To Kill A Mockingbird Broadway Reviews

These are two worthy ideas, if contradictory. In light of racial injustice, accommodation seems to be a white luxury; in light of accommodation, justice seems hopelessly naïve. Perhaps what this beautiful, elegiac version of 'To Kill a Mockingbird' most movingly asks is: Can we ever have both?

Without knowing any better, one might easily mistake the new stage adaptation of Harper Lee's Pulitzer-winning 1960 novel 'To Kill A Mockingbird' for a revival of a classic Golden Age Broadway drama. So earnest in tone and full of plainspoken poetics is Aaron Sorkin's thoroughly engaging text. So old-school honest are the performances given by director Bartlett Sher's 24-member cast, beautifully framed with an eye toward rural artistry by designers Miriam Buether (sets), Ann Roth (costumes) and Jennifer Tipton (lights).

Where Sorkin succeeds is in getting us to rethink an American classic without any fussiness or archness. Director Bartlett Sher, who's best known for his Tony-winning work on big musicals like 'South Pacific' and 'My Fair Lady,' strikes the right balance between the epic and the intimate. And he smartly mimics the breakneck pace of Sorkin's film and TV projects, cramming Lee's large and sprawling story in a production that runs just over two and a half hours but seem to just fly by. Despite its infelicities, this 'To Kill a Mockingbird' is crackerjack entertainment.

Perhaps the most notable achievement of this thoughtful adaptation, and Bartlett Sher's meticulously calibrated Broadway production, is that it takes Harper Lee's 1960 novel - a modern American classic that pretty much all of us know either from studying it in high school or watching the outstanding 1962 film version - and makes us hang on every word as if experiencing the story for the first time.

In any event, 'To Kill a Mockingbird' (which also sports a period score penned by Tony winner Adam Guettel and played live on organ and guitar) proves to be an engrossing, provocative and uniformly well-acted adaptation - and a fitting addition to a shifting Broadway landscape where an increasing number of plays (including 'Harry Potter and the Cursed Child,' 'The Ferryman' and 'Network') are gaining the muscularity to stand alongside musicals in prestige and box office power.

If Sorkin's adaptation lacks the subtlety and plain-spokenness of Lee's novel, it has moments of old-fashioned power-the playwright knows how to set up a court scene-and others of surprising tenderness, as when he briefly takes the fatherless Dill under his wing. ('You have no business being kind, but there you are,' he tells the boy.) As perhaps befits material that has been a high-school mainstay for decades, this To Kill a Mockingbird has many teachable moments, perhaps a few too many. But it does-and I mean this as a compliment-a very decent job.

Harper Lee's 'To Kill a Mockingbird' will gratefully always be with us. This is Sorkin's version and, for all the distortions and limitations, it finds ways through Atticus' character to speak directly to our troubled times about the inseparability of race and justice in America. I look forward to future productions from female and African American perspectives that can match this level of theatrical excellence, but they too will be incomplete.

Against all odds, writer Aaron Sorkin and director Bartlett Sher have succeeded in crafting a stage-worthy adaptation of Harper Lee's classic American novel 'To Kill a Mockingbird.' The ever-likable Daniels, whose casting was genius, gives a strong and searching performance as Atticus Finch, the small-town Southern lawyer who epitomizes the ideal human qualities of goodness, tolerance and decency. Celia Keenan-Bolger, best remembered for 'The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee' but grown up now, is smart, funny, and entirely convincing as Scout, Atticus's precocious 6-year-old daughter and the narrator of the story. The rest of the large and very fine cast perform their parts with all their hearts, under Sher's impeccably fine-tuned direction.

It's here that Sorkin has most directly intervened, expanding the roles of Tom Robinson (Gbenga Akinnagbe) and Atticus's black housekeeper, Calpurnia (LaTanya Richardson Jackson), so that the white voices aren't the only ones heard. These moves can't really disguise a story about a white savior who sees more and knows more than the people around him. (White saviors - lawyers, newsmen, a president - are big with Sorkin.) The gestures toward the present day - mostly reminders that racism stems from feelings of inequality and economic insecurity - aren't especially necessary or helpful.

Aaron Sorkin's genuinely radical and thoroughly gripping new Broadway adaptation of this iconic novel - which opened Thursday night at the Shubert Theatre with Jeff Daniels in the starring role - has no truck with the heroic image of Atticus, his wide-eyed daughter Scout and the famous Finch briefcase, a stand-in for the slow march toward justice, all striding together into a new American dawn. No siree. Sorkin has written a 'Mockingbird' that fits this riven American moment. And the director, Bartlett Sher, has felt little need to assuage with sentimentality.

Perhaps Sorkin and Sher felt the play needed Bob's extra villainy to justify Atticus' eventual out-of-character breakdown, the moment when the play's questioning of the book's '60s-vintage liberal ideal comes most fully into focus. If so, they should have trusted their material and Daniels' convincing performance. By the time Atticus comes to question his own moral code, and Sorkin has us contemplating the limits of tolerance and the boundaries of forgiveness, this Mockingbird has already landed its punches.

The answer to that question, after seeing the lush new production at New York's historic Shubert Theater, feels like an impressed, qualified yes. While Lee's vivid snapshot of the Great Depression-era Deep South is its own valuable time capsule, the shifting sands of race and justice in America (and all the things that haven't changed, depressingly, in the more than eight decades since) is well served by at least some new perspective. And the Emmy- and Oscar-winning Sorkin - ratatat duke of dialogue, reigning king of the walk-and-talk - does feel like a smart choice to drag it all into the 21st century.

Christopher Sergel's workmanlike 1991 stage adaptation of 'Mockingbird,' a regional-theater staple that I saw done three years ago by Florida's Orlando Shakespeare Theatre, is both truer to the book and far more dramatically effective. Moreover, that company's small-scale staging, sensitively directed by Thomas Ouellette, was superior in every way to Bartlett Sher's overblown, over-designed Broadway version, which is devoid of credible local color (hardly anybody on stage acts or sounds as if they've ever traveled much farther south than Cleveland). Mr. Daniels, a fine actor whom I suspect has been disserved by his director, paints Atticus with the coarsest of brushes, though the sad truth is that save for Adam Guettel's homespun incidental music and a handful of strong performances, most notably by Mr. Akinnagbe and Dakin Matthews, who plays the judge, nothing about this 'Mockingbird' is any good at all. Shame on Harper Lee's estate for letting it happen.

What's missing from Aaron Sorkin's new adaptation is the novel's vividly described community, or the sense that the story is just as much about Scout's coming of age as it is about the crusade by Atticus, her father. Sorkin (the writer behind 'The West Wing' and 'The Social Network,' among others) has made his play a John Grisham-esque legal thriller revolving around a charismatic man. Atticus may now show hints of trouble and doubt, but he's still the moral lighthouse guiding Maycomb, Alabama.

Bartlett Sher and his designers have created a shifting, breathing, gorgeously orchestrated world, and while the top-billed Jeff Daniels is indeed lighting up the stage as the story's iconic lawyer, every member of the ensemble shines alongside him. As a company, under Sher's careful and majestic direction, they are incandescent.

Daniels' Atticus is folksy and ruffled, without Peck's idealistic though hardened eye. He keeps his head down. He doesn't want to confront anything. Daniels plays him as a man in eternal retreat, even if he is confronting racism in its most dangerous form. Daniels' Atticus is there and also absent, while everyone around him wants him to look up, be present, take a more obvious stand.