Playwright: Jeffrey Hatcher, Mitch Albom
At: Northlight Theatre at the North Shore Center for the Performing Arts, Skokie
Phone: (847) 673-6300; $34-$48
Runs through: Nov. 16
'There are some men/who should have mountains/to bear their name to time.' says poet Leonard Cohen. Tuesdays With Morrie follows in the tradition of young writers creating monuments to those whose wisdom shaped their destinies. But if Jeff Baron's Visiting Mr. Green painted as artificially heroic a picture of the Twilight Years as Joe DiPietro's Over The River And Through The Woods paints an artificially cozy one (in the latter, a youth describes his grandparents as 'cute,' only to have one of them retort, 'Whattaya mean, 'cute'? We're ADORABLE!'), Mitch Albom's spartan idiom—a product of his experience as a sports reporter—renders his eulogy for Morrie Schwartz refreshingly free of hankie-wringing bathos.
The story itself is not unusual: Teacher shows special attention to Student. Student goes his way after graduation, attempts a career as a jazz musician with the encouragement of another Adult Nurturer. Nurturer dies, Student takes up journalism and finds success as a high-rolling newshound. Student learns that Teacher is dying and once again seeks guidance from the mentor unashamed to ask questions like, 'Are you at peace with yourself?'
Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, aka Lou Gehrig's Disease, is a malady not often depicted artistically, for good reason. A scourge that blights gently but withers mercilessly, the symptoms of ALS challenge the actor to convey to us a mind, lucid and unimpaired, imprisoned in a body all but decomposing before our eyes—a prospect the more disturbing when the actor is of an age to have intimate knowledge of the Grim Reaper's ravages.
Mike Nussbaum's portrayal of the vigorous Morrie is fearless, however, his willingness to ape the unflattering aspects of physical deterioration as evident as his embrace of his character's cuddlier idiosyncrasies. And as the inquiring Mitch, Tracy Letts effaces himself with laudable humility, forbearing any mannerisms save those required of his persona. Playgoers who helped make the 1995 book a runaway bestseller should be pleased with this satisfying page-to-stage conversion, while those who did not (myself among them) will find it an engaging and timely lesson in how to live and, more important, how to die.