Religion has been called "the opiate of the masses," a comforting refuge that people can turn to when nothing else answers their questions. Not only does religion answer the unanswerable questions of where we come from and where we're going, it provides guidance in our everyday lives, giving a set of rules by which communities can exist in (relative) peace. It is so important for communities, in fact, that in Thomas More's Utopia, all religions were are accepted and respected save one. The only philosophy that could not be tolerated in More's perfect--and imaginary--world was atheism.
Atheism isn't frightening simply because it removes the easy, comforting answers, but because it takes away the rules that govern polite society. Without fear of God's wrath, what becomes of morality? Without hope of an eternal reward, what are all of our sacrifices worth? Most frightening of all...
what if this is it?
That the protagonist of
Ronan Noone's compelling play
The Atheist is, in fact, an atheist is simultaneously his least important and most important trait. Ambitious reporter Augustine Early (named for the saint who gave the oldest European city in North America its name, and who famously pondered how many angels could dance on the head of a pin) believes only in Augustine Early. In his poor midwestern community, self-confidence and self-reliance are the only ways to success--and in this day and age, fame is the same thing as Heaven. Determined to reach the top of his game, Augustine manipulates and maneuvers everyone around him in order to get what he wants. He is fearless and cunning in his machinations, because in his eyes, there is no "right" and "wrong." There is only success and failure, and Augustine's road to success--and to failure--is the narrow line between immorality and amorality.
Watching
Campbell Scott toe that line is largely what makes
The Atheist so involving, despite the script's weaknesses. As he spins Augustine's story, Scott makes the many different characters so vivid that it is surprising to remember that there is only ever one man on the stage. He becomes a sort of anti-Scheherezade, drawing us into this unpleasant and cruel world...and somehow making us care about Augustine and the people in his life. Guided by
Justin Waldman's tight direction, Scott's performance is a series of barely-controlled explosions, fierce and frightening, and the underlying rage is truly magnetic. (Cristina Todesco's simple set and
Ben Stanton's atmospheric lighting nicely accentuate the mood while never overwhelming the performance or the narrative.)
But as powerful as Scott's performance is, it is not enough to overcome the enormous holes in plot and logic that pockmark Noone's script. (Augustine honestly seems to believe that the quickest route to fame and fortune is in print media. Trust me, Auggie, it's not.) While the emotions that drive the story are certainly recognizable and familiar, it's probably best to regard the show as a fable...or, perhaps more accurately, as a parable.
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