Written by David Rabe
Directed by Scott Elliott
In present day America, when headlines scream of ongoing conflict overseas and veteran’s suicide rates continue to climb, it would seem that a drama about the stateside repercussions of the Vietnam War would be as relevant as the day it was written. And yet, despite some brilliant touches David Rabe’s indignant satire feels dated. It’s not the play’s milieu, but its polyglot of ideas, its confusing lulls between plot points, that make it difficult for a contemporary audience to stay with it.
As if in a modern retelling of “The Monkey’s Paw”, Ozzie (Bill Pullman) and Harriet (Holly Hunter), want their son David (Ben Schnetzer) to come home alive from his tour of duty in Southeast Asia. But when he arrives at their doorstep, transformed by war into a monster, they begin to wonder if the grave might be a better place for him after all. David has lost his sight overseas, but that isn’t the worst of it. Unable to resume his former life, the young veteran refuses to bathe, tells tales of carnage and torture, sulks in his room and shows no interest in adapting to civilian life. He has fallen in love with Zung (Nadia Gan) – anathema to his racist parents- and has hallucinations in which she appears to be in the house with him. Also on hand is David’s happy-go-lucky, guitar-toting younger brother Rick (Raviv Ullman). Underneath his teeny-bopper exterior, Rick seethes with resentment at his big brother’s disruption of the status quo. Father Donald (Richard Chamberlain) attempts to guide David back to the church, but his bigoted homilies only serve to make things worse. Harriet tries a gentler approach and receives physical abuse for her trouble. Finally, like the War itself, the battle for the young soldier’s soul becomes undeniably unwinnable. Passive Ozzie at last decides to take action, with shocking results.
Some of the tropes here are effective. By referencing the popular picket-fence family sitcom Ozzie and Harriet, Rabe effectively lobs a clever grenade at the collective mid-century fantasy of the picket fence purity (the conceit is given an ingenious update through the inclusion of Chamberlain, himself a major TV heartthrob of the time). The pasquinade is interlaced with surreal touches and lyrical arias. Much of this is well-written, but there are simply too many words exchanged, too many points belabored. It only takes a line or too to establish the irony of “civilized” Anglo-Saxons spewing racist invective. Yet disparaging comments about “yellow people” keep coming. Likewise, Ozzie’s retreat into nostalgia and David’s imagined betrothal to Zung are compelling at first, but lose their energy through excessive repetition. The stakes are higher in the second act, when the characters spend less time pontificating and more time fighting for what they want. Not all of the story’s turns are convincing, but that seems to be the point. The play’s final, grisly tableau is less an organic conclusion to a well-made play than a comment on the insanity of war as a rapidly spreading social contagion.
Director Scott Elliott (although he could stand to quicken his baton) draws believable, impassioned performances from a well-chosen cast. Derek McClane’s set and Peter Kaczorowski’s lighting design evoke a the comforting conformity of a suburban living room as well as the as the shadowy ambiguities that surround it. The efforts of the cast and crew highlight the forceful family drama, with some revision STICKS AND BONES could be. Revivals need not always treat their scripts as sacrosanct, especially when the playwright is alive and can examine his earlier work through a more mature lens. Edward Albee is known for judiciously pruning his plays when new productions are staged. Why not Rabe?
STICKS AND BONES continues through December 14th at the Romulus Linney Courtyard Theatre at The Pershing Square Signature Center, 480 West 42nd Street, New York, New York. Tickets and information: http://www.thenewgroup.org/