Anne Gottlieb & Jeremiah Kissel in "Broken Glass" (photo: Andrew Brilliant/Brilliant Pictures) |
As its first production of the current season, New Rep
is presenting “Broken Glass” by Arthur Miller, and attention must
be paid to such a man. First unveiled in New York in 1994 (over four
decades after his monumental “Death of a Salesman”), this was one
of the revered writer's last works, yet it lasted just a scant couple
of months (though it did win Britain's Olivier Award as Best Play
later that year). Directed here by the company's Artistic Director
Jim Petosa (who previously helmed the piece for Maryland's Olney
Center, just two years after Broadway), it's not difficult to
understand its initial critical and popular reception, given its
highly melodramatic nature, but it's still the work of a writer who
is arguably this country's finest playwright. As such, audiences
should be thankful that this company has afforded us the opportunity
to see and hear the play. Originally entitled “Gellburg”, the
eventual title refers to the shattered shards of the American Dream.
The setting is 1938 Brooklyn, days after the infamous
“Night of Broken Glass”, or Kristallnacht
in Germany. Sylvia Gellburg (Anne Gottlieb), a Jewish
American housewife, has apparently been paralyzed by the event, quite
literally. Her husband Phillip Gellburg (Jeremiah Kissel) has sought
help from local general practitioner Harry Hyman (Benjamin Evett),
who posits that hers is a hysterical paralysis resulting from her
seeing “some truth that other people are blind to” about the
worsening situation of Jews in Europe. It later develops that she
sees hers as a wasted life she “gave...away like a couple of
pennies; I took better care of my shoes”. Phillip in turn is
gradually revealed to be racked with self-loathing and disgusted with
his own ethnicity. In conversations with Dr. Hyman and with his
stereotypically WASP employer, Stanton Case (Michael Kaye), he grows
ever more uncomfortable with his Jewishness. Commenting on his case
are Dr. Hyman's wife Margaret (Eve Passeltiner) and Sylvia's sister
Harriet (Christine Hamel). As it slowly (very slowly) builds to a
climax, there are no real surprises, and the ending pretty much
validates one's suspicions. Without revealing too much, it may be
safely said that Sylvia finds herself unable to walk because her
husband is an emotional cripple. Dr. Hyman states that we are all
born with fear, and that it's how we deal with it that matters. He
adds that in his view everyone is persecuted by someone, though he
never sees anyone in the actual act of persecuting. In the end, it's
the entire Jewish psyche that Miller is exposing.
The Direction by Petosa and the acting of the entire
ensemble couldn't conceivably be better. Kissel is in his typically
towering form even as he sinks into an abyss right before us, and
Gottlieb is easily his equal, though more restrained and simmering.
The rest of the cast, though not given a great deal to do, also
measure up to Miller's wordy demands. As for the technical creatives,
there is the terrific revolving Set Design by Jon Savage (full of
glass elements), the suitably character-centric Costume Design by
Molly Trainer, the strikingly stark Lighting Design by Scott Pinkney, and, above all, the
evolving Sound Design by David Remedios (with ever more deafening
tinkling glass).
This is a worthy start to a promising season, and, even
if this play isn't top tier Miller, it gets a very respectable
treatment. Any opportunity to experience anew the poetic words of
such a master makes for rewarding theater. You might, after all, echo
Phillip's ironic statement, at the play's end, that he “finally
got the joke”.
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