Mary Jane Broadway Reviews

The Manhattan Theater Club production that opened on Tuesday, starring the rom-dram charmer Rachel McAdams, confirms that earlier diagnosis. But Herzog, whose Broadway adaptation of “An Enemy of the People” is running a few blocks away, is not interested in locking down meaning. Like all great plays, “Mary Jane” catches light from different directions at different times, revealing different ideas. On the other side of the worst of Covid, “Mary Jane” feels less like a parent’s cry for more life than an inquest into the meaning of death.

That gesture is typical of the understated yet gutting quality of this production of Mary Jane, which cuts the quotidian open to get to the bone of the existential.

All are rendered in lovely detail by Herzog and the five women of the cast, directed by Anne Kauffman with characteristic attention to the importance of offhand nuance. Information is revealed in a steady drip of medical jargon, bureaucratic obstacles and personal history; the moment-to-moment concerns in Mary Jane are often quotidian. (As a friend once advised the title character: “You’ll still have good days and bad days.”) The world of the play is unblinking but not bleak. Herzog shows the strain of Mary Jane’s situation, but she also succeeds in dramatizing kindness, attentiveness, honesty, connection.

Performances are solid throughout, though McAdams’ projection was muted at a recent performance. Still, it’s the story that truly drives “Mary Jane.” More often than not, the labor of child rearing lies heavily on the mother, who is frequently the primary parent, whether partnered or otherwise. As a single mom caring for a special needs child, the weight of Mary Jane’s existence and her adoration and love for her son are the anchors fortifying this narrative. By the time the final curtain on “Mary Jane” drops, the audience is fully immersed in the titular character’s experiences. McAdams masters her portrayal of a determined caregiver continually sitting in the uncertainty of worry, despite constantly leaning toward positivity. “Mary Jane” stays with viewers long after they leave the theater. It raises worthy questions concerning motherhood, sacrifice, community and lack thereof. It’s a story about how much one person — in this case, one woman — should be expected to endure before bowing under the pressure.

In the scenes set in the apartment, the four visitors tend to take focus away from Mary Jane. Each of the four actors is exemplary, but there’s too much still air on stage before each of them can establish her presence, especially in the play’s first half. Stoic is not an easy look to convey to an audience, and McAdams’ performance doesn’t really take shape until Mary Jane sets up residence in the hospital. Ultimately, McAdams gets her big theatrical moment, but much of the play’s power comes from Herzog’s scheme to withhold that moment. We expect Mary Jane to break down, explode, get pissed off long before she does. What sets her off is unexpected. It’s worth the wait.

When Alex has a seizure midway through the play, the mounting dread and panicked 911 call are distressingly familiar. So, too, is the purgatory-like state of the hospital waiting room, which is brilliantly conveyed through Ben Stanton’s stark lighting and Lael Jellinek’s deceptively simple scenic design. (We won’t spoil the set reveal, but it’s breathtaking.) Herzog thoughtfully poses big questions about faith and uncertainty and leaves the audience with much to chew on after the spiritual, ambiguous final moments. The play is beautifully directed by Anne Kauffman ('The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Window'), with an outstanding ensemble all playing dual roles.

The play has a hypnotic, suffusive effect – there’s not one heartbreaking or cathartic moment but a series of many wins and setbacks, hurdles and sprints of human care, that left me on the verge of tears for hours afterwards. In her small gestures – climbing into bed with Alex, reassuring him that “Mama’s here” – McAdams, with the chorus of help around her, conjures a world of compassion, one I missed when it was over.

Anne Kaufman, repeating her staging from the play’s earlier NYC incarnation at New York Theatre Workshop, has delivered a beautifully calibrated production that expertly mines its subtleties. Featuring little blatant theatricality other than a stunning scene change (courtesy of Lael Jellinek), it features superb performances from its five-woman ensemble, all but the lead actress playing dual roles. McAdams, like so many film or television performers new to the stage, has difficulty with her vocal projection, making some lines unintelligible. But she’s such a warm, winning presence that your heart instantly goes out to her character who, somehow in the face of her anguish, achieves something akin to a state of grace.

In less assured hands, the play could be a downer or familiar movie-of-the-week material. It transcends both traps. Mary Jane is clear-eyed, compassionate, and leavened with humor. Herzog (4000 Miles, 2023's Broadway adaptation of A Doll’s House) is known for her fine-tuned, lived-in dialogue. Director Anne Kauffman’s cast breathe life into the script beautifully.

Amy Herzog’s beautiful play “Mary Jane” is, at its core, a study of the extraordinary lengths to which a mother will go to care for her child. But the takeaway from time spent at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre goes beyond even that realization. You leave after 90 minutes with a near-crushing awareness of the unfairness of life.

Under Anne Kaufmann’s straightforward direction, and aided by Brenda Abbandandolo’s simple but effective costuming, four excellent actresses -- April Matthis, Susan Pourfar, Lily Santiago, and Brenda Wehle -- handle all the supporting parts with true aplomb, creating distinct characterizations in mere minutes. (Pourfar and Wehle also appeared in the play’s 2016 Off-Broadway debut at New York Theatre Workshop.)

“Mary Jane” nonetheless remains a work of remarkable courage, and far more than that: Ms. Herzog captures, with dialogue that feels bracingly, fearlessly authentic — and that is often very funny besides — how powerful love can be in the face of pain and loss and, just as significantly, the limits of that power. Under Anne Kauffman’s vigorous, compassionate direction, the screen star Rachel McAdams steps into the title role, and acquits herself nicely. Where Ms. Coon brought more of a wry quality and a sense of latent, perhaps worn ferocity to Mary Jane, Ms. McAdams plays her very credibly, and movingly, as a fundamentally gentle woman who is overwhelmed by her lot.

“Mary Jane” is not a vehicle for showboating, or some explosive Mom vs. Society battle, and rightly so. Herzog’s drama is calm, and made up of slice-of-life conversations familiar to anybody who’s been a caretaker or knows one. And at times, I found director Anne Kauffman’s production too quiet for the Friedman, intimate though the venue is. Even a simmering show needs to build, and the middle of “Mary Jane” leans static.

Mary Jane is as much about community as it is about the tension of a bifurcated existence — the painful severance one feels in a society that renders the chronically ill and those caring for them invisible. Kauffman and Jellinek use the set, filled with revelatory moments of movement, to reflect the security of an apartment building in Queens versus the sterility of a hospital. Ben Stanton’s lighting attunes audiences to the pull of optimism against the seduction of nihilism. And in the conversations we find Mary Jane, in the face of despair and as a kind of self-protection, always choosing hope.