Playwright: William Luce
At: Timeline Theatre Company at Baird Hall, 615 W. Wellington
Phone: 773-281-8463; $10
Runs through: Dec. 11
BY MARY SHEN BARNIDGE
Observers of life in the American South, from Bertram Wyatt-Brown to Florence King, have noted its cultural adherence to its ancestral tribal values, not the least conspicuous of which is the death-before-dishonor mentality that makes for incorrigible children, praised by their parents for their 'spirit' and preferred over their 'mealy-mouthed' peers. ( Remember Scarlett O'Hara and Melanie Wilkes? ) This is the environment that spawned the flinty, fearless and forthright literary genius of the 20th century that was Lillian Hellman, as depicted by Janet Ulrich Brooks in this solo turn, running in repertory with Timeline Theatre's production of The Children's Hour.
Genius being something more often admired from a safe distance, however, author William Luce has his work cut out for him rendering this chain-smoking, hard-drinking steel magnolia likable—or even approachable. Luce's reputation, however, is forged on the selling of willful brats—such as John Barrymore, Zelda Fitzgerald and Vaslav Nijinsky—and so he introduces us to our heroine at her most vulnerable moment. No, it's not the premiere of her shocking first play ( which dared to discuss the topic of—gasp!—lesbian behavior ) nor her courageous testimony before HUAC ( House Un-American Activities Committee ) ; it was in 1961, when she waited in the hospital for Dashiell Hammett, the likewise Homeric lover with whom she shared a 'passionate affection' for 30 years, to die.
No dialect consultant is listed in the playbill, so presumably credit is all due Brooks ( guided by director Louis Contey ) for her replication of the woman who became the icon for generations of women writers, in addition to an array of eccentric personalities ( to our Yankee sensibilities, anyway ) from her past, in whom we can see the prototypes for her dramatis personae. The candor of a lady—when that title still conveyed meaning and power—who admits to having 'liked a number of people and loved a few' is not the stuff of stereotypical Dixie belles. Even when Luce has her go weepy on us, she does so with a dignity devoid of hankie-wringing. If this is the face of what Hellman calls her 'rampaging anger,' we need more of it nowadays.