This play was way overbilled. The script is completely linear with holes
filled in the chronology by a narrator at the curtain of the stage telling
instead of showing. The script doesn’t have
a single clever bit, an arc, or a reveal.
There is no tension. There is
hint that maybe there will be tension when, at the end of the first act just before
the curtain drops, we are left wondering about the intentions of the interloper
from the north and Gladys compares herself to the dog, but neither of these advance
in the second act. And at the end, there
is a bit about a piece of furniture. We
got it the first time; was it repeated for the slower audience members?
Elaine May and Joan Allen were outstanding as the elderly
mother daughter team. I wasn’t convinced
Lucas Hedges was doing much more than walking through the part. David Cromer was completely believable as the
upper west side psychiatrist. And what
is the part of the artist from New England?
Yes he was good, but Michael Cera’s part didn’t call for much, just stand
around being awkward and speak with a Boston accent. And his
reappearance at the end seemed gratuitous.
Was it added because of the casting of a big star?
The best thing about this play was the paintings. The collection of art for the first scene in
the gallery and for Gladys’s apartment was outstanding. While I sat there as lines went by, I was
enraptured by the art. Regardless from a
warehouse supplying set pieces, borrowed from collectors or galleries, or commissioned by
artists, the art was enthralling.
But other aspects of the props were disconcerting. A suitcase that should have been full of
clothes was obviously empty. And when
did the play take place? I think before
plastic ketchup bottles, some of the furniture used, and the Pepsi
can in prominent display. Gladys’s desk in the gallery
should have been from the 1960s or 1970s and appeared worn. Details like these were confusing.
