The Iceman Cometh by Eugene O’Neill (review)

When The Iceman Cometh premiered in 1946, the New York Mirror hailed O’Neill’s return to Broadway as a “stimulating, revivifying shot in the arm” for an anemic theatre. George C. Wolfe’s 2018 revival at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre followed this sentiment through the show’s pace and ensemble work. Act 1 started without a moment’s pause for the audience to dwell on the existential crisis that brought each down-and-out patron into Harry Hope’s bar. On the one hand, this abbreviated approach to the work cut down the play’s run time to an impressive three-hours-and-forty-five-minutes; on the other, the sense of dread that pervades O’Neill’s play remained muted in Wolfe’s staging. The garrulous crew jockeyed for the spotlight, with each member speaking on top of one another. They offered their respective stories of tragedy as if the details were punch lines. In this way, Harry Hope’s crew styled themselves more like buffoons than barflies (this choice becomes more understandable when considering that the cast included Bill Irwin as Ed Mosher).

Denzel Washington (Hickey) with the cast in The Iceman Cometh. (Photo: Julieta Cervantes.)

Wolfe’s production supported the ensemble’s lightheartedness through other elements, like scenic design, sound, and lighting. Moving away from the dark, sparse, and cheap ginmill described by the playwright in the opening scene, the set design by Santo Loquasto instead incorporated colorful, layered tablecloths and a full, shiny bar. Ann Roth’s costume design dressed the characters in colorful suits and layers. And Jules Fisher and Peggy Eisenhauer’s color-coded lighting reminded spectators that while the play explores the anguish of life without illusions, this production wished to provide the audience with a lyrical stage picture throughout.

The company’s ability to keep things festive betrayed an anxiety shared by all as they waited for Hickey’s attendance. Roars of laughter among those listening onstage were both prompts for an audience audibly eager to see Denzel Washington in the role, and also a sign of the forced levity in the room. This superficial sense of camaraderie lost momentum as the same jokes and squabbles recurred and as the audience lost its patience. While waiting in line for the restroom between acts, I heard more than one patron agonize over the wait to see “Denzel.” When Hickey finally arrived onstage about an hour into the production, it was apparent that the play’s apprehension extended to Washington’s portrayal of the salesman himself. He delivered his best Salesman’s pitch yet: now sober, Hickey aims to save his former drinking companions from their “pipedreams” so that they may find the peace of mind that he has finally found. Although “cured,” Washington’s plea came across as strained. While doling out his trademark smile and walking around the room with comfort, the actor played the role of Hickey like a television evangelist on the brink of a nervous breakdown. He smiled, he stammered, he spread his arms wide before clinging to the back of a chair or grabbing the shoulders of a would-be convert.

Washington was magnetic in this role, and it was one of the rare times a black actor has played Hickey. Before Washington, James Earl Jones played the salesman in a 1973 production directed by Theodore Mann. Wolfe’s production also accounted for race and representation in subtle, but significant ways. His version reassigned Joe Mott’s lines to a white Ed Mosher so that the sole black gambling man no longer revealed himself to be both a cheat and also duplicitous enough to steal from his own sister. Mott (played by Michael Potts) spoke the lines originally meant for Mosher in turn, so that he stood as the first (black) man in the bar to voice the group’s doubts about Hickey’s transformation: “Give him time, Harry, and he’ll come...