Alas, the intervening two and a half decades have not been kind. With the television airwaves flooded with reality TV shows, in which confessions about once-taboo topics are commonplace, there arenít many boundaries left to breach, and most of the blindly followed traditions Durang assails have since been viciously parodied by far more serious sources. What remains of Bette and Boo is an amplified version of what has always existed: a messy, entropy-prone chronicle of a young manís upbringing so buoyant and funny that you hardly notice how heartbreaking it is.
Itís understandable, then, that the playís tragic aspects are more persuasive and percussive today than once they were. And this revivalís director, Walter Bobbie, and his mostly appealing cast are very willing and almost always able to work within this difficult new context. Though they canít resurrect all of the original bite, they do construct a sturdy, attractive vision of a past we canít help but wish we had somehow been able to take part in, even if weíre also glad we didnít.
The same, of course, isnít true of Matt (Charles Socarides), that young man whoís narrating the life of his mother Bette (Kate Jennings Grant) and father Boo (Christopher Evan Welch), with the lithe, backhanded zing that identifies him as Durang by another name. (And, indeed, he played the role in the original production.) This student of Thomas Hardy is also an unflinching observer of the unwinding world around him, and itís his plan to bring order to the increasingly chaotic pieces of his life by turning back the clock to see not where his family went wrong, but whether it was ever right.
Bette was raised, by a domineering mother and an aphasic father (Victoria Clark and Adam Lefevre) to believe that happiness resides in the children, religion, and auspices of home. Boo was the product of a misogynistic bigot of a father and a dirtily dotty mother (John Glover and Julie Hagerty) whoíve taught him that most of lifeís challenges can be overcome by taking charge of women and drinking when things donít go well. It doesnít take Matt, or us, long to see that this particular road to hell was paved with the shiniest of misunderstood intentions.
As the years (and Betteís dead babies) go flying, the familiesí competing visions of connubial contentment corrode in the acidic reality that life canít be planned any more than it can be understood. Everyone is a victim of time, poor choices, or both. Not a single marriage looks to have been a good idea. Even appointed caretakers of the status quo, represented by a doctor and a priest (portrayed to full, demented drollness by Terry Beaver), are helpless and hopeless, doomed to repeat the platitudes that are the only tools they have for dealing with lifeís most insoluble problems.
While long-familiar Durang territory, itís sharply enough conceived and executed that itís never hard to laugh at. But the underlying pain always returns slightly before it should. The breezy sweep of Bobbieís staging, David Korinsís candy-colored set design, and Donald Holderís gently jolting lights create the right circus-of-the-bizarre atmosphere; the work just no longer feels bizarre enough.
Socarides, making Matt the perennial straight man lost amid his off-kilter relationships, is a potent normalizing force; unfortunately, the play needs to be anything and everything but normal. Matters are not helped by Grant and Welch, who are delightful to watch, but bring too much grounded normalcy to Bette and Boo and get lost in the dizziness of their unraveling life more than in the playís rhythms. More natural character actors, like the greasy-smooth Glover, the deliciously out-of-sorts Hagerty, and every other performer - including Zoe Lister-Jones and Heather Burns, both wonderful as Betteís put-upon sisters - might help recapture some of that now-vanished spunk.
But the deficiencies the play now demonstrates transcend partial miscasting in this, or any, production. Bette and Boo has always been one of Durangís less-focused plays, one that brings together perhaps too many of his favored themes under one halfway-collapsed umbrella. But it provided a dry antidote to the deluge of social absurdity until that became all the world had to offer. Bobbie and his company are hardy souls for braving the downpour, but some storms are too much for any ensemble or play, however solid, to weather unscathed.
The Marriage of Bette and Boo