Playwright: Carson McCullers
At: Organic at Kathleen Mullady Theatre, 1125 W. Loyola
Phone: (773) 561-5600; $25-$30
Runs through: May 23
As autobiographical works go, Carson McCullers' The Member of the Wedding ranks up there with the finest writing of the twentieth century, taking its place along other such southern writers as Harper Lee, Flannery O'Connor, and Truman Capote. Her prepubescent Frankie Addams is a 12-year-old poised on the brink of maturity, and burdened by numerous problems. Her mother's deceased. Her businessman father is distant. Her awkward, tomboyish manner and her anger distance her from peers. And now, with her adored older brother getting married, she finds she has hardly anyone to turn to. This angst is further burdened by the fact that Frankie's anger is often impotent and inexpressible. Luckily, Frankie does have a couple of unlikely friends in her housekeeper, a Black woman named Berenice and a little neighbor boy, John Henry West.
McCuller's vision revolved around Frankie, a sensitive and wounded little girl being dragged into the early stages of womanhood, whether she likes it or not. Her Frankie is a mixture of vulnerability, bravado, and childish innocence that she at once spurns and clings to. Frankie is a potent creation, because we can all relate to her (even though she lived in the deep south of the 1940s), and because we can all feel for her. Beneath the outward fire, there is a frightened and deprived little girl. We long to take that little girl in our arms, and put everything to right.
It's unfortunate that Organic Theater Company has made a serious casting miscalculation in Meghan LaRocca as Frankie. Since Frankie is central to this coming-of-age story, with its side helpings of racial tension and human loss, the actress portraying her must be first rate to elicit our sympathies. LaRocca doesn't even come close. Her ham-handed performance, full of bizarre physical contortions (every line is delivered with a jerk upward of the hands and obvious touches like putting a cupped hand to her mouth to demonstrate that she's thinking), and clueless line readings (everything is delivered at the same level) pretty much ruins the show, since her character is so central. LaRocca doesn't inhabit the character, although she flails around desperately trying through technique to do so, she ACTS. We never forget for a moment that she's ACTING, and thus, we never forget for a moment that we're watching a bad community theater-level production (which does not justify its relatively high ticket prices). We never get transported to the deep south (although Joseph Glueckert's scenic design is detailed and right on target, it's not enough).
Perhaps if Jonathan Wilson's direction had been better, he might have been able to elicit more credible performances from this very weak cast (in addition to the lackluster portrayals, there was a lot of stumbling over lines on opening night), but Wilson creates a static environment with leaden pacing that leaves us bored. What should have been an evening full of poignancy becomes an evening of tedium (I counted three people in nearby seats fast asleep). Politely decline your invitation to this Wedding.
