Danny and the Deep Blue Sea Off-Broadway Reviews

Yes, Danny’s final turnaround stretches credibility close to its breaking point, and the way he finally pierces Roberta’s abscess of shame and fury is rather over the top — not to mention the idea that a physical remedy would shock a psychic wound into healing. But by then Abbott and Plaza have made us care enough for these two misfits that we are ready to believe that maybe, just maybe, they can get a break.

Despite the raw banter and the actors’ solid performances (especially Abbott), “Danny and the Deep Blue Sea” isn’t exactly riveting. Instead, it feels like a somber, overly long vignette of two deeply tortured people without the means or wherewithal to address the horrors of their circumstances and personal choices. If only for a moment, the duo cling to one another, conceiving of a plan where they might for once grasp onto some semblance of happiness. Though the play should center on the vulnerability of two emotionally troubled souls desperate for connection, it feels instead like an endless and exhausting screaming match that the audience is forced to endure without any hope for respite.

In the end, what Ward, Abbott, and Plaza access is that Danny and the Deep Blue Sea isn’t really a play about violence at all, but about absolution. It ends in the morning, with the new possibility to show a little faith, ’cause there was magic in the night.

Tough, when so much trauma and anger and insults are said, and so loudly. By show’s end, the play felt as lost as its flailing characters, despite the bright lights within it. Danny and the Deep Blue Sea is, as promised, challenging theater, just not in the good way.

First-time stage director Jeff Ward takes a bold approach to the play, and even if all of the risks won’t pay off for all of the audience members – a sudden shift from brutal realism into avant garde modern dance (yes, you read that right) is bound to divide longtime Danny devotees – this revival nonetheless makes a fine display of Shanley’s streetwise Bronx poetry.

What writer, director, and actors all get right in the end, though, is uncertainty. They may change each other in the course of one night, but it seems just as likely that Roberta and Danny will keep clinging to each other as they will end right back up at that dive bar, picking new fights with new people over beer and pretzels, as though their one night of hope really was just a hazy dream.

The play is some 40 years old but it holds up quite nicely today. Though Shanley makes clear it’s set in the Bronx, there’s no other direction indicating a period in time. In fact, it might be even more timely now considering the alienating nature of technology in contemporary society as people share the same space yet feel so far apart. I’m not sure why the play has not had more New York revivals beyond the one in 2004. Danny and the Deep Blue Sea may be a small play but it has a big heart beating erratically beneath its turbulent surface.

they’re tough roles—ones that require an actor to go from “fuck off” to “marry me” in the span of 80 minutes (another reason aspiring actors love them). As the truck driver who bears the nickname The Beast, Abbott is fearless—by turns dynamic and devastating, imposing but not terrifying, poignant but never pathetic. In her stage debut as divorcée Roberta, film and TV actress Plaza—whose deadpan delivery and dagger-filled glares proved a highlight of the Sicily-set second season of The White Lotus—tends to fall into a familiar cadence with Roberta’s lines, wilting under the weight of the Noo Yawk accent. She’s more comfortable with lighter one-liners like “You got friendly ears,” one of the awkwardly sweet compliments Roberta gives Danny.

The sinewy, wired Abbott embodies Danny’s necessary thuggishness. Plaza, too, has an affinity for a feral character desperate for a safe haven. Still, like Danny and Roberta’s bond, the production is unfinished business.

Yet Ms. Plaza’s work in this maiden voyage is deeply impressive — so impressive that were I to have seen this “Danny” knowing nothing about its stars and been asked which one had no prior theater experience, I’d have been stumped. That’s in no way a negative reflection on Mr. Abbott; what’s most striking about the staging, in fact, is the seemingly effortless rapport between the performers, even as they’re playing characters to whom little has come easily.

For its first half, the 80-minute play keeps your attention with its dated but energetic battle of the sexes, but the longer we spend with these folks the less authentic they become. The scope is intimate to the point of claustrophobia; it contracts rather than expands. There’s only so many times you can watch these two take one step towards joy, and two steps back in shame or fear. By the hushed, tentatively hopeful end, the actors are crumpled on Lucille Lortel stage—practically below the sightlines of my row. What began as two rabid animals tearing each other apart ends as a whimper as they agree to share a cage.