The Precious Ring

The Engagement Party -- Hartford Stage -- Through February 3

                When Samuel Baum was writing his play, The Engagement Party, I imagine he was fresh from reading Robert Burns’ poem, “To a Mouse.” You know the one – it’s where Burns writes: “The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men / Gang aft agley,.” Or perhaps while he was tapping on his keyboard, Baum was playing Joe South in the background, South singing “The Games People Play” – “Oh the games people play now / Every night and every day now / Never meaning what they say now / Never saying what they mean.” Maybe not, but this tightly-written play about how things can fall apart and the games even best friends play certainly evokes thoughts of both the poem and the song.

                Astutely directed by Darko Tresnjak, with a major assist from scenic designer Alexander Dodge, who deftly utilizes the theater’s turntable stage to reveal various rooms in a Park Avenue apartment, this engaging one-act play perceptively plays with the audience’s emotions: a rise and fall, then another rise and fall, and yet another until we get to the denouement that, though expected, is still satisfying.

                So, what do we have here? Well, it’s an engagement party that Josh (Zach Appelman) and Katherine (Beth Riesgraf) are hosting for Kate’s family and some close friends. There’s some initial couple-nuzzling between the two and some pickle-arranging and then the guests start to arrive.

First are Kate’s parents, Conrad (Richard Bekins) and Gail (Mia Dillon – kudos for her subtle, hush-puppy Southern accent), both of whom are apparently delighted with the pending marriage of their daughter to Josh. The bell rings, the door opens, and Haley (Anne Troup) and her husband Kai (Brian Lee Huynh) stroll in. At this point it becomes obvious what costume designer Joshua Pearson has brought to the party, for while Kate is dressed in a stylish, clinging gown, Haley, her college friend, is wearing drab clothes that seem to want to shun her body.

Another doorbell ding-dong and Alan (Teddy Bergman) appears, appropriately dressed as the professor he is. The group sits down for some social chit-chat, mostly dealing with how Josh and Kate met and whether Josh, jokingly, really deserves Kate. There’s a slight bit of tension when Conrad questions Alan, a sociology professor, about his antagonism to the consumer society, but the pot, right now, is only on a very low simmer.

Anne Troup, Brian Lee Huynh, Richard Bekins, Mia Dillon
Beth Riesgraf, Teddy Bergman and Zach Appelman

A final doorbell, and in bursts Johnny (Brian Patrick Murphy), Josh’s childhood friend who is back from a recent tour in Iraq. He’s loud, profane (his shirt, compliments of Pearson, says it all) and his entrance jerks the audience out of its expositional lethargy. There’s a sense that things are about to happen, and they soon do.

Given the nature of the play, writing about it opens up many spoiler-pitfalls. I will try to skirt them, but it’s impossible not to mention the engagement ring ($300,000 of diamonds) that Josh has given Kate. This is what Hitchcock would call the MacGuffin, the object that has really no true value to the plot but motivates the characters to act in certain ways and pursue certain goals…and in this case, reveal underlying discontents and several dark secrets. What triggers the rising action of the play is the loss of the ring – it disappeared when Kai spilled some wine while at dinner. Where has it gone? Has someone…horrors!...stolen it?

  What follows is the breakdown of friendships as Josh’s suspicions, with underlying motivations that will eventually be revealed, turn from one guest to another. This leads to some intensely emotional confrontations in the living room, the kitchen, and finally a bedroom (as the set turns), all deftly acted out by this superb cast. In the process, the loving, familial, fraternal relationships established in the early exposition are challenged and fractured.

Part of the play’s appeal is that there’s nary a cardboard character on the stage. Baum has peopled his play with flesh-and-blood folks complete with their own fears, desires and ghosts. Thus, as they interact, ostensibly motivated by the ring’s disappearance, the audience is involved. Whether it’s Kai confronting Josh about his suspicions, or Kai challenging Alan about what he has said (or revealed), or Kate confronting Josh about how they met and his true motivations, or a major reveal late in the play that involves Gwen, Conrad, Josh and Kate (the reveal a tad melodramatic; it’s a soap-opera moment but, whatever), it all engages the audience because there have been emotional connections made with these characters.

The danger inherent in plays like The Engagement Party, with its multiple reveals and rising emotions, is that, as things heat up, actors might have a tendency to go over the top. Tresnjak doesn’t allow this to happen. Yes, there’s disillusion and disappointment expressed and voices are raised, but the heightened scenes never become an excuse for the characters to lose their inherent civility. In other words, they tremble on the “eve of destruction” of relationships but pull back from the ultimate abyss – they opt to leave rather than drive a stake into the heart of their relationhips. This makes what has been fractured in the relationships over the course of the evening all the more poignant. Although there are flashes of anger, the operative emotion at the end of the play is sadness and a sense that it all didn’t have to happen, punctuated by a very simple sound, almost inaudible, at the end of the play that is a wonderful theatrical moment.

The pleasure in watching The Engagement Party unfold is that every member of the audience can relate, in one way or another, to what occurs. We have all told “social lies,” we have all become heated and perhaps irritated to the point of mania over something that, in the end, is revealed to be trivial. We have all said things that, with the dawn, we wish we could erase from the tape of life. We have all done things that, over the years, weigh us down, that we form mental scabs over and yet, still, there is pain. The play compresses all of this into one evening’s social gathering that is meant to be joyous and yet becomes a slashing of the fabric that holds us all together.

As I exited the theater, a man in front of me turned to his companion and said. “Wasn’t that a wonderful play?” She nodded and said: “I want to cry for all of them.” Well, yes, you do want to cry for all of the characters because, well, to edit the immortal words of Pogo, “They are us.”

The Engagement Party runs through February 3. For tickets or more information call 860-527-5151 or go to www.hartfordtsage.org.

Murder Most Melodic

Murder for Two -- Playhouse on Park -- Through February 3

                What if Agatha Christie had written one of her mystery novels under the influence of peyote while Irving Berlin was staying with her as a house guest? The result might very well have been Murder for Two, a zany musical whodunit that recently opened at Playhouse on Park in West Hartford. Under the sure-handed direction of Kyle Metzger, with a book by Joe Kinosian and Kellen Blair, music by Kinosian and lyrics by Blair, this exercise in controlled silliness takes a tried-and-true Christie premise – a murder in a manorial home with all present as possible suspects – and infuses it with Marx-brother’s manic zaniness, all created by just two piano-playing actors.

                The evening opens, appropriately, with a murder. A surprise birthday party has been planned for Arthur Whitney, author of numerous mystery novels. However, as soon as he enters he is shot in the head. Who could have committed such an evil act? Soon on the scene is a police officer, Marcus (John Grieco), who hopes to be promoted to the rank of Detective. While the actual Detective is on his way, Marcus decides to solve the case and thus garner the attention of his boss, something he knows he can do if he just follows protocol, which means interviewing all of those present.

Tevor Dornor and John Grieco

                Quite a few have been invited to the party, and part of the silliness is that they are all played by one actor – the rather deft, agile and talented Trevor Dorner. Over the course of the evening he’s called upon to play the murder victim’s wife plus a femme fatale ballerina, a bilious businessman and his wife (whom he claims has murdered before), a psychiatrist, a young college student writing her thesis on murder and members of a boys’ choir.

                So, it sounds a bit like Irma Vepp or the 39 Steps parody, but there’s a difference, for both actors play the piano, and much of the plot development and interrogations are done via song. There’s an early paean to the value of “protocol,” and, perhaps the high point of the evening, three of the members of the boys’ choir bursting out into song. Then there’s the murder victim’s wife just dying to sing her show-stopping song (she finally gets the chance).

                Along the way there’s quite a bit of audience interaction, starting even before the lights go down. At one point, an audience member is invited on stage to portray a man dying of poison. All of it requires a huge suspension of disbelief, but if you buy the premise early on you won’t have any trouble embracing this one-act exercise in pun-riddled goofiness.

                Is the murder solved? Well, yes, although to accept the resolution you can’t be a slave to logic. Oh, yes, you will also learn who stole the party’s ice cream. Of course, the murder investigation is merely the frame to allow two very talented actors to show their stuff and their piano-playing prowess. It’s a tongue-in-cheek production from start to finish and a must-see for those who don’t demand that every theatrical production deliver a message and deal with relevant, soul-searching issues. Sometimes you just go to the theater to have fun.

                Murder for Two runs through February 3. For tickets or more information call 860-523-5900, X10, or go to www.playhouseonpark.org

Much Ado About a Lot of Things

Miller, Mississippi -- Long Wharf Theatre -- Through February 3

                I think I’ll write a play. Hmm, let me see, what can it be about? Well, how about racism and the Civil Rights movement – that’s always a hot topic. But maybe it could be about generational incest, or perhaps homosexuality and AIDs, or maybe I’ll create a portrait of the South in the middle of the 20^th century, with so many issues still left unresolved (and just a smidgen of Southern Gothic thrown in for good measure – the Flannery O’Connor thing), or just bring my audience into the lives of the members of a dysfunctional family. So many possibilities. What’s a playwright to do? Well, why choose? Why not deal with all of these topics. That, apparently, is what Boo Killebrew decided to do in writing Miller, Mississippi, which recently opened at Long Wharf Theatre under the direction of Lee Sunday Evans. As might be imagined, the results are, at best, mixed.

                Spanning some 30 or so years in the life of the Miller family, this somewhat unfocused play attempts to be many things to many people and, as a result, as the person who accompanied me suggested, it is often “tediously entertaining.” That may seem a bit oxymoronic, but it’s apt. The play opens with a bang (literally – Daddy-dearest has shot himself)) followed by the Miller’s housekeeper, Doris (Benja Kay Thomas), telling a story to the three Miller children: Thomas (Roderick Hill), Becky (Leah Karpel), and John (Jacob Perkins). The three actors playing the children do their best to portray adolescents, but their physical appearances belie their purported ages. In any event, it’s a haunted house tale, and it soon becomes apparent that the house in the story is a symbol for the Miller abode, although Killebrew doesn’t make as much of this as she might have.

                Essentially aloof from the intimate goings-on in the family is the children’s mother, Mildred (Charlotte Booker), whose parental guidance, fueled by a couple of stiff drinks, consists of bromides and nods to the social mores of mid-century Mississippi; thus it falls to Doris to provide guidance and a certain amount of stability to the children’s lives (think Scout and Jem’s relationship with Calpurnia in To Kill a Mockingbird, although Atticus certainly wasn’t aloof).

              The nature of the various familial dysfunctions is slowly revealed over a rather long first act – a lot is implied that will be confirmed in the second act. Given the nature of the play, the actors are required to age, and once their characters reach their maturity the actors seem a lot more comfortable in their roles. It’s Karpel who handles this process the best, for with just a change of hairstyle and a growing slump of the shoulders she is quite believable both as a teenage girl and finally a totally repressed woman who has essentially become a slave to the house.

                Whether you resonate with any of the multiple plot lines is probably determined by what you bring to the play. Are you sensitive to racial issues and the continuing struggle for racial equality? Then the play, at moments, will speak to you. Have you ever had to deal with incest, either personally or within a broader family construct? Well, then, there will be moments for you, although John’s explanation for the incest (essentially: “Daddy did it, so I thought it was okay. I was just walking in his footsteps.”) seems a bit lame, and why Becky succumbs and allows the relationships to continue is never really dealt with (that would take an entire play in and of itself). Have you had a parent who was in denial? Well, you’ll respond to Mildred and why she doesn’t do more to protect her children. Are you of Southern heritage? Well, then, the depiction of the Mississippi mind-set will possibly evoke memories.

          It’s often difficult to figure out how to end a play, especially with so many narrative strings being interwoven. In the case of Miller, Mississippi, it’s not clear what we are to think about the final extended scene: Thomas prostrate in a bed, dying of AIDs, while on the television John, a newly elected state senator, proclaims the glories of Mississippi. What’s being said? What’s the point? Evil and mendacity triumph? One might wish that Killibrew had reflected a bit more on how she began the play – that story about the haunted house oozing its evil – and used that to at least bring everything full-circle.

                Quite simply, Killibrew puts too much on her play’s plate, so it’s difficult to savor any single offering, and thus, at the end, you might feel over-stuffed and under-satisfied. The basic problem is that causation for this family’s problems is unclear: is it Mississippi and the Southern mind-set (and the fact that many white children were essentially raised by black women)? Or could it be within the family itself, which means the play could just have easily been set in Vermont. Is the evil of racism at the core of the family’s dissolution? The theater’s lobby display is heavy on the history of the Civil Rights movement and the atrocities that occurred during that period, but is that supposed to explain the incest or Thomas’s alienation because of his homosexuality or Mildred’s detachment from her children’s problems? Or can it all be placed at the doorstep of the turbulence and violence the country went through in the three-plus decades the play covers? ‘Tis a puzzlement.

                Miller, Mississippi runs through February 3. For tickets or more information call 203-787-4282 or go to www.longwharf.org.

Little Acts of Kindness

These days, it’s not uncommon to feel emasculated as citizens of the United States. It seems all our “leaders” can do is snarl and snipe at each other. Random acts of violence are common. People with hate in their hearts, or perversions in their minds, strike out and kill for no apparent reason. What we once believed in, perhaps with naïve innocence, all seems up for grabs: truth, morality, honor are now all relative (perhaps they always were), and voting appears to be nothing more than a scam, a shell game in which those with the quickest hands get to garner the most votes regardless of how the electorate actually responded.

                Given the current environment, it’s understandable that many of us just throw up our hands and say “The hell with it!” It’s all broken. We scurry back to our homes and hide, perhaps go to sleep earlier than we used to just to disassociate ourselves from the apparent insanity rampant outside our locked doors. When we wake up in the morning and as thoughts tumble in, we sigh and say “There’s nothing I can do about all of this.” We might say to ourselves we will no longer look at the televised news, no longer read newspapers or magazines, no longer listen to the radio or get locked onto the Internet, clicking and clicking and clicking – we will, to the best of our abilities, become hermits, encase ourselves in whatever womb we can successfully construct, assume the pre-natal position and hope, one day, that, somehow, there will be a better world out there, outside our locked doors.

                I acknowledge there’s nothing I can do about what’s happening in Washington, which seems as if it is currently populated by ferrets. I acknowledge there’s nothing I can do to ease the suffering in the trouble-spots of the world. I acknowledge that I can’t cure cancer or eliminate child or spousal abuse. So, it would seem, I am left with no options – nothing I can do -- a workable definition of despair. But there is something I can do.

                Kindness. Little gestures. No, they won’t change the world but, oddly enough, in little ways, they will change yours, and in so doing perhaps you won’t toss and turn so much at night.

                Holding open a door for someone. It takes a second or two, and the person often says “Thank you” and you say “You’re welcome.” Simple, but you’ve created a little wave of curtesy that may ripple through that person’s day.

                Slowing down and letting someone into the right lane of the freeway. No big deal. So you get to where you’re going five seconds later, but often that driver will wave, a visual “Thank you,” and perhaps two miles down the road, he or she will let another person in, who will wave or perhaps flick the car’s lights in acknowledgement. Perhaps kindness and little gestures are progressive, they multiply.

                I was in a supermarket a month ago and was pulling out a cart (those metal structures on wheels that tenaciously want to bond with each other) when an elderly woman started tugging fruitlessly on a cart. I gave her my cart, which certainly didn’t make me a candidate for sainthood, but she looked at me, smiled, and said. “Thank you.” So, today I was in the same store, tugging at a reluctant cart when a man came up, pulled out a cart from another line and offered it to me. I said “Thank you,” and as I walked off into the aisles I paused…and wondered. Had a ripple from a wave I had created just lapped back onto my shore?

                I can’t defeat hate. I can’t defeat cruelty. All I can do, in my small way, is be kind, be generous, be, when appropriate, humble. All I can do is embrace the humanity swirling about me and believe that these human beings, often so sorely troubled, just need a little kindness, as minor as it may be. I have found that when you are mean, when you’re spiteful, when you do not hold open the door but stride in to be served first, because you deserve such service, your soul gains just a little more weight, and if it gets heavy enough, it can no longer fly…it sinks into an abyss. However, when you hold open the door, your soul sheds a few ounces, and if it loses enough weight, it soars.   

A Compelling "Cat"

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof -- MTC Mainstage (Norwalk) -- Through November 18

Front: Andrea Lynn Green, Cynthia Hannah, Robert Mobley
Back: Michael Raver, Frank Mastrone, Elizabeth Donnelly

               

             Well, Tennessee Williams certainly knew his Tolstoy (I assume), for in his Pulitzer Prize-winning play (1955). “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” he confirms that “each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” Over the course of the play’s two acts, which is currently being staged at MTC Mainstage in Norwalk under the very capable direction of Kevin Connors, the Pollitt family proves that there are multiple ways to be unhappy but, fortunately, that unhappiness doesn’t extend to the audience’s experience, for Connors has crafted an excellent rendition of what is reportedly thought to be Williams’ favorite play.

            The “cat” in the play’s title is Maggie (Andrea Lynn Green), a poor girl who married-up when she wed Brick (Michael Raver), youngest son of Big Daddy (Frank Mastrone) and Big Mamma (Cynthia Hannah). The Pollitts are looked upon as Mississippi royalty, for Big Daddy owns the biggest plantation in the state. However, his wealth does not guarantee happiness, for as the family, including eldest son Gooper (Robert Mobley) and his pregnant wife Mae (Elizabeth Donnelly), has gathered to celebrate Big Daddy’s birthday they keep from him and his wife the truth about Big Daddy’s recent medical check-up. He believes he has gotten a clean bill of health but, in fact, he is dying of cancer. Thus, his wealth will soon be up for grabs, and this grabbing fuels much of the play, as does one of its stated themes: mendacity.

            The play’s first act (and the necessary exposition) is basically driven by Maggie, who early on reveals that all is not well in the bedroom with her husband. He sleeps on the sofa. Why? Well, Brick, an ex-football player, had a close relationship (Brick claims it was “pure”) with Skipper, another football player, a young man who committed suicide after…well, see the play to find out. In any event, soon after Skipper’s death Brick eschews his marital duties and takes to the bottle. For the duration of the play he uses a crutch, having injured himself while attempting to leap hurdles in a late-night run – yes, it’s all heavily metaphoric, but it doesn’t get in the way of or dominate the human wants, desires and frustrations that propel the play.

            Green gives Maggie multiple levels of humanity – yes, she’s a “cat,” a creature driven by physical needs, but she’s also a perceptive human being who understands the dynamics of the Pollitt family and suspects the reasons for Brick leaving their marriage bed. She, as with the rest of the family, has secrets that will be revealed over the course of the play. It’s an intriguing, multi-level performance.

          Raver really doesn’t have much to do in the first act other than mope and drink, but his character comes to full life in the second act with Brick’s extended “conversation” with Big Daddy, an outstanding Mastrone. This extended set-piece is at the heart of the play and it’s vital to understanding why this family is so unhappy, for Big Daddy, still unaware that he has terminal cancer, revels in the idea of 20 or so more years of life and the possibilities inherent, including relationships with women other than his wife. His son, on the crutch, views his own life as basically terminated. The scene runs for many minutes and is absolutely riveting, for the audience knows that so much more is being implied than is being verbalized.]\

            The play wends its way towards multiple revelations in a final family gathering (with excellent blocking by Connors) that includes a preacher (Jim Schilling) and a doctor (Jeff Gurner). As Big Daddy’s pending demise is finally acknowledged there is a less-than-subtle battle for control of the family’s wealth, with Maggie attempting to motivate Brick to defend his patrimony. It’s a truly well-staged set-piece that Connors has blocked to emphasize the flow of emotions and the shifts in power-positions. Who is the ultimate winner? Well, cats often figure out a way to get what they want.

            Given the relative intimacy of MTC’s stage, you can’t help but be drawn into the passions and frustrations of these characters, and Connors (and whoever else was responsible) has put together a fine cast that ably brings to life the unhappiness that rules the Pollitt family. As mentioned, Mastrone is a superb Big Daddy, and Raver shows his acting chops in the second act in the extended father-son confrontation. Hannah, as Big Mamma, ably personifies matriarchal denial and, in the second act, Connelly and Mobley portray mendaciousness itself as they, as Mae and Gooper, attempt to take control of Big Daddy’s wealth.

            All in all, this is an intense, intelligent production of an American theatrical classic. It’s gripping and subtle and, above all, thanks to Green’s performance, sensual on a level that bespeaks both need and desire. Yes, Maggie is a “cat,” but she’s a feline that yearns to be petted and yet a “cat” that knows how to defend her territory. She purrs when appropriate, but she has claws.

            There are different versions of the play, and Connors has chosen the version that ends with Brick contemplating the possibility, as his father does at the end of the first act about his own marriage, that his wife actually loves him. The last line -- "Wouldn't it be funny if that was true?" – captures the hurt, confusion and underlying deep need that make the Pollitts such an unhappy family.

            “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” runs through November 18. For tickets or more information call 203-454-3883 or go to www.musictheatreofct.com.

 

 

Death and the Children

Thousand Pines -- Westport Country Playhouse -- Through November 17

William Ragsdale, Katie Ailion, Joby Earle, Andrew Veenstra
Kelly McAndrew, Anne Bates. Photo by Carol Rosegg

Get your programs here. You can’t tell the players without a program.

            Those attending a performance of Matthew Greene’s Thousand Pines, which recently premiered at Westport Country Playhouse under the direction of Austin Pendelton, might legitimately engage in a bit of head-scratching and allow to arise such thoughts as “What the hell’s going on up on the stage?” and “Wait a minute, isn’t he her husband and isn’t she…?” Well, as a public service, and to decrease the amount of dandruff left behind in the theater after the head-scratching, I humbly offer this explication of what, I believe, Greene has concocted.

            The Thousand Pines in the title is a junior high school that has experienced a shooting episode somewhat similar to what occurred at Columbine. Children were killed, and three families attempt, six months later during Thanksgiving, to deal with the tragedy in their own ways. What may cause some of the head-scratching is that the family members in all three families are portrayed by the same actors, and even though costume designer Barbara A. Bell has attempted to distinguish the various members in the different families you can’t deny that, well, the family members – or neighbors – are, well, the same people.

            This is an important play dealing with a gripping issue. Because I was one of the head-scratchers on opening night, I went back several nights later to see if I could understand more clearly what the playwright was up to – and I did – mostly. I still have some questions that the staging of the production might answer – and the playwright might consider not being so coy about who is whom and their relationships, but that being said, there is much to admire about Thousand Pines.

            Much of the admiration must be directed towards Kelly McAndrew (Actor 1), who plays the mother in each of the three families. In the first family, she creates a woman in total denial of what has occurred, someone who, with a wave of a hand and a mashing of potatoes can make the demons disappear, demons her family, via their son, is responsible for. Yes, this may be a spoiler alert, but it’s a necessary one: the first family we see first is that of the child who was responsible for the shootings.

            In the first family, Andrew Veenstra (Actor 6) is the son who can’t abide his mother’s approach to the tragedy – he will reappear, significantly, in the third scene to offer a resolution of sorts. Then there’s his fiancé played by Katie Ailion (Actor 5) and Joby Earle (Actor 4) who (take notice!) has had a confrontation at a local grocery store – he claims it was with a woman who assaulted him when he attempted to buy the last box of butter – not true!

            There’s a fade-out-fade-in and we’re in another dining room in the same town, but this time it’s the home of one of the victims, and McAndrew, with a costume change and the deft use of eye glasses as a prop, is now a mother seeking justice, with her ex-husband, played by William Ragsdale (Actor 2), a lawyer, handling the case. This mother is all business and out for whatever vengeance she can obtain from the legal system. Her daughter (Ailion) is bitter about the attention her mother gave to the mother’s now deceased stepson and the daughter’s lover (this seems a bit gratuitous plot point, but, whatever…) is a teacher played by Anne Bates (Actor 3) who was at the school and…well…just listen up at the end of this scene to understand what happened. 

            In the final family – again, a family of one of the victims – McAndrew, now dressed in jeans and a man’s work-shirt, and with a distinct change of voice, is a mother who, through sarcasm, is simply trying to deal with the tragedy. Now, Earle is her brother, who comes home with a broken hand (see scene 1), having been arrested by a sheriff’s deputy (Ragsdale). This grieving family will eventually be visited by the brother of the shooter (again, Veenstra) who, over pieces of apple pie, will offer the possibility of closure.

Why my initial problems with understanding what was happening? Well, besides the fact that we have the same actors playing different roles, the set by Walt Spangler doesn’t change – in all three scenes it looks essentially like the same dining room, so one must pay close attention to the necessary exposition that begins each of these scenes to understand the relationships of the characters. There’s also the red herring about the assault described in the first scene – you have to pay close attention to connect what happens (or is described) in scene one with what’s going on in the third scene.

            Should audiences have to work this hard to comprehend what’s happening up on the stage? I don’t know (probably not, unless they’re waiting for Godot). Given the subject matter of the play, I don’t think it should be muted or left open to interpretation. The script might be tweaked a bit, and the production team might consider how to provide audio and visual cues to help the audience members orient themselves as we move from household to household.

            If there’s one clarifying and unifying element in this production it’s McAndrew’s outstanding, multi-faceted performance as the three mothers. The dining room may look the same, but she gives us three very distinct characters, each driven by different needs, desires, fears and coping mechanisms. I was fascinated by what she was accomplishing the first time I saw the play and remained in awe (with a greater understanding) with my second go-around. If you have a budding actor in the family, bring him or her to the Country Playhouse for an engrossing acting tutorial given by McAndrew. They will learn more in 90 minutes than they would in two semesters in acting school

            Thousand Pines runs through November 17. For tickets or more information call 203-227-4177 or go to www.westportplayhouse.org.

Playing the Game

The God Game -- Square One Theatre Company -- Through November 18

Danielle Sultini, Kiel Stango and David Victor

                Good writing, good acting and good direction -- not much more you can ask for in an evening of theater, and that’s what Square One Theatre Company delivers in its production of Suzanne Bradbeer’s “The God Game” under the direction of Tom Holehan. This is the season for openings at theaters here in Connecticut – I’ve been to several and have three more scheduled for this week -- but, so far, this two-act play has been the most engaging. It’s an intelligent look at the world of politics and, even more important, a look into the hearts and souls of three people who struggle to maintain their beliefs and their integrity.

                The play is set in the suburban Virginia home of Tom and Lisa. Tom (a tremendously convincing David Victor), is the junior senator for the state and Lisa (an engaging Danielle Sultini) is his wife. It’s their wedding anniversary, and Tom has, almost, agreed to go to church with Lisa. Their plans are disrupted by the arrival of Matt (an intense Kiel Stango), who is one of the political operatives working to get the Republican candidate for the presidency elected. He is also the former lover of Tom’s brother, who died a year ago in a car crash. Yes, it sounds like the stuff of a soap opera, but it isn’t, because Bradbeer deals with ideas and emotions that run deeper than that.

                Matt has shown up to see if he can get Tom to agree to be the vice-presidential candidate, to balance the ticket. Of course, Tom will have to be vetted to see if there are any skeletons in the closet. Tom is essentially a straight-arrow – the only problem might be his religious convictions, for although Lisa is a devoted Christian Tom is an agnostic.

                What follows is an intriguing exercise in the discussion of values and, in the current political climate, the challenge to say what you believe rather than what is politically expedient (or simply not true). This may all sound a bit pretentious, but it isn’t, because Victor, Sultini and Stango deftly create flesh-and-blood characters who, as we all do, wiggle on the hooks of moral choices, prejudice and the quandary of achieving personal gain (and power) versus maintaining a sense of dignity and, well, being true to yourself.

                As the senator, Victor gives us a man who is tempted to make a devil’s bargain, and the actor does so with a great deal of style and grace, and with body language and intonation conveys the internal dilemma Tom faces. As Tom’s wife, Sultini is not a simple, born-again Christian – she believes in God but also believes in her husband and fights to have him be the man she knows him to be. Stango, playing the political activist, a dedicated ‘spin doctor,’ the front man for the presidential candidate, must, over the course of the play, face certain decisions he has made, especially with regards to his homosexuality and his relationship with Tom’s brother.

                “The God Game” is essentially about the games those in politics must play, but it’s also about the games they must play – or choose not to – with their own beliefs. In essence, the play is about integrity, or the lack thereof, and goes well beyond red-state-blue-state antagonisms. The simple set designed by Robert Mastroni is dominated by a portrait of the Founding Fathers signing the Declaration of Independence. It’s an iconic reminder of our country’s basic values and the decisions – most of them wise – that they arrived at after contentious discussions and bitter debates.

                “The God Game” is presented on a single set in a relatively small theater (which limits, to a certain extent, the actors’ movements), but the size of the theater and the lack of bells and whistles doesn’t matter, because Victor, Sultini and Stango ably create characters that you care about – you care about their trials and tribulations, the decisions they must make, and the personal relationships that affect those decisions. Thus, the senator’s final moments, with his wife by his side at a press conference, tell us all we need to know about his character and the values he has opted to uphold. Quite simply, this is good theater and well worth the trip to Stratford to be given the opportunity to think about what we are not willing to sacrifice – no matter the possible gain.

“The God Game” runs through November 18. For tickets or more information call the box office at 203.375.8778 or go to squareonetheatre.com