THE TRANSATLANTIC MAGAZINE
THE TRANSATLANTIC MAGAZINE
Theresa Rebeck is one of America's most produced writers, creating utterly compelling family dramas laced with a devilish wit. For her latest, which receives its world premiere in London, she's brought over two US stars David Harbour and Bill Pullman to join an otherwise British company.
We're in rural Pennsylvania where Michael (David Harbour) has returned to his childhood home to look after his dying father, Daniel (Bill Pullman), a rancid patriarchal figure who revels in his compulsion to destroy his family. Middle-aged Michael, a sensitive soul but no pushover, is not long out of a mental health institution. His siblings, whom he detests, soon arrive, determined to work out how much money Dad might have left and how to get their hands on it. That's a fairly typical set-up for the big family drama and indeed has echoes of O'Neill, Shepard or Albee, and Rebeck certainly belongs in that pantheon. She is great at exploring the irreconcilable versions of 'truth' that exist in every family.
There's a concept in psychoanalysis called the 'identified patient' where one member of a family is cast in the role of "the problem" or the "sick one" and brought to therapy for "fixing" when, what is really going on, is that a family has outsourced their pain (often multi-generational) onto one individual because they could not regulate themselves. It's a frighteningly common scenario and is at the core of the plot here.
Harbour brilliantly flits between being commanding one minute and broken the next. His Michael has emotional intelligence and a sharp mind, but it counts for nothing up against this family who are experts at riling him and knowing the buttons to press. That loss of agency that goes with being defined as mentally unstable is painfully drawn here.
Pullman is superb too as Daniel, giving him a potent blend of unapologetic viciousness and degenerate charm, which he deploys when necessary. His nihilistic, racist, shtick is challenged, though, with the arrival of Lillian (Akiya Henry), his Caribbean-born hospice nurse. She's seen it all and tries to hold the line between the warring pair. Henry's performance grounds the piece and her outsider's eye brings a much needed perspective.
Things deteriorate further with the arrival of the successful other son Nedward (Stephen Wight), who is "doing the numbers" on the family home and who quickly falls back into old patterns of bullying Michael. Then matters go nuclear with the arrival of sister Pam, the wonderfully frightening Sinead Matthews. A business-attired, corporate, bully, she's cut from the same cloth as her father, even though they despise each other. She hides her pain in being vengeful and litigious and is constantly pulling out her phone to record interactions she might deem as 'evidence'.
While such a cast of characters might seem too much to bear it isn't, because Rebeck's writing is so blisteringly good. Her dialogue is laced with a sardonic wit which eases the pill of what she's trying to say. The play laments how in a litigious culture simple medical treatments have been coarsened and dehumanised. Pam is always looking for someone to blame, and scheming with Nedward to have Michael disinherited or institutionalised is a mere tactic. They blame Michael for being 'sensitive' and monopolising their mother's affections.
Moritz von Stuelpnagel's crisp direction keeps the pacing tight and evinces great, multi-dimensional performances from this ensemble and Frankie Bradshaw's set, of this glum, worn-out house, is perfectly judged.
In the end it makes a plea for more kindness in a wider culture which itself has become a mad house.
