrights (all now in their mid- or late 80s): Edward Albee’s The Sandbox, presented in the 1993-94 season; María Irene Fornés’s Drowning, 1999-2000; and Adrienne Kennedy’s Funnyhouse of a Negro, 1995-96—given the umbrella title, the Signature Plays.  In fact, I looked forward to the production because all the authors have reputations as not just good writers but interesting and challenging ones—groundbreakers, envelope-pushers, innovators.  I was a little familiar with Funnyhouse because I’d dug up some reviews and clippings on Kennedy back in 2001 for a research client, going back to the start of her career.  I knew The Sandbox because I’d heard a reading of it when I was in high school (in Germany by German actors using a translation) and later it was the one-act I staged in college for a directing class final in 1967.  I’m embarrassed to say, however, that I’d seen Drowning (in rep with Mud) at STC in September 1999 (during the Fornés season), but I could remember nothing about it (including its origin as a Chekhov short story); the only other play of Fornés’s I’d seen was Letters from Cuba in February 2000, also at STC.  Drowning was the only one of the Signature Plays I’d seen; I’d never seen a production of either of the other two, so I was looking forward to an intriguing experience at the very least.

The Signature Plays, a production in honor of the company’s 25th Anniversary that comes under STC’s Legacy Program which provides a homecoming for past Signature Playwrights-in-Residence, began previews in STC’s Alice Griffin Jewel Box Theatre, the small proscenium house at the Pershing Square Signature Center on Theatre Row on 3 May, opening on 22 May.  The  production, which runs two hours with a short pause between Sandbox and Drowning and an intermission before Funnyhouse, is scheduled to close on 19 June after a one-week extension from 12 June.  My theater partner Diana and I caught the Signature Plays, whose constituent works share a director in Lila Neugebauer (who directed A. R. Gurney’s The Wayside Motor Inn at Signature in 2014; see my ROT report posted on 1 October 2014) and her design team, as well as many cast members, on Friday evening, 27 May. 

First on the program is Edward Albee’s The Sandbox from 1959, originally written on commission for the Festival of Two Worlds in Spoleto, Italy, but never performed there.   It premièred on 15 April 1960 in the Jazz Gallery, a short-lived jazz club on St. Mark’s Place in New York’s East Village, and then it was produced Off-Broadway at the Cherry Lane Theatre between 14 February and 25 March 1962 in repertory with Jack Richardson’s Gallows Humor as part of the Theater of the Absurd series produced by Richard Barr, Clinton Wilder, and Albee (who would go on to form the Albarwild production outfit that specialized in new and innovative plays and writers).  Albee’s The American Dream, which is a related play written in 1961, and The Zoo Story were also part of Theater of the Absurd, along with five other avant-garde plays.  (Albee had started American Dream before writing The Sandbox, but set it aside.  He says he took most of the characters from Dream and set them in a different situation for Sandbox.)  Sandbox often received largely negative notices in its early productions because reviewers found the absurdist plot confusing with the characters’ direct address to the audience, their acknowledgment that they are actors in a play, and the commands to the musician—until, that is, Absurdism became more common on American stages.  (Theater people—actors and directors—generally took to it readily, just as they did the plays of Samuel Beckett and Eugene Ionesco, also writers who confounded critics and often audiences.)  The Sandbox had a number of  regional productions, including the Dallas Theatre Center in January 1963 and the Los Angeles Theatre Company in their 1967-68 season.  

The play ran Off-Broadway in New York City with seven other modern one-act plays directed by Alan Schneider, produced by the Acting Company at the Public Theatre in March 1984 in a bill entitled Pieces of Eight.  The Sandbox was again presented Off-Broadway in February and March 1994 by STC in a triple bill of one-act plays by Albee, Box, The Sandbox, and Finding the Sun, directed by the author.  In March 2008, the play returned to the Cherry Lane in a double bill with The American Dream, again directed by the playwright.  The Sandbox, along with The American Dream and The Zoo Story, is a popular play with college theaters and, of course, directing classes.

Approximately 15 minutes long, The Sandbox begins in bright daylight on a beach with a pair of beach lounges up right facing us, a sandbox up center, and a chair center left facing right.  A Young Man (Ryan-James Hatanaka), in his 20’s, well-built and wearing a swimsuit, is doing calisthenics in slow motion. (He does a sort of stylized jumping jack, raising and lowering his arms like a living Vitruvian Man.  It’s intended to call to mind the flapping of an angel’s wings.)  Mommy (Alison Fraser) and Daddy (Frank Wood), a middle-aged couple, have brought 86-year-old Grandma (Phyllis Somerville), all of them clothed in bathing attire, to the beach from the city and Daddy carries the old woman in and sits her in the sandbox.  Mommy and Daddy take their places in the beach lounges and Mommy summons a cellist (Melody Giron) who takes the chair at left and plays funereal music from time to time at Mommy’s command.  Throughout the play, the Young Man, while continuing his exercises, is very pleasant, smilingly returning the others’ greetings with a cheery “Hi!”  Grandma, sitting in the sandbox like a small child, makes nonsense sounds and scoops the sand over her legs with a toy shovel.  (The sandbox is both a play-pen for Grandma’s second childhood and her grave.)  Mommy and Daddy pay no attention to Grandma and the old woman starts throwing sand at Mommy.  Grandma ceases her childlike behavior and speaks rationally to the audience, telling us about her life and the difficulties of  raising her daughter, Mommy.  Grandma starts talking to the Young Man, who says he’s an actor.  The Young Man is exceedingly gracious to Grandma in contrast to Mommy and Daddy, who treat her as a burden they must take care of.  Grandma remarks that it should be night by now and the lights dim; Mommy and Daddy hear an off-stage rumble.  Mommy declares that the sound is literally coming from off stage (acknowledging that this is a play in a theater) and not from thunder or breaking waves; she recognizes that this is a harbinger of Grandma’s death.  As the lights come back up to daytime, Mommy stands briefly by the sandbox and weeps perfunctorily before exiting with Daddy. Grandma, lying half buried in sand, continues to mock Mommy’s and Daddy’s mourning, but she soon finds that she can’t move.  At this point, the Young Man stops exercising and comes down to Grandma in the sandbox.  He tells the old woman to be still and reveals that he’s the Angel of Death, saying, “. . . I am come for you.”  The Young Man is a little abashed at his amateurish delivery of this line, then he leans over and kisses Grandma on the forehead.  Grandma compliments him and, smiling, closes her eyes.  As the curtain closes, the cellist continues to play.

Christopher Isherwood dismissed The Sandbox as an “amuse-bouche for the heavier fare that follows,” but I think it’s more than that.  Albee was only 31 when he wrote Sandbox, which the playwright considers one of his first plays (with 1958’s Zoo Story and 1959’s The Death of Bessie Smith), but he was already tackling significant and troubling themes.  Deceptively simple, The Sandbox takes on some heady subjects in its brief span.  It’s a biting satire on the false ideals and the lack of love and empathy, particularly for our elders, in the middle-class American family.  In a way, The American Dream, which uses some of the same characters and some of the same dramatic material, can be seen as a prequel to The Sandbox.  Both plays are Albee’s indictment of middle-class sanctimony and duplicity.   As the playwright said in 1961 of The American Dream (just as accurate with respect to The Sandbox): “The  play is an examination of the American Scene, an attack on the substitution of artificial for real values in our society, a condemnation of complacency, cruelty, emasculation and vacuity; it is a stand against the fiction that everything in this slipping land of ours is peachy-keen.”

Neugebauer’s staging was clean and as spare as the play requires.  This play is harder to do than it looks.  Albee’s dead-pan style of acting and speaking here, without real emotional context but with put-on feelings—the characters of Mommy and Daddy especially are “acting”—and the communication of the playwright’s points are not easy to glom onto.  There’s a tendency to overplay the subtext, which turns the play into a bad joke, a sort of a soap-opera travesty, or to suppress all affect completely, which destroys Albee’s message.  Playing The Sandbox “straight,” so to speak, as if it were some kind of odd Realism, ends up just a disaster of incomprehensibility.  The STC cast nailed it, however.  I’ve seen a couple of the actors in STC’s Sandbox in other productions, but nothing like this and I can only say that the cast and Neugebauer together got this exactly right.

Mimi Lien’s set, which is somewhat more elaborate than Albee’s description of the scene, still comprises no more than is needed for the play’s action.  The whole gives a clear impression of a sunny beach and the sky backdrop brightens under Mark Barton’s lighting for the sunshine of midday and darkens as called for to the dark of night.  It has the sharp-edged starkness of an Edward Hopper painting which blends well with Albee’s vision and Neugebauer’s staging.  Except for Giron’s cellist, who wears the long, dark, formal gown of a concert soloist, the bathing suits of the other four characters, as designed by Kaye Voyce, are more-or-less mid-20th-century (when the play was written, after all).

Between Sandbox and Drowning is a pause to change the set behind the lowered curtain.  A projected sign above the proscenium reads “9 minute pause.”  My neighbor wondered why they didn’t use a count-down sign, but when the interval went on longer than nine minutes, I suggested that that was perhaps the reason: what would they do after the clock reached 0?  Start counting back up?  Go into negative numbers?  The whole process is made even more absurd when a bearded young man, who turns out to be actor Nicholas Bruder (Raymond in Funnyhouse), sets an old radio on the stage edge and, surfing the stations, plays pop music through the pause, starting with the Temps’ “Just My Imagination (Running Away with Me)” (1971). Bruder sits on the edge of the stage as well, smiling a bemused grin.
                                        
María Irene Fornés’s Drowning, the evening’s second offering, was written in 1986 as part of Orchards, the collection of plays based on stories by Anton Chekhov commissioned by the Acting Company.  Fornés’s assigned tale, also called Drowning [“Утопленник” – utoplennik – which actually means ‘drowned person’], was an 1885 story about a hustler who works the docks trying to make money by jumping off the pier and impersonating a drowning man.  After finding a willing customer and bargaining over the fee, the man jumps in, thrashes around in the water, climbs out soaking wet, collects his few kopecks, and goes off into the darkness in wet clothes and unnoticed.  (The only English translation in print seems to be in The Unknown Chekhov translated and edited by Avrahm Yarmolinsky [Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1999].  Drowning was also adapted, somewhat more literally than Fornés’s treatment, by Neil Simon as “The Drowned Man” in The Good Doctor, his own 1973 collection of playlets based on Chekhov short stories.)

When the playwright read the story, she nearly asked for a new assignment.  “I didn’t even feel there was a complete story there,” Fornés has said, “just two or three pages with an ambivalent ending.” 

I couldn’t understand if this was an allegorical situation or if a drowning act was something that was actually done.  But I began feeling very moved by this drowning man, who walks away wet and lonely at the end.  Even when I wasn’t thinking about the play I was supposed to write, I was thinking about him—his size, his humiliation, the way he boasted about doing the best drowning act possible. I could picture him—a very large man who looks almost like an animal, a combination of a man and a sea lion with the skin of a seal.

The Acting Company’s Orchards played on 22 April-4 May 1986 at the Lucille Lortel Theatre in Greenwich Village.  STC produced Fornés’s Drowning (on a two-play bill with Mud), from 26 September to 10 October 1999 as part of her residency season at the company’s home at the time, the Peter Norton Space on far-west Theatre Row.  There’ve also been occasional regional and university productions, but the play’s elaborate makeup requirements, including major prosthetics, along with its thematic obscurity render Drowning less popular than The Sandbox

In the end, Fornés’s three-scene, 30-minute play, more Surrealist than Absurdist, has only the slimmest relation to Chekhov’s story; the Cuban-born playwright seems to have taken nothing but the sense of loneliness and dejection she felt in the tale.  She also seems to have based her concept for a drama on the vision of the character she conjured, the “combination of a man and a sea lion with the skin of a seal”; her script describes the plays characters as having “heads . . . large and shapeless, like potatoes.  Their skin is dark.  Their flesh is shiny and oily. . . .  Their bodies are also like potatoes.”  The makeup and prostheses used in the Signature Plays, designed by Voyce, seem to be based on the 1999 design (conceived by Teresa Snider-Stein and built by Den Design Studio). 

Gone are the pier, the drowning-man impersonator, the performance, and the paying customer, along with anything remotely suggesting the 19th century.  María Irene Fornés’s Drowning takes place in what looks like the lunch room of a factory (or, to be honest, a cafeteria in Soviet-era Russia in which I might have eaten back in 1965)—bleak, dim, with beige tiled walls, a linoleum floor, and a couple of metal café tables with metal chairs.  Even the window panes are opaque.  Two grotesque figures who look like some kind of undersea creatures with misshapen bodies, a little like the figures in paintings by Fernando Botero, sit at the table at stage right.  (One reviewer in 1999 remarked on the characters’ “enormous jowls” which could also look like gills.)  They speak and move very slowly, as if they were under water.  The child-like innocent, Pea (Mikéah Ernest Jennings), and his more knowledgeable companion, Roe (Sahr Ngaujah), are waiting for Stephen (Frank Wood). 

Roe has a folded newspaper on the table and Pea spots it.  Never having seen such a things, he exclaims, “My God, what is it?”  Roe explains what a newspaper is and Pea looks at it and finds the photograph of a woman.  “She’s beautiful. I would like to look at her. In the flesh,” says Pea wishfully.  As Pea and Roe talk, Stephen arrives.  In scene two, all of two lines long, Pea has his head on the table, sleeping.  Stephen says of Pea, “He is very kind and he could not do harm to anyone,” to which Roe replies, “Yes.  And I don’t want any harm to come to him either because he’s good.”  In scene three, some time has passed and Pea is agitated.  He’s fallen in love with the woman in the photo and has met her, but she’s repulsed by him.  Pea’s despondent.  He asks Roe, “Do you know what it is to need someone?  The feeling is much deeper than words can ever say.  Do you know what despair is?  Anguish?”  Roe responds, “What a terrible thing to see a young man like you destroyed like this.  Suffering like this.”  Pea sighs, “Is this why we have come to life?  To love like this?  And hurt like this?” and puts his head down on the table again.  Roe laments to Stephen, “He’s drowning.  He hurts too much.”  The lights go to black.

I get that this is supposed to express unbearable sorrow and sadness, but beyond that, Fornés’s meaning is beyond me.  (Another 1999 reviewer offered that Drowning was “closer to a staged poem (or is it a painting?) than a play.”)  Why must the characters be grotesques?  Is that supposed to give us distance?  If the characters looked human, would we be lost in sentiment?  What’s the point of the slow-motion movement and speech?  Another alienating technique?  Chekhov’s story is darkly funny, but Fornés’s take is unrelentingly, almost oppressively melancholy.  After the provocative but spritely Sandbox, Drowning felt like someone had jammed on the brakes of the evening; my speedy little go-cart got bogged down on a patch of muddy track.  Bummer!

If bleak is Fornés’s intent, Lien’s characterless cafeteria and Barton’s somber lighting certainly establish that atmosphere.  No one I know would relish eating there or even stopping for a cup of coffee, much less spending any appreciable time there.  Voyce’s costumes and makeup, whether or not they were derived from STC’s 1999 concepts, evoke the descriptions in Fornés’s text with even more distance from humanity than the Acting Company’s designs seem to have (in photos of the production) in 1986.  All together, this is an alien environment with superficial resemblances to a human world in which Neugebauer’s (based on Fornés’s) misshapen beings express near-human feelings of loss, despair, and sorrow.  As far as I can judge, the director has devised a production that illustrates the playwright’s text faithfully, with the help of the actors who seem to have embodied the characters fully—but has she made Fornés’s message clear (assuming there is one)?  Well, not to me, in any case. 

Following the intermission, Signature Plays presents Adrienne Kennedy’s arresting and halucinatory 1964 Funnyhouse of a Negro, begun in 1961 while traveling in Africa, the first of her plays to be produced.  It premièred at the East End Theater in what is now New York City’s NoHo district in January 1964; the production won Kennedy her first Obie Award for Distinguished Play (shared with Dutchman by LeRoi Jones, later known as Amiri Baraka).  Signature produced the play from 22 September to 22 October 1995 on a bill with Kennedy’s A Movie Star Has to Star in Black and White as part of Adrienne Kennedy’s residency at the company, and the Classical Theatre of Harlem  presented Funnyhouse in February 2006.

Kennedy has written that Funnyhouse was formed in her mind when she traveled to Europe and Africa with her family in the fall of 1960.  In London, she saw the statue of Queen Victoria in front of Buckingham Palace and when they arrived in Ghana, pictures of Patrice Lamumba were on posters and small cards all over the country.  Lamumba was assassinated in Congo on 17 January 1961, soon after the Kennedys arrived in Ghana.  Other figures in the play came from similar sources: the Duchess of Hapsburg was associated with a visit to the Chapultapec Palace (Castle) in Mexico City and Jesus was associated in her mind, Kennedy says, with her father, a social worker who left her parents’ Cleveland home in May 1961 to return to Georgia.  Kennedy finished Funnyhouse of a Negro in Rome that July.

Funnyhouse of a Negro, which runs about 50 minutes over five scenes, takes place within the mind of the central character, Negro-Sarah.  By my figuring, that makes it an Expressionist drama (which depicts the characters’ subjective feelings and psychological dispositions), but with a heavy dose of Symbolism in the mix.  It tells the story of Sarah (Crystal Dickinson), a young, light-skinned African-American student—she refers to herself as “yellow”—who lives in New York City, focusing on her inner struggle with her racial identity.  The child of a light-skinned mother (Pia Glenn), whom she worships, and a dark-skinned father, whom she despises, Sarah, obsessed with whiteness, spends much of her time trying to come to terms with her feelings about her mixed heritage.  The setting is Sarah’s room “on the top floor of a brownstone in the West Nineties,” which is a manifestation of her mind, becoming different locations that Sarah imagines; this is the “funnyhouse,” and it’s run by two white characters, Sarah’s Landlady (Alison Fraser) and her Jewish boyfriend, Raymond (Nicholas Bruder), both of whom mock her and contradict her account of events.  Various historical figures represent Sarah’s black and white heritage, her alter-egos: Queen Victoria Regina (April Matthis), the Duchess of Hapsburg (January LaVoy), Patrice Lumumba (Sahr Ngaujah), and Jesus (Mikéah Ernest Jennings). 

Sarah’s room depicts her obsession with whiteness, featuring prominently a large, white statue of Queen Victoria.  In the first scene, the room becomes the Queen’s chamber for a scene between Victoria and the Duchess—who voice different aspects of Sarah’s thoughts.  In a subsequent scene, for instance, Raymond and the Queen talk about the Duchess’s “father,” who’s really Sarah’s father.  There’s a constant knocking sound under the rest of the play, the attempts by Sarah’s father, whom we learn was a would-be revolutionary who married Sarah’s mother and took her to Africa, to reach her.  When Sarah’s mother stopped loving Sarah’s father and became aloof, he raped her and Sarah was the child of that rape.  Sarah’s mother lost all her hair and ended up in an asylum.  The hair falling out is a recurring image in Funnyhouse and we learn that the Queen is losing her hair, too, which means that Sarah’s hair is falling out, since both the Duchess and Victoria are avatars of Sarah.  Sarah has already told us that her pale complexion is contradicted by her hair, which is “frizzy, . . . unmistakably Negro kinky hair,” so the loss of her hair is the result of the conflict between her white side and her black side which can’t exist together.

The Queen and the Duchess, who wear white-face makeup, are manifestations of Sarah’s white persona, but the next scene is a speech by the Congolese revolutionary leader Patrice Lamumba, though his identity isn’t revealed to us yet, representing Sarah’s black self.  In following scenes, most of this is repeated, like a litany, with the words coming out of the mouths of different characters—which sometimes gives them different meanings.  Little by little, we learn more details of Sarah’s life, both past and present; it’s not revealed in a linear fashion, but we have to piece the biography together as it comes to us haphazardly.  As in a dream, the plot of Funnyhouse isn’t straightforward, either, and it’s hard to follow if the spectator loses focus even for a few minutes.  (It would be advisable to read the play beforehand perhaps, although that spoils the shock value of the surprises Kennedy embedded in the play.  I won’t provide any more of the plot here for that reason—and also because it becomes impossibly convoluted to recount and read.)  Because Funnyhouse of a Negro takes place inside Sarah’s head, we’re supposed to gain some understanding of the real sense of being trapped and alienated felt by an African-American woman in America.  It was undoubtedly a stronger feeling in the mid-’60s, when Kennedy wrote the pay, than now—but I imagine, on the evidence of the racial issues that today are in the news all the time, that it’s still prevalent among black Americans as well as other marginalized and disenfranchised minorities.  (I wonder, for instance, how an American Muslim sitting in the Griffin Theatre might respond to Funnyhouse.)

Funnyhouse of a Negro is a tough play to follow and, given that, an even tougher one to interpret.  (I suspect that it will mean somewhat different things to different viewers—and some will probably get little or nothing out of it.)  My instant reaction was: I have to think about this one before I know what I saw.  Whereas Drowning just left me numb and dumbfounded, Funnyhouse prompted me, first, not to dismiss it out of hand and, second, to go home and examine what I’d taken away.  (I confess: I also did a little reading—and I ultimately bought the text.)  Not infrequently, I figure out what I got from a play, what it meant to me, when I write my report for ROT, but in the case of Funnyhouse, I still don’t really know.

I can, however, make some comments on the production.  So, first, Neugebauer’s staging is strong and firm; I imagine it could be easy for Funnyhouse to get away from a director who can’t rein it in.  (Casting is also clearly a vital task for a play like this, and I can’t fault Neugebauer’s choices here in the least.)  As hard as it was for me to keep everything sorted out, the director does her best with Kennedy’s complex and convoluted text to make it accessible.  She and her cast also keep the energy level up so that the play moves with vigor, but without leaving me behind.  I also have to compliment the actors for navigating this labyrinth of a play, with so many twists and cul-de-sacs, flights of dream-like action and speech, nightmarish images, and, for African-American actors I’d imagine, difficult ideas.  (I did a production of Marat/Sade in college, playing one of the asylum inmates in de Sade’s play-within-the-play, and after many weeks of rehearsals and performances, it had gotten inside my psyche—and that of some of my castmates as well—so that I began behaving oddly until the spirits conjured up by Peter Weiss were exorcised after the run ended.  I wonder if any of the cast of Funnyhouse of a Negro is experiencing anything similar.) 

Lien’s cavernous room, darkly lit by Barton so that it’s shadowy and ominous, is the setting for anyone’s nightmare.  The long staircase from a doorway high above the stage floor gives the room the air of a dungeon  With Wolcott’s soundscape, eerie original music plus that constant knocking, the whole environment is spooky.  Voyce’s costumes created a world of both fantasy and menace, alternatingly and sometimes simultaneously.  I have no idea what it’d be like to be inside someone’s mind, especially one off balance like Sarah’s, but if it’s anything like Funnyhouse, I sure wouldn’t want to go there for real.

Show-Score gave the Signature Plays a score of 73 based on its tally of 14 reviews.  (Coverage was meager.  Shame on you, New York papers and websites!)  The presentation garnered 64% positive reviews, 14% negative, and 22% mixed.  The New York Times got the second-highest rating in a three-way tie.  Calling the three one-acts “the theatrical equivalent of [funhouse] mirrors,” Ben Brantley dubbed the Signature Plays a “tasty bill” and labeled Neugebauer’s direction “accomplished.”  He declared that each short play “in its own way slyly reflects the nightmare within the American dream.”  He called Sandbox a “stark little diversion” in which “you’ll still find much to savor and shiver over.”  It has “the stylish self-sufficiency of a crisply turned epigram” that “doesn’t have an ounce of superfluous fat.”  Drowning’s “a gentle paean to the laboriousness and loneliness of living small,” continued Brantley, a “deeply compassionate elegy on the confounding sorrows of day-to-day existence.”  The Timesman warned, “The glacier-paced interactions of the actors here may initially madden you; by the end, the sense of the oppressive weight that controls their motions breaks your heart.”  Funnyhouse, the Times reviewer wrote, is the “most visually arresting” of the three pieces, “its flamboyant patterns have been etched in acid.”  Of the entire production, Brantley wrote: “In every case, this first-rate creative team has done its job.  That is to say, they’ve created unfamiliar worlds that somehow feel deeply, ineffably familiar—the sort of places that you visit as you’re falling asleep.  And all the places you’ve ever lived, and all the people you’ve ever been, start to mingle and merge into one eerie, endlessly reflected entity.”

The reviewer for the New Yorker’s “Goings On About Town” column declared that “it is fascinating to hear language that is this imaginative and authentic again.”  The anonymous review-writer praised the actors especially.  David Cote on Time Out New York posited that an evening of three plays about death “might sound like a numbing two hours, but it’s not when the language is crafted by such giants of American experimental theater.”  He called Sandbox a “metatheatrical sketch” that’s “both satiric and tender, . . . its wryly funny laughs drying in your throat.”  Drowning is “brief and utterly bizarre” and a “creepy dream state.”  Cote described Funnyhouse as a “metaphysical onslaught” and pronounced it “the program’s . . . most satisfying offering.”  He declared in the end, “I bet you won’t see anything so fearlessly weird and original all year.”

On Cultural Weekly, David Sheward felt that Sandbox “provides a darkly comic take on mortality and jabs at middle-class suppression of emotion” and “Albee greets the unknown with a sardonic chuckle rather than a scream of terror.”  Drowning, said Sheward, “is much bleaker and more confounding”; the staging, however, “is so slowly paced and obscure it fails to generate any of the insights of the human condition usually associated with” Chekhov.  To conclude what Sheward labeled an “uneven evening,” Signature Plays offered a “nightmare of a play,” Funnyhouse of a Negro, which “has its moments of effective anguish,” but otherwise Neugebauer directed it “like a Hammer House of Horror screamfest.”  The CW reviewer concluded that Neugebauer “only gets the right tone for the witty Sandbox.  She lets Drowning drown and Funnyhouse is more like a haunted house.”  On Theatre’s Leiter Side, Samuel Leiter declared that Sandbox “seems more interesting as an artifact from Albee’s pre-Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? experimental phase, than as a living drama.”  The central performances in Drowning “help make this surreal piece the most affecting of the generally unaffecting evening,” Leiter found, and the slow-motion approach makes the play “subtly evocative and moving.”  Calling Funnyhouse “the pièce de résistance” of the bill, the blogger found that it “gradually loses any emotional connection with its audience.  Like what happens to its heroine, it leaves them hanging at the end.”  In the end, Leiter decided, “I suspect it will be of interest chiefly to academics and theatre students; for the general theatregoer, not so much.”

Pete Hempstead of TheaterMania dubbed the Signature Plays “a trio of brilliant plays,” adding that Neugebauer’s “direction is nothing short of extraordinary” and the cast gives “impeccable performances.”  The three plays combine to generate “two humorous and frightening hours of theater.”  The Sandbox, said Hempstead, is “disconcerting though undeniably playful” and Drowning is “subdued.”  Funnyhouse, wrote the TM reviewer, is “nightmarish” and “phantasmagoric,” told in “a series of gothic-tinged scenes.”  With the help of Barton’s “astounding lighting techniques” and Walcott’s “unsettling music and jarring sound design,” Neugebauer “creates a sublime atmosphere of dread and horror.”  Hempstead’s conclusion was that the triple bill “is a feast for the eyes as well as the brain.”  On Talkin’ Broadway, Matthew Murray warned that the Signature Plays’ “entries themselves are not exactly of the cheery sort.”  They are, though, “all major pieces worthy of examination, and given thoughtful, well-considered mountings” at STC.  As a result, “you get . . . a potent, pungent look at . . . three different towering American theatre artists.”  Describing Sandbox as “a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it play . . . that nonetheless runs surprisingly deep,” the TB review-writer found that “its tart writing and grinning brutality create a seamless blend between comedy and tragedy.”  Drowning, posited the blogger, documents “the genesis and aftermath of an impossible dream gone awry” and because of the “lugubrious treatment” given the play “ it fails to satisfy.”  Funnyhouse, on the other hand, “delivers the consummate greater jolts” because it “receives the clarifying respect it deserves.”  Neugebauer and the design team have created “an imposing production that reflects the darkness at work.” 

So, although I never considered the dichotomous nature of a bill of one-acts when I subscribed to the Signature season or booked the seats for the Signature Plays some weeks ago, it came to my attention at  the program’s intermission.  Buoyed up by Albee’s Sandbox, dropped precipitously by Fornés’s Drowning, I was soon to be left a little adrift by Kennedy’s Funnyhouse.  That’s the nature of the genre, however, and it has given me something about which to write.

[In addition to the dearth of reviews of this production across the media, there were several that aren’t represented here even though they did cover the Signature Plays.  The notices were so devoid of quotable passages that I couldn’t cite them; the reviewers devoted their columns almost entirely to plot descriptions and summaries.]