"THE TIME OF YOUR LIFE" at Steppenwolf Theatre
BY LUCIA MAURO
"I study things, Nick," says Joe, the enigmatic moral conscience of Nick’s Bay Area saloon in "The Time of Your Life." And, whether it’s a mechanical toy that stopped him from crying or a gun that can both protect and obliterate, Joe philosophically dissects that elusive realm of dreams and urges. In William Saroyan’s Depression-era honky tonk, a class in human behavior unfolds before our eyes.
While some may argue that all these familiar drifters, drunks and dames embody a collective noble misfit cliché, the playwright does not romanticize them. Granted, some – like the patriotic-intellectual longshoreman McCarthy or the grumbling, dissatisfied cop Krupp – serve as bully pulpits for overwrought theater-of-the-people proclamations. But they all (except for the one-dimensionally villainous vice detective Blick) embody an unadorned humanity squeezed into the comforting yet distraught confines of a class-erasing watering hole. Stretching beyond types, Saroyan’s characters are not really linked to what they do – but to who they are.
Steppenwolf Theatre’s production of "The Time of Your Life" – directed by Tina Landau in the fluidly cluttered mode of Thomas Hart Benton’s labor-heavy Great Depression murals – floats across abstraction and truth; a dream state and harsh reality. Very much like Joe’s contradictory mind.
A dubiously wealthy man, who sips champagne and seeks to restore an inherent purity and goodness to humankind, Joe both observes and experiences life (even through an indulgent blast of Tutti Frutty gum) – not quite finding the happy medium that will abate his underlying regret.
Landau essentially tears down the theater’s walls to give us a moving – and deliberately confusing – glimpse into the guts of late 1930s society. Multiple activities – from labor strikes to a woman gazing longingly from her tenement’s balcony – engulf the stage, and characters mill about in a flurry of overlapping orchestrations. The approach, also mirrored in Saroyan’s style of writing, can be distracting – especially when Guy Adkins’ hammy song-and-dance man Harry almost drowns out key monologues, particularly hooker Kitty Duval’s wish for a home and self-dignity.
But, as the production settles into a more compelling rhythm in the second half, the characters’ contrived wandering in and out meshes with the sort of stream-of-consciousness verisimilitude later employed by Lanford Wilson in his late-night coffee shop collage, "Balm in Gilead" (one of Steppenwolf’s greatest claims to fame).
At the core of "The Time of Your Life" is Joe’s desire to make happiness possible for his shy errand-boy/confidante Tom and the much-abused Kitty – exemplified in Joe’s tender giving of a tiny musical carousel to calm Kitty’s nerves; all the more touching against the backdrop of a haphazard metropolis seemingly devoid of a conscience (even in the fiery midst of social reform).
Landau has managed to find the genuine musicality of Saroyan’s language so that it balances atop a note of mystery and concrete desperation (like the waltzes and work songs popular during that era). The lines – which can be heavy-handed and melodramatic at times – ring with quiet conviction, epitomized by Amy Morton’s cryptic and understated Mary L (a well-to-do wife and mother who secretly drinks by herself).
The penultimate ensemble play, brimming with challenging roles devoid of glamour, "The Time of Your Life" suits Steppenwolf’s ensemble assets. It’s also refreshing to see so many talented off-Loop actors appear alongside the Steppenwolf artists. The extraordinary commitment by the cast moved me as much as Saroyan’s burningly topical words.
Jeff Perry lends a childlike exuberance, flushed with gray shades of self-doubt, to the play’s psychoanalytical centerpiece, Joe. Patrick New’s shy but immovable Tom is delicately paired with Heather Anne Prete’s gracious and non-delusional Kitty. Yasen Peyankov holds down the dream-spewing fort as Nick the bartender – a rational and heartfelt presence.
Robert Breuler – largely silent as the beer-imbibing Armenian – tells a wrenching story in slumping gesture, building to his speech about the soul-sapping nature of a life dedicated to work. Timothy Hendrickson does flawless work as the lovesick Dudley. Don Shell delivers a subtle and multifaceted performance as the bar’s piano man, Wesley. Donna McGough and Dan Flannery are a synergized tour-de-force of marital inertia as a slumming society couple.
Rick Snyder – a last-minute replacement for the hospitalized Howard Witt in the colorful wrangler role of Kit Carson – was still on book for opening night but performed adequately. However, at this early stage, Snyder does not seem ideally suited to this scruffy tall tale-reciting cowboy. He’s a bit too young and relies on broad character technique instead of drawing out Kit’s uncluttered essence.
GW "Skip" Mercier’s sepia shipyard-style set -- with its exposed rafters, cranes and surrounding grime – gives the effect of a sketch for a Thomas Hart Benton mural. The actors – together with James Schuette’s class-defining costumes – then fills in its colors over the course of the play. The main visual flaw, however, is lighting designer Scott Zielinski’s occasional stop-action spotlights that too rigidly telegraph a character’s motivation.
Throughout the production, audiences are stimulated by overlapping conversations and artful scenarios taking place behind and around the bar (incidentally, the bar is a relic from the former O’Rourke’s – a popular Steppenwolf hangout). And it is the beauty and intrigue of life happening on the periphery of this play that makes the drama so immediate.•
"The Time of Your Life" runs through November 3 at Steppenwolf Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted. Tickets: $35-$50. Call 312-335-1650 or log onto www.steppenwolf.org.
