The Waverly Gallery

C

Buoyed by the success of the revivals of This Is Our Youth and Lobby Hero, the powers that be thought it would be a good idea to bring back Kenneth Lonergan’s semi-autobiographical 2000 memory play about a dementia-addled octogenarian and the effects of her illness on her loving but frazzled family. Eileen Heckart’s powerful performance in the central role of Gladys made the original production a must-see event, even though the play was not one of Lonergan’s stronger efforts. I regret to say that Elaine May (California Suite, Luv) is no match for Ms. Heckart. The limited range of her facial expression weakens her performance and, therefore, the play itself. The actors playing her family are all strong. For me, the main reason to attend is to see the wonderful Joan Allen (Burn This, The Heidi Chronicles) onstage again, playing her daughter Ellen. David Cromer (Our Town) captures the well-meaning but clumsy behavior of Ellen’s second husband Howard. Lucas Hedges (Yen), in his Broadway debut, plays the long-suffering grandson whose apartment is just down the hall from Gladys’s and who therefore bears the brunt of dealing with her decline. He has the additional burden of narrating the play. A not very well-integrated subplot involves a naive, unsuccessful artist, Don (Michael Cera; Lobby Hero), just arrived in New York, whom Gladys befriends and installs in the back room of her failing Greenwich Village gallery. Even though Gladys fulfills his dream of a one-man show, he becomes disillusioned with life in New York. On the one hand, Cera avoids most of his usual annoying mannerisms; on the other, he does not create a very vivid character. I found it uncomfortable to laugh at Gladys’s behavior, knowing its source and its eventual outcome. There was no conflict within the family how to take care of Gladys and little insight provided about her illness or the best way to mitigate its effects. Perhaps it was cathartic for the author to describe her decline, but, in my opinion, there is little payoff for the audience. Without a really mesmerizing Gladys, the play’s weaknesses become more apparent. David Zinn’s (The Humans) set presents four distinct locations that are revealed behind a brick-wall front curtain. Old film clips of New York are projected on the wall between scenes. Perhaps director Lila Neugebauer (The Antipodes, At Home at the Zoo) could have found more depth in the play; perhaps not. Running time: two hours ten minutes including intermission.

Yen

C

Anna Jordan’s prize-winning drama about three members of a British underclass family and their neighbor is having its New York premiere in an MCC production at the Lucille Lortel Theatre. Hench and Bobbie are teenage half-brothers who are living alone and unsupervised in their alcoholic diabetic mother Maggie’s flat after she moves out to live with her current boyfriend. Hench (Lucas Hedges of “Manchester by the Sea” in an impressive stage debut) is a sullen, emotionally constricted 16-year-old who has nightmares and wets the bed. Bobbie (the impressive Justice Smith) is a hyperactive potty-mouthed 14-year-old (in London the character was only 13) who has unspecified special needs. The boys spend their time playing violent video games and watching porn. Their unseen dog Taliban, so named because he is vicious and brown, is confined to their spare room because he bit someone the last time they let him out. The brothers spot Maggie (Ari Graynor, who looks too pretty and kempt) passed out on the street and bring her in to sober her up. Later the boys are visited by Jennifer (Stefania LaVie Owen), a sweet-dispositioned 16-year-old neighbor, recently arrived from Wales, who is concerned about Taliban’s possible mistreatment. She becomes friendly with the brothers, particularly Hench, who also is stirred by feelings for her. It all turns out very badly. The production is ill-served by an intermission that disrupts the play’s flow. Somehow the play gained 20 minutes since London, where it was performed without a break. The thick working-class British accents and, to a lesser extent, the Welsh accent are challenging. The plot has a few contrivances that make no sense. The brothers have to share one shirt, because they left their laundry with their grandmother the day before she disappeared with her immigrant boyfriend. Was one of them running around shirtless that day? There is too little context for the characters. We never learn what demons bedevil Hench or, for that matter, why he is called Hench. Trip Cullman (Punk Rock) commits one of the cardinal (at least in my book) sins of directing: shining bright lights in the audience’s eyes. The set by Mark Wendland is efficient but uninspired. The costumes by Pamela Young are apt. When it was all over, I had to ask myself what was the play’s point. Is it just a slice of life about the British lower classes? A screed about the evils of porn and video games? A cautionary tale about bad parenting? Judge for yourself if you are so inclined. Running time: 2 hours 10 minutes including intermission.