I’m a big Philip Seymour Hoffman fan. I remember seeing him on Broadway with John C. Reilly in their Tony-nominated performances in the revival of Sam Shepard’s True West and being just blown away. His Oscar-winning performance in Capote is still, in my opinion, one of the most indelible cinematic performances of recent memory. So when I received the Goodman season brochure late last year and saw that he was going to be making his Chicago directorial debut with a world premiere play in the winter of 2010, I started clearing my calendar to make sure I wouldn’t miss its limited run. My anticipation was built up as friends recounted Hoffman sightings at restaurants or at Steppenwolf (taking in a performance of American Buffalo), and the Chicago press published interviews and articles about him and the play. And yes, he was there at the performance I attended, silently observing from the Owen Theater’s mezzanine level. I was very certain I was going to be blown away, mesmerized, by his production of Brett C. Leonard’s newest, The Long Red Road, about a man broken down by the memories of a tragic past, that chills were going to run up my spine, that my jaws would need to be scraped off the floor,…..but I wasn’t blown away, my spine stayed ramrod stiff, and my jaws lay firmly in place. In fact I was pretty disappointed, not so much with Hoffman’s direction, but with the material, which was muddled, unoriginal, and oddly, somewhat sedate and internalized for a play dealing with such harrowing themes as alcoholism, incest, pedophilia, and accidental murder.
I haven’t seen any of Brett C. Leonard’s previous plays but I have heard a lot about them, especially Guinea Pig Solo, which had an acclaimed Chicago premiere from Collaboraction in 2006. I was expecting The Long Red Road to be gutsy, devastating, an emotional electric shock to the system. And in parts it is. In some parts it feels like a TV movie, but with a very strong visual feel. In fact, I think it is Hoffman’s direction, which feels very cinematic- experimenting with overlapping blocking of scenes set in different locations; unabashedly relying on prolonged pauses and silences to create character tension; judiciously and creatively using Eugene Lee’s large, multi-level, impressively detailed set to allow for one scene to be played out in the foreground of another scene- that is the strongest element of this production. But man, the play is a mass of incomplete, imperfect information. As avid readers of this blog know, I’m not a spoonfeeding kind of theatrical guy, but I do like to have some information to draw conclusions about the play I’m seeing. Sam, an alcoholic tortured by memories of his tragic past, has been hiding out in a South Dakota Indian reservation after running away from an accident that killed one of his daughters and crippled his wife nine years ago. The wife, Sandra, and the surviving daughter, Tasha, is now living with Sam’s brother, Bob, in a dysfunctional quasi-family unit. Bob, who has demons of his own, and Tasha, hungry for paternal love, visit Sam at the reservation upon the urging of Sam’s new girlfriend, Annie, a teacher on the reservation, hoping to take him back to Kansas and start his life all over again. But there are so many questions, and so little time. Why is Sam an alcoholic? He was driving drunk during the accident, so he didn’t turn to liquor because of the tragedy. From what Bob recounts, he was the favored child and got his own way even as a little boy. How did Sam end up in the Indian reservation? Actually, why is the play even set in the reservation, when there really isn’t any strong evocation of the milieu? I mean, as it’s written and staged, The Long Red Home can be set in Staten Island (which is as effective a hiding place as South Dakota is). Why is Annie sticking it out with Sam, who is self-absorbed, drunk, self-destructive, drunk, self-pitying, drunk? What is it in her back story that draws her to a man like him when she’s smart, calm, independent? Ok, so Bob thinks she’s a “saver”, but I think that’s a tepid reason to keep Sam’s lazy, mooching, drunk ass around. What is keeping Bob as surrogate father and husband to Sam’s family when Sandra isn’t sleeping with him anymore, and he has his own issues with Sam whom he has resented since childhood? Is his sense of sibling responsibility that strong? Then why didn’t he exhaust all means to find Sam when he disappeared nine years ago? Finally, what is the deal with the Indian chief? Is he Sam’s therapist, mentor, guardian angel, or am I overthinking this and Clifton is just the guy who pours his copious drinks? The character doesn’t really play a significant role in the drama. The questions aren’t really helped by the shortness of the scenes, with emotional volatility seemingly bubbling underneath, but rarely spilling forth.
I think the other problem is that the audience really needs to empathize with Sam, and it has to be strong empathy even without sympathy or identification. Tom Hardy, the hot British actor who plays Sam, does some interesting work here. His drunken meltdown is riveting, and there are some intriguing shades in his line delivery and physical details (he sometimes rubs his chest to indicate anxiety or alcoholic withdrawal or both). It’s a pretty subdued performance in my opinion, though, as if he is keeping all his demons inside, in his head, which can be a refreshing alternative to how this potentially scenery-chewing role can be played. However, we don’t really get the bombast and dazzle that the dramatic arcs seem to demand, so ultimately it is an unsatisfying performance. I think the best performance in the five person cast is turned in by Fiona Roberts, startlingly still a student at The Chicago Academy for the Arts High School, as Tasha. When she finally meets her father, Sam, whom she knows about, but don’t remember, as she fiercely embraces him or sensitively, heartbreakingly finger the beaded necklace he gives her as a gift, she is magnificently shattering. It’s a very lived in, very ferocious performance, and gives the surroundings that jolt of electricity I wanted to find.
The Long Red Road feels like a play that still needs to be workshopped and further revised, an unfinished work that can eventually become memorable work. Maybe I had high expectations for Hoffman’s Chicago directing debut, thinking that with an artist of his caliber, it was going to be quite auspicious. Unfortunately, I left the Goodman after the play feeling quite auspiciously deflated.
The Long Red Road is at the Goodman’s Owen Theater, 170 N. Dearborn St., until March 21.
Tags: Goodman Theatre
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