Playwright: Arthur Miller At: Eclipse Theatre Company at the Greenhouse, 2257 N. Lincoln. Phone: 773-404-7336; $25. Runs through: Aug. 22
However many playgoers in 2010 may know—or care—about the speculation surrounding the premiere of Arthur Miller’s 1964 roman à clef, generations hence will have only its text to witness the emotional turmoil spurring its author to explain himself before the audiences responsible for his laudable career. So while there’s no crime in bringing your own real-world issues into the arena, you’ll find no picking over old bones in this Eclipse Theatre production.
Our hero is Quentin, a high-profile lawyer whose reputation rests on his landmark defense of citizens targeted by HUAC during the Red Scare of the 1950s, but also on his marriage to a celebrated pop songstress (think Madonna proportions, you youngsters). But for those on a pedestal, there’s no way but down—and so, like many successful individuals, he lives in constant remorse over being less than his admirers believe him to be. Through a montage of memories—a narrative technique still innovative for its time and a radical departure for a luminary of American Realism—we see the events shaping the personality that will provide him survival but deny him happiness, beginning with the doting mother who makes her son a surrogate for her disappointing husband and thwarted ambitions.
The fashion nowadays is to be skeptical of men seeking to justify their actions, especially in regard to marital failures. Quentin’s first wife, after going into psychoanalysis, accuses him of neglect. His second starts by adoring him and ends by renouncing him for not rescuing her as he promised he would. Are they correct? Is he the cold and distant egotist they declare him to be? Did they—and he—marry under a mutually idealized illusion? Since the dramatic action occurs within Quentin’s consciousness, we have no way of ascertaining the accuracy of either vituperation or excruciation.
As played with weary resignation by the boyish-faced Nathaniel Swift, however, we have little reason to contradict his defense, or his conclusion that blame is pointless in a world bereft of innocence. His various nemeses, male and female, may protest—even dying for their convictions—but ultimately, their testimony supports the case he makes for himself. And the ensemble directed by Steve Scott remain focused—in particular, Nora Fiffer, whose 30-minute meltdown suffers not an instant of acting-class shrillness—to keep the action crisp and coherent for the entire three riveting hours of Miller’s problematic plea.