Underneath the Lintel. Playwright: Glen Berger. At: City Lit Theater, 1020 W. Bryn Mawr. Phone: 773-293-3682; $25. Runs through: April 20_______________
The Hebrew roots of my family name—bar-ben-el—literally mean 'the Son of the Son of God,' which may explain my fascination with Underneath the Lintel, a play that explores the medieval legend of the Wandering Jew, a man condemned by Yeshua ( Jesus ) to roam the earth without sleep or rest until the Second Coming. For two thousand years ( and counting ) , he's borne witness to the glories and—more often—the cruelties and follies of humankind.
But what if the Wandering Jew was no mere legend? What if he had left clues, hints and evidence of his existence and journeys over the centuries? More than a miracle, the reality of the Wandering Jew would be evidence of the existence of God Himself. That's the brilliant premise of Underneath the Lintel, in which the return of a book some 113 years overdue sets a Dutch librarian on a remarkable global sleuthing expedition as the Wandering Jew becomes his life's obsession—'to prove one life and justify another,' he says.
Just in time for Easter, Glen Berger's 85-minute one-man show provides a pungent crash course in geography and Judeo-Christian history, casting a vast net that dredges up Karakatoa, a Zulu king, frozen urine falling from airplanes, arcane details of fox hunting, Les Miserables, the 1939 New York World's Fair and the Jews of Kaipheng, China, among many other details. And Berger is too smart not to make it entertaining along the way, half-lecture but also half-courtroom drama. 'Although the Wandering Jew is just a myth, I was in possession of the myth's pants!' the Librarian exclaims triumphantly in a typical example of the play's delightful twists.
I've seen three productions of Underneath the Lintel, among them the original off-Broadway version several years ago. That first encounter remains the most impactful, as the play was new and unknown and took me completely by surprise with its subject and story. This latest version at City Lit is wonderfully performed by Michael Joseph Mitchell as astutely directed by Kristine Thatcher, herself an author and actor as well as director.
Of the three versions I've seen, this one gives the fullest weight to the reality of the Librarian himself as a vigorous human being who has loved and lost. No mere eccentric—a choice that would be easy to make—Mitchell's Librarian becomes eccentric only as obsession seizes him. If some of Thatcher's musical choices—snatches played to provide occasional atmosphere—seem odd or distracting, that is a minor quibble. She and Mitchell sacrifice some of the play's oddball entertainment potential in favor of greater personal depth, but the exchange is fully justified in Mitchell's portrayal of a red-blooded human being in this fine production of a singular play.