Review: Tampa Rep's Brave, Epic Production of Eugene O'Neill's Masterpiece, THE ICEMAN COMETH

"Lo, sleep is good; better is death; in sooth,/The best of all were never to be born." --from a poem by Heinrich Heine recited in THE ICEMAN COMETH

Sometimes it pays to see a show during the second weekend. Opening night always carries its own electricity, but oftentimes the show isn't quite ready for prime time. Judging from the decidedly mixed early reviews of Tampa Rep's full length, five-hour THE ICEMAN COMETH, it seems that maybe the show hadn't quite gelled yet. One reviewer couldn't get over the length; reading the review was like reading the timeline of the Kennedy assassination. Another reviewer appreciated much of the acting but was also dismissive of the show due to its length. So maybe the Eugene O'Neill classic wasn't ready yet. But seeing it during the second weekend, I can say that this brave, moving production easily earned its five-hours.

I know what you're saying. "Five hours? How can I sit through a show for five hours?" And my answer: It's easy, when a show is as powerful as this classic and includes some incredible performances. We have to be adults here, and not everything needs to be spoon fed to our ADHD culture, where shows last an hour and half and become forgotten the morning after. We need to grow up, and I'm speaking to any fidgety audience members (and fellow critics). THE ICEMAN COMETH is long but never tedious. Its scope is huge. How else can such epic subject matter--death, despair, broken illusions--be handled appropriately? It belongs on a giant canvas, the theatrical equivalent of Gericault's "Raft of the Medusa" in a barroom setting. It's big. Bigger than big. And I had no issue sitting for so long, not when so much was at stake onstage with so many characters. It's a show that matters, with undiminished power, and one that is rarely if ever performed unexpurgated. We should celebrate this, not complain that it may be "overlong."

The opening image is striking and painterly: Nearly a dozen men passed out at tables in Harry Hope's bar and flophouse, a mass of bodies at sleep, save for one--Larry Slade. This is the end of the earth, "the Bedrock bottom, the no-hope saloon," and Larry is the only one with his eyes open when the lights first come up. As played by Michael Mahoney, Larry Slade is as memorable a character as they come. And Mahoney's performance crackles with expectant dread. We feel his weathered weariness, his doomed outlook. He has an incredible wall-rattling speaking voice, somewhere between James Earl Jones and a radio DJ, and it works wonders here. It's a riveting portrayal of someone whose soul has escaped him like air from a balloon; there's no life left and he sits there, slowly waiting for his very own Godot...death.

There is a moment in Act 2 that is just stunning. It's Harry Hope's birthday party, and in a wink to da Vinci with a long table and a sort of Last Supper pose, the entire cast erupts in laughter as Larry Slade stands statue-still. A single ghostly light beams down on the silent rage of the man's horrified, weary face as the rest of the cast shrieks unaware in their noisy guffaws, and the image still haunts me.

The men who inhabit Harry Hope's bar are a motely lot, and the actors in these parts range from the incredible and wow-worthy to the pedestrian and what I like to call mere B.O.S. (Bodies on Stage). Some of the actors are the best the Tampa Bay area has to offer. Jack Holloway makes the most of his part, Ed Mosher; he's so likable that you wish he were on stage even longer. Nick Hoop is stunning and unpredictable as a sort of angel of death, Don Parritt. This charismatic young actor has an uncanny way of delivering his lines, clipping the ends of his words so they emerge from his lips like minor gunshots. And his facial expressions tell more than any monologue. And yet, we can't quite put our finger on his mystery--which is one of the highest compliments I can give. Even though the other characters can't stand him, we are drawn to him; he's so mysterious that we can't wait to see what the answer to his puzzle turns out to be. He looms around the stage, often hovering behind Larry, like a dormant volcano that's someday going to become horribly active.

Jordan Foote is always a joy onstage, and he brings the play to life early on with his portrayal of Willie, a washed-out attorney. Josh Goff also delivers another top-notched performance as Joe Mott, bringing much-needed humor to the play. And thank God for Randy Rosenthal as Hugo Kalmar, who is like every obnoxious drunk I've ever encountered. His screaming fits turning into laughing convulsions, seconds apart, are all too familiar. He remains asleep throughout the play, but we love it when he jolts awake, calling the bar inhabitants "monkey faces" and then, soon enough, going back to sleep. And when he spit out champagne in Act 2, he reminded me of a drunken, obnoxious Gallagher splatting a watermelon on the audience.

Ernie Rowland as the owner of the bar, Harry Hope, is hit or miss for me. There are moments that are specific and touching, such as his first foray into the real world where he is so scared to step even a foot outdoors. But other times I felt he was searching for lines, and he didn't leave the lasting imprint that the part requires. Slake Counts looks like his eyes are popping out of his head in his entertaining, manic performance as James "Tomorrow" Cameron. As Rocky Pioggi, the bartender, Cornelio Aguilara yells much too much for my taste, though he nails his hilarious Act 3 monologue about whores going on strike. Tom Crutcher has an amazing look and is strong as Piet "The General" Wetjoen; with his bear-like beard, he resembles Grizzly Adams meets Jean Valjean. Hugh Timony is appropriate as Cecil "The Captain" Lewis, and Rick Stutzel makes the most of his cameo.

There are some performances that aren't quite up to the rest of the cast. And several roles, including those of the young ladies of the evening, could not be understood due to diction and projection issues. At times I wish they provided subtitles with some of the performers.

But there is one actor who stands above all others, and I have saved him for last. Thankfully, Ned Averill-Snell gives the performance of the year as the "mad devil," Theodore "Hickey" Hickman. Hickey is the show's charismatic lead, sort of a Salesman of Death, bursting the bubble of the barflies' pipe-dreams. He doesn't enter until well over an hour into the show, but when he does he more than leaves his mark. There were moments where I held my breath whenever he spoke. Averill-Snell's moving monologue in Act 4 is one of the most sublime moments I have seen all year. Hickey is that canvas I wrote about earlier. Bigger than life with everything that needs to be said, he alone is the reason the play needs to be five hours. This performance needs to be seen by all would-be actors and directors, by all people who love the theatre, and by anyone who happens to be reading this review right now.

Director C. David Frankel is quite courageous to tackle this undertaking, this mammoth Eugene O'Neill marathon masterpiece, and he has done it both with heart and love. It is a gift to our community to do this show the way it should be done, without compromise, and to mostly do it right. Brittany Reuther's costumes suit the show well enough; Thomas Bowersox's lighting is appropriate; and Lea Umberger's bare set works well in the USF theatre. The show does include the single worst fake slap I have seen in a professional show, and the walk-on police officer, Lieb, needs to do something with his massive man-bun that juts out of his police hat and becomes anachronistic to the year the play is set (1912).

It's been days since I've seen THE ICEMAN COMETH, and it still resonates. The last moment, where celebration and damnation occur at the same time, is just heartbreaking and thrilling, O'Neill at his very best. You have four more chances to see this local historic event.

Tampa Rep's production of THE ICEMAN COMETH continues its run at the Studio 120 Theatre (3837 USF Holly Dr.) this Thursday, June 30th; Friday, July 1st; Saturday, July 2nd; and Sunday matinee, July 3rd. For tickets or information, please go to www.tamparep.org.

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