Of Mice And Men
Longacre Theatre
11 April 2014
4 Stars
John Steinbeck won pretty much every award for literature going. His novels and novellas are prime examples of the form and, of them, Of Mice And Men is one of his greatest achievements. His own adaptation of that literary masterpiece is currently being revived on Broadway at the Longacre Theatre and is now in previews.
The publicity and advertising for the production centres, chiefly, on the cast but the true star here is Steinbeck himself. For this is a cracking adaptation of the novel, a singular piece of story-telling for the stage which is, in turns, lyrical and poetic, real and gritty. There is symbolism, pre-figuring, questioning concepts of good and evil, beautifully drawn characters, gentle comedy and profound tragedy, all within a turning circle of inevitability and hopelessness. And it pulses with real humanity, great heart, strong spirit.
Many playwrights spend a lifetime writing plays and do not come close to the perfect form that Steinbeck here achieves. This is a wonderful play.
Happily, this is a production commensurate with the promise of the text. Anna D Shapiro directs with great dexterity and formidable clarity. From the opening scene to the tragic climax, everything moves inexorably forward, tension mounting through familiarity with the characters and the inherent volatility of the situation.
Todd Rosenthal provides a set which beautifully captures the feel, the heat, the confinement and the desperation of the times and the particular lives the working men on the farm eke out. You can almost feel the heat on the tin walls, smell the hay and animals and hear the sounds of the surrounding countryside. Japhy Weideman’s sensitive lighting and David Singer’s original music assist and accentuate the visual pictures Shapiro carefully paints.
The story concerns George and Lennie, two drifters, who come for casual work at the Boss’ farm. Lennie is mentally challenged, a mostly gentle giant, but one with no sense of his own strength and no ability to control his own actions, particularly when he is under pressure. He kills animals, mice and pups, by petting them too hard. George is his protector and friend, always trying to keep Lennie happy but under control. The pair had to flee their last workplace when Lennie got confused with a young woman and accidentally hurt her.
They find a range of odd characters at the farm and a potentially explosive situation. The Boss’ son has recently married but he mistrusts his bride and suspects her of being a tart. The bride, for her part, is feeling neglected and craves company, so she constantly seeks out the farm workers. Inevitably, the bride collides with George and Lennie with disastrous results for all three.
James Franco makes an ideal George, laconic, edgy, determined and watchful. He has put on weight for the role and is every inch the weather-beaten formidable farmhand. He is sincere in his watchful concern for Lennie, but equally establishes an easy rapport with Slim and Candy, the two most rational men on the farm. He is utterly believable as dangerous opponent and steadfast friend.
As his challenged and challenging buddy, Chris O’Dowd is a sheer delight. He painstakingly creates a completely coherent and utterly believable portrait of a lost child powerful enough to murder anyone he encounters with a sudden, impulsive thump. His stance, the way he holds his hands, the twitches, the use of the higher and lower registers of his voice, his bewildered eyes – every element here is carefully assembled to present the true picture of the fascinating idiosyncratic behemoth that is simple Lennie.
The rapport between Franco and O’Dowd is remarkable. It is easy to believe they have shared their lives for decades. Their rhythms, their silences, their interruptions, their fatigue, their overwhelming yearning for stability and freedom from employment, their easy humour with each other, their frenzied attempts to jointly smooth over the troubled waters Lennie always swims in – it’s a delicious and rich stage partnership.
All of which simply served to ensure that the tragic ending of the play was as ghastly and overwhelming as Steinbeck intended, while at the same time being the ultimate expression of love and acceptance. Powerful theatre in every way.
Jim Norton is marvellous as Candy, the one-handed old timer who fears that he will soon be “canned” from the farm. He aches with vulnerability and accumulated hardship. The moment when his canine companion of many years is taken away and shot is almost unbearable to watch, so beautifully truly does Norton play the scene. And the joy he radiates as George and Lennie decide to include him in their plans for their “own place” is acute and tangible. Norton helps make the tragedy all the more affecting.
There is other first-rate support: Alex Morf is terrific as the ghastly runt, Curley, whose stupid treatment of his wife and everyone else on the farm ignites the powder-keg; Jim Ortlieb makes The Boss suitably creepy and pernickety; Jim Parrack is excellent as Slim, the no-nonsense realist who tells it like it is but who is even-handed and not vengeful or spiteful; and Ron Cephas Jones portrays the farm’s nigger, Criggs, with fear, pain and pride in equal measure.
The only weak link is Leighton Meester, as Curley’s chancer of a wife. Her performance is too light, both in terms of the parameters of the character and the strength of the rest of the cast. She needs to be a fiery, wanton equal, but she is very much the poor cousin in this company.
Still, this weak link does not break the chain of complexity which surrounds, engulfs and, ultimately, determines these characters.
This is a masterful revival of a perfectly crafted play.
