Peformance Review: Ah, Wilderness!, and: The Emperor Jones

Figure 1.

Essie Miller (Debra Monk) and Nat Miller (Craig T. Nelson) in the Lincoln Center Theater of New York’s production of Eugene O’Neill’s Ah, Wilderness!, directed by Daniel Sullivan. Photo: Joan Marcus.

Figure 2.

Jones (Kate Valk) and Smithers (Willem Dafoe) in The Wooster Group of New York’s production of Eugene O’Neill’s The Emperor Jones, directed by Elizabeth LeCompte. Photo: Mary Gearhart.

Eugene O’Neill attempted throughout his career to reveal identity below the surface of appearances. In his Memoranda on Masks (1932), the playwright asks, “For what, at bottom, is the new psychological insight into human cause and effect but a study in masks, an exercise in unmasking?” (The Unknown O’Neill, ed. Travis Bogard [New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988], 406). Despite handsome mounting and accomplished acting in two very different venues, an uptown commercial revival of Ah, Wilderness! and a downtown experimental production of The Emperor Jones, both efforts adhere to a performance style that appeals to the senses but does not embrace the soul. Pursuit of the easy laugh or technical dazzle prevents either production from peeling off enough polished veneer to reveal a heartfelt human—or theatrical—experience.

Lincoln Center Theater’s production of Ah, Wilderness! boldly emphasizes O’Neill’s slang to evoke turn-of-the-century America. Language, not often considered O’Neill’s strong suit, achieves a richly pleasant musicality under the direction of Daniel Sullivan. A player piano in the bar scene and later a sentimental rendition of “Dearie,” popular at the time, highlight the fun. Scene designer Tom Lynch further accentuates the human figure by stripping away the walls of the Miller home and placing a rectangular platform upon the thrust stage. Matching wicker furniture in the first act and stuffed chairs in act 2 provide a sense of order and harmony. The small size of the platform offsets the sterility of the furnishings by forcing intimacy among family members. Characters enter and literally disappear behind black curtains spanning the width of the immense stage. Dunya Ramicova’s light and breezy costumes document the period and Peter Kaczorowki’s lighting makes the actors pop out against the dark background. A green and cloudy sky, a discordant intrusion into an otherwise tranquil picture, hangs above the blacks upstage. Three power lines swag across the sky and connect to a sometimes flickering electric lamp standing upstage of the family platform, a reminder of the nascent power and technology that will blossom in coming years.

The strength of the production lies in the fine acting of the entire ensemble. As the sympathetic father Nat Miller, Craig T. Nelson is all patience and restraint. His ability to hold a line and stare down a moment adds to the leisurely pace that a holiday atmosphere requires. The most surprising performance, however, belongs to Debra Monk in the role of the mother. Initially, she seems rather cold and a somewhat stereotypical and disposable character. But as the action unfolds, Monk fashions a contradictory character who is intelligent, loving, manipulative, yet innocent. She is capable of pulling off the bluefish prank against her husband and laughing at her own joke, but she rushes to his defense when she senses his hurt feelings. She expresses concern that her son is having an affair with Hedda Gabler in one scene, but in the next scene she teases her husband about not being very bright. The audience delights in her full-bodied representation.

Unfortunately, the production as a whole flattens human experience into sitcom dimensions. In the climactic scene in act 4, the production goes all out to create a romantic landscape, complete with a big full moon hanging over a lighthouse lit horizon. A washed-out relic of a rowboat puts the finishing touches on...