It seems ironic, in hindsight, that Thomas Jefferson wanted the dove
to be the national bird of America: in a time of war, the man
responsible for giving his people a reason to fight chose an emblem of
peace for his new nation. By the time the War of 1812 rolled around,
politicians in favor of fighting were called "Hawks," and the image of
the two birds at ideological odds was born, with few remembering that
while the nation may have been born in war, its founding fathers
dreamed of peace.
The conflicts of hawks and doves and parents and children are the driving force of
Surface to Air,
which opened on Wednesday at Symphony Space for a limited run. In David
Epstein's earnest drama, set just after 9/11, a family reunites to
receive the ashes of the eldest son thirty years after he died in
Vietnam. With shock, grief and fear at the front of everyone's mind,
the family tries to reconcile their past ideals with their more mature
perspectives, and to come to terms with the violence that has affected
them all.
While the concept is emotional and powerful, the
execution is somewhat less successful. Rather than analyze war from
many different perspectives, Epstein lets a fascinating idea slip
through his fingers, filling his script with shallow banter and banal
monologues that seem painfully clichéd. Likewise, the characters are
barely developed, making it difficult to care about them or their
emotions. There is the Patriotic WWII Vet Father who wants to carpet
bomb any nation that challenges his values. There is his daughter, The
Busy Hollywood Executive, who brings her husband, The Artsy
Pseudo-Intellectual, along. There is his surviving son, The Emotionally
Stunted Vietnam Vet, and his new wife, The Sweet Yet Spicy Latina.
There is the matriarch, The Old Lady Who Lives in her Memories and is
Innocently Profound. And lastly, there is the ghost of the dead son,
recounting his time in Vietnam and his death with long monologues
between scenes: The Omniscient and Philosophical Observer.
As
written, they are more caricatures than characters, and as such,
boring. Worse, many of their individual stories are like unloaded guns
on the proverbial mantles: they could be relevant to the main point of
the play, but rarely are. The new daughter-in-law (Marisa Echeverria)
has a subplot about creating a Latin restaurant/bagel store (one of the
many flat jokes in the script) that goes nowhere but to annoy the
patriarch (
Larry Bryggman), who is horrified that his children are
focusing on their futures instead of the past. When he criticises his
daughter for taking business calls during such an important family
moment, she shrugs it off with "Life goes on, Daddy." His response is
one of the more emotionally honest moments in the play: "No, life does
not go on. It stops."
Were that the thesis of the play, it might have worked better. The
past and the present are often in conflict, and the clash of the two
could make for excellent drama. Instead, Epstein's climax involves an
angry and cliché-ridden fight about Vietnam that is clearly meant to
echo the current troubles in Iraq. Dogma is rarely dramatic, and while
the moment is emotional, it does not make the impact it should. We've
heard these arguments for thirty-five years, now, and Epstein doesn't
say anything new or remarkable. When flat characters are given
banalities to speak, the play suffers greatly, no matter how noble its
intentions.
The cast of seven, saddled with weak characters and dialogue, do as
well as they can, and manage to strike some sparks in some of the
better moments. Lois Smith, as the matriarch, fares best, conveying her
character's grief and confusion while never going over the top.
Tony-winner Cady Huffman is given far too little to do as the ambitious
daughter of the family, except to make one wish that she were starring
in a lavish musical again. Mark J. Sullivan, as the ghost of the
long-dead son, does his best work non-verbally, letting many emotions
flow across his face as he watches his family. Marisa Echeverria is
warm and charming as the newest member of the damaged family, but, like
Huffman, is given almost nothing to do in terms of drama.
James Noone's set nicely captures the suburban normality of the
family, and Clifton Taylor's lighting aptly sets moods, whether bright,
gloomy or ghostly. Tony-winning actor James Naughton's direction never
quite reaches the fever-pitch of emotion the story needs, though
admittedly, it does keep time with the wan script.
War is hell on both soldiers and their loved ones, and no one
remains unscarred by violence. We can never have enough art reminding
us of these facts, but that art needs to be more than superficial.
Missiles may go from surface to air, but art needs to be deeper.
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