When Rod Serling passed away into that cosmos whose perimeters he charted in his award-winning teleplays for the seminal Twilight Zone series, our world lost more than just a capable writer of science fiction. In the early days of television, when viewers were assumed to have attention spans commensurate with those of live-theatre audiences, the networks devoted large portions of their evening hours to full-length dramas crafted for small-screen intimacy with topics chosen for their appeal to a wide spectrum of American citizens.
Serling's Requiem For A Heavyweight was one of these, the struggle of its protagonist—a prizefighter at the end of his career—resonating with a population confronting the return of war veterans likewise endeavoring to re-assimilate into a suddenly alien society. ( Serling had first-hand knowledge of both, having himself dabbled in the sport during his military stint in WWII. ) Our Everyman-hero, Tennessee-native Harlan 'Mountain' McClintock, is aided in his quest for identity by his longtime trainer and a plucky social worker, herself no stranger to hardened men. His efforts are hindered, however, by his manager, whose fundamental humanity is crippled by the brutality of his milieu. ( As one character puts it, 'If they had the head-room, they'd hold [ the matches ] in the sewers!' )
This is gritty realism at its grittiest. We are introduced to our environment at the outset, the final round of McClintock's last fight finishing less than three feet away from us in a welter of blood, canvas burns and the slap of gloves on flesh. It doesn't stop there: Director Lou Contey has assembled a platoon of players whose appearance invokes a Boschean inferno inexplicably transposed to a shabby corner on the edge of despair, featuring a total-immersion performance by Sean Sullivan as the broken pug, along with sturdy support from veteran character actors Bill Bannon and Brian McCartney ( but don't overlook Paula Stevens' delicately nuanced portrayal of the employment counselor who refuses to give up on her client. )
The late Norman Mailer once commented on the conflicting emotions aroused by fisticuffs: the fear associated with being hurt, to be sure, but also the fear of hurting others—a contradiction not explored by Chicago playgoers since 1994's Never Come Morning. And now, in 2008, this Shattered Globe Theatre production offers a ringside view of a subculture whose difficult choices mirror those faced by every soul searching for dignity in a harsh universe.
Playwright: Rod Serling. At: Shattered Globe Theatre at the Victory Gardens Greenhouse,2257 N. Lincoln. Phone: 773-871-3000; $27-$35. Runs through: March 8