If the Broadway district tavern owners have noticed a significant upsurge in pre-theatre business these days they most likely have Marsha Norman to thank. My guest and I decided it might be a good idea to enjoy a cocktail before taking in a performance of her Pulitzer Prize winner, 'night, Mother, which emotionally drained Broadway audiences 21 years ago with its frank discussion of suicide. By the time I arrived at Angus McIndoe, my guest was already midway through her drink and told me of a conversation she just had with a woman at the bar who was also seeing 'night, Mother that evening. The woman said she wasn't about to see this one without a few belts in her. Then, about 15 minutes later, the fellow sitting next to us says to the bartender, "Give me another one. I'm seeing 'night, Mother tonight."
Of course, it's not necessary to get liquored up before this one (And for the record, I was quite sober entering the theatre.) but through the years 'night, Mother has acquired bit of a reputation as "that really terrific play about a daughter telling her mother she's going to commit suicide", both enticing people to see good playwriting and making them a little wary about its value as a "date" play or an uplifting night out at the theatre. ("If you plan to enjoy Prozac or other anti-depressants during the performance, please unwrap them now.")
But this Michael Mayer directed production, with Edie Falco and Brenda Blethyn, throws us a new emotional response to consider. 1983's tear-jerking drama is given an unexpected quality that makes the piece a little less draining and a little more interesting. It's just so cold.
Okay, let's backtrack a bit for those unfamiliar with the play. One evening, in their quaint little country home, Jessie (Falco) informs her mother Thelma (Blethyn) that tonight, after she gives her the usual goodnight kiss and says "'night, mother", she plans to go to her room, lock the door and shoot herself dead. This is not a threat or a cry for help. This is a firm, irreversible decision. After a life of being inwardly controlled by epilepsy and depression, suicide seems empowering. It's her way of making sure nothing will ever hurt her again.
For 90 minutes (latecomers are not seated) Thelma experiences the classic five stages of grief, though not exactly in the order Dr. Kubler-Ross described, while Jessie's main concern is to make sure her mother knows where everything in the house is kept and learns a drill on how to react after the gun goes off so the police won't suspect her of any wrong-doing. Falco does this in the same perfunctory manner as one giving instructions to the maid and the effect is rather creepy.
Daughter keeps mom occupied as they discuss the failure of their relationship that has brought her to this point. She makes sure the candy jars are filled with treats and they down a rather unceremonious "last meal" of hot chocolate together. All the while Thelma tries talking Jessie out of it, but Blethyn communicates an unspoken "How can you do this to me? Her attempts at manipulation and sympathy show an unwillingness, or at least inability, to emotionally connect with Falco's calm and decisive Jessie. Blethyn makes Thelma seem more concerned with her own personal tragedy of losing a daughter than Jessie's loss of her life.
Designers Michael Krass (costumes), Paul Huntley (wigs) and Neil Patel (set) have all done a fine job in helping define the two characters. Jessie presents herself as a woman who has completely given up on life, her stringy hair, unkept face and baggy clothes contrast nicely with Thelma's pink sweater and permed hair that looks like the character's idea of a costume meant to outwardly convey motherly love. Their detailed kitchen and living room seem like they could be cozy, but the decor appropriately lacks any homeyness or warmth.
Written before personality-altering medications were readily available, 'night, Mother can seem like a period piece to today's Broadway audience. But Meyer's chilly production sends the audience out seriously pondering if killing herself would provide Jessie with a happier ending than continuing with her life.
Perhaps the post-theatre bar business will see an upswing as well.
Photo by Joan Marcus, (l-r) Edie Falco and Brenda Blethyn
For more from Michael Dale visit dry2olives.com
