Playwright: Rebecca Gilman. At: Steppenwolf Theatre. Tickets: 312-335-1650; www.steppenwolf.org; $20. Runs through: Nov. 4
Rebecca Gilman's skillful stage adaptation, and Hallie Gordon's caring direction, imbue Carson McCullers's 1940 novel with the elegiac tone of Our Town. McCullers offers a radically different time, place and social climate, yet the celebration of a small town in which everyone is interlocked—whether they realize it or not—is the same. Nonetheless, McCullers is not out to confirm the bittersweet wonder of human existence as Our Town does, but to portray the existential isolation in which each of us lives and dies, and from which few can break free even in a close-knit community.
Making her central theme obvious, McCullers places a deaf-mute man, John Singer, at the center of the story; a man who lives with the only other deaf-mute in town. When his companion is institutionalized, Singer engages with the wider community in which he has lived unnoticed for a decade. Perhaps because of his perpetually silent presence, community members soon ascribe savant-like wisdom to Singer, who is generous and genuinely helpful to all whom he encounters. But as his engagement with the community grows, so does his personal isolation and incomprehension, leading to a shocking conclusion (which those familiar with the novel or 1968 film version will know).
Gilman meticulously maintains a neutral, non-judgmental tone about the characters—young, old, wise, foolish, Black, white—much as Singer himself does. The script is plain-spoken and uncomplicated by rich imagery or rhetoric (save for a political argument which bogs things down for a few minutes). Gordon's staging, too, is unfussy and free flowing with actors on stage all the time, morphing into character as required. Collette Pollard's scenic design makes effective use of the wide, high stage by suspending various old objects (wheelchair, parlor stove, cash register, tea kettle, brass headboard, etc.) to suggest time and place, while utilizing 10 wood chairs (one for each actor) to define the shifting playing areas. Focus is additionally rendered by J.R. Lederle's gracefully fluid lighting.
Robert Schleifer, not seen here in too long a time, is an ideal John Singer. His critically sharp and inquiring gaze and energetic body language belie his pleasant, seemingly passive expression; a facial facade Schleifer breaks in flashes to express Singer's annoyance, curiosity, concern and pain. He's supported by a nine-person ensemble of uniform excellence with first-among-equals honors going to Jessica Honor Carleton as teenage Mick, Walter Coppage as Dr. Copeland and the long-gone (in L.A.) Loren Lazerine as labor agitator/drunk Jake Blount.
Gilman largely focuses on part two of the novel's three parts. Her necessary paring-down mostly works well, but additional exposition about Singer and his deaf-mute companion is needed to avoid implication of a sexual relationship, which I don't think is intended.
(NOTE: This is a Steppenwolf for Young Adults production with limited public performances on Saturdays and Sundays only.)
