Review: THE NORMAL HEART at Redtwist Theatre

I forget who among my colleagues once said that audiences would never want to hear another plague narrative again as soon as the COVID-19 pandemic was over. But I remember telling him how wrong he was, even as caseloads were still rising. Audiences have always turned to art when it comes to making sense of the irrationality of real life, and this recent pandemic is no exception. How else do we explain why Albert Camus’s 1947 novel The Plague tripled its weekly sales by mid-March of 2020, just as a global emergency was declared? A little over a year later, the LGBTQ+-affiliated One Institute presented a historic virtual reading of activist Larry Kramer’s 1985 drama THE NORMAL HEART, an impactful if controversial indictment of societal inaction during the early years of the AIDS epidemic. THE NORMAL HEART has now found its way back to Chicago by way of Redtwist Theatre, just as the World Health Organization has declared a global emergency over a new mpox outbreak, another illness that has primarily impacted gay and bisexual men in recent years. And as we prepare once again for a COVID and flu season that threatens to overwhelm hospitals and medical systems, it can be helpful to turn to works of art like THE NORMAL HEART that emphasize not only the healing power of community but the necessity of political action as well. With this context in mind, there can be little doubt that Redtwist’s THE NORMAL HEART is frequently an emotionally affecting piece, thanks to the powerfully palpable talents of its principal cast. However, some uneven performances and an occasionally murky directorial vision prevent the production’s themes and message from beating forth as forcefully as one might hope. The now-classic political drama runs through September 29 at Redtwist’s home on Bryn Mawr.

Like much of Kramer’s literary output, THE NORMAL HEART is the semi-autobiographical story of a brash, frequently unpleasant writer-turned-LGBTQ-activist and his almost militant fight for a better life for a queer community that he seems to simultaneously love and loathe. Here, the authorial stand-in is Ned Weeks (Peter Ferneding), who begins the play watching helplessly as friends and neighbors sicken and die from a mysterious illness that will only later be known as AIDS (much preferable to the initial “gay plague” descriptor used by news stations during the epidemic’s early years). As the cases mount, Ned works together with a team of allies to ensure that HIV+ men have the money and resources they need to survive and thrive for as long as possible. These associates include Dr. Brookner (Tammy Rozofsky), one of only a few medical professionals in New York City willing to treat patients living with AIDS; Bruce Niles (Philip C. Matthews), a closeted banking executive whose penchant for politeness stands in stark contrast to Ned’s more confrontational tactics; and Ned’s brother Ben (Christopher Meister), a well-connected attorney with patience worthy of canonization.

Shortly after the play’s premiere in 1985, journalist Randy Shilts referred to the work and Kramer’s politics more broadly as being “ahead of [their] time.” And it can be tempting in 2024 to see the initial production as being a powerful prophecy of the defeats and triumphs that laid in wait for the burgeoning gay rights movement. Ned’s political privileging of gay marriage over sexual liberation anticipates the priorities of the Human Rights Campaign and queer activists in the 21st century, and the play forced media outlets to address the harm they caused by relegating sensationalized stories about HIV/AIDS to the margins of their publications. The Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (GLAAD) was founded later that same year for this very reason.

Director Ted Hoerl helps audiences make these cultural and historical connections by projecting various informational videos (designed by Dusty Brown) on the set’s walls during scene transitions. Some of these videos are of contemporaneous news reports referencing a “gay plague;” others are of cultural figures like James Baldwin lecturing on how America has failed queer communities. Or so I assume. The videos are meant to distract from scene transitions, but the tightness of the space often means that the opposite occurs. I wanted to know more about what was being shared in these videos, but garbled sound and actors moving set pieces prevented a full appreciation of the otherwise interesting creative choice.

Even during the drama’s main action, I felt I was missing key moments because my chair was in a less-than-ideal position. The dramatic reveal of a cancerous lesion loses much of its shock value if it can’t actually be seen. I advise you to choose seats toward the middle of the playing area for the best experience.

Thankfully, the performances from much of Hoerl’s cast make up for such gaps and oversights. It’s a testament to Ferneding’s talent that he can imbue the chronically anxious, constantly abrasive Ned with something resembling charisma. His Ned is one you find yourself wanting to follow into the fray. Ferneding also shows the cracks in Ned’s carefully crafted armor, suggesting that this reluctant activist may be driven as much by a fear of missing out on life as he is by righteous indignation. He does what few actors have been able to do; he makes Larry Kramer likable, warts and all. As Ned’s lover Felix, Zachary Linnert skillfully handles the drama’s most emotional beats. It’s hardly a spoiler to say that one of the two men ends up contracting the virus that is devastating their community, but the pain in Linnert’s voice as he asks his doctor if the lovers can still kiss is strikingly heartbreaking all the same. One can easily imagine that Linnert was cast solely based on his ability to expertly navigate the play’s beautifully tragic final scenes.

Meister is similarly skilled at provoking tears from his viewers. His Ben has a deep, protective love for Ned, and it’s because of this love that audiences can find something to admire in the firebrand writer in the first place. Meister’s tenderness toward Linnert’s Felix makes for one of the production’s most understated highlights, a perfect example of how these characters are at their most impactful when they’re allowed to be most human.

Not that Kramer’s script does its cast many favors in this regard. Dr. Brookner speaks more like a pamphleteer than a medical professional, and Rozofsky struggles to make the character much more than a flatly drawn mouthpiece for the playwright’s own frustrations with Ronald Reagan and Ed Koch. Other roles are too thinly written to rise above Kramer’s penchant for melodrama, his gay characters resorting to either hysterics or innuendo when they aren’t outright shouting. The welcome exception is Matthews, whose sympathetic Bruce exists in the uncomfortable ideological middle ground where most viewers likely find themselves.

Admittedly, this is an imperfect production of a play that has always had its flaws. Though a talented group of leading men help remind audiences of just how mobilized queer communities have become because of prior generations’ experiences during the AIDS epidemic. According to the city of Chicago, the overwhelming majority of mpox vaccinations during the 2022 outbreak were received by young men—like me—in their 20s, 30s, and 40s over Market Days weekend, queer individuals finding time to look out for one another while still celebrating all the progress that has been made.

Photo Credit: Tom McGrath

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