Jill Jane Clements and Rob Cleveland

Immortalized on film by the unforgettable performances of Jessica Tandy and Morgan Freeman, the central relationship in Driving Miss Daisy - between a prickly, elderly Jewish woman and the gregarious African-American man her son hires to chauffeur her around town when she starts "goin' 'round the bend a little" — remains one of the most unique, poignant, and delightful friendships in the American theater. Playwright Alfred Uhry, an Atlanta native himself, has an impeccable ear for the language of the South, and he captured its rhythms and cadences with wit and grace, first as a Pulitzer Prize-winning play, and later as a beloved, Academy Award-winning screenplay.

Steeped in history, Driving Miss Daisy is a play that has endured; it seems only fitting, then, that this production is directed by Robert J. Farley, who also staged the Southeastern premiere 21 years ago. The central themes certainly haven't changed, and thank goodness for that. In this charming, easygoing production, Farley and his captivating cast have created a Daisy that feels at once lived-in and brand-new - a familiar place that is somehow still full of surprises and new things to teach us.

One of these surprises is the elegant, evocative score. Farley has dressed this Daisy in the lovely original music of Robert Waldman, and the simple, stirring melodies emerge and percolate throughout the production. Many of Uhry's scenes are quick, episodic devices - brief phone calls and succinct conversations — and the music creates something of a connective tissue throughout the production. The flickers of a sighing cello, the jabs of a plucked guitar, and the sweep of cascading strings all work to illuminate the story with a melancholy, yearning mood. And the play, with its honest, unflinching exploration of the inevitable process of aging, also manages to intertwine both joy and sorrow.

When Daisy's son Boolie first hires Hoke as her driver, she wants no part of it, doing her best to avoid his friendly offers to convey her to the grocery store. A spry, no-nonsense woman with a tart tongue, Daisy has begun to notice the forgetful effects of her age, but clings fiercely to her independence. As played by the excellent Jill Jane Clements, Daisy has a pinched raisin of a face, with a mouth clenched into a firm pucker of disapproval. Clicking about resolutely on her little black heels, Daisy might take small steps, but she's determined to get where she's going.

But when her legs eventually slow down, she finally begins to let Hoke do his job. Although her stern mask begins to melt, it's not the fluid process you might expect, and there are, of course, plenty of jagged edges. For example, Daisy might suddenly seem to become more open-minded about her fellow Atlantans (she attends a dinner to hear Martin Luther King, Jr. speak, even when her businessman son won't go for fear of offending his conservative clients), but she also asks Hoke is he knows King (presuming, of course, that as two black men, they would undoubtedly be acquainted). Clements skillfully captures how this staggering blend of insecurity and anger work to constrain a stubborn, private woman who, more and more, has no choice but to open up and rely on the people around her.

However, Daisy's lagging limitations are no match for the dazzling ways in which she changes, and she is transformed, day by day, by the constant company of a man who was once a stranger. With his deep, melodious voice, Rob Cleveland makes an instantly likable Hoke, and he's also terrific in his more vulnerable moments, particularly when Daisy discovers, quite by accident, that he has never learned to read. William S. Murphey also does fine work as devoted son Boolie, managing to capture, in one repeated line, both the tenderness and tension he feels for his mother: "You are a doodle, Mama."

Maclare "MC" Park's set is as spare and wide open as the music, using no more than a few pieces of furniture - a window, a chair, a desk - to create the living spaces, and a simple pair of stools to function as the car (along with some clever maneuvering by the actors "inside" it).

At the beginning of the play, the characters also seem to be drawn in two simple dimensions: uptight Daisy and homespun Hoke. But as the play progresses - and throughout the 25 years it spans - these two characters become more and more dimensional, both to us and to each other. Like a slowly steeping mug of tea, this production only gets more complex and flavorful as it moves along.

It's no surprise that the Atlanta references are a big hit with this hometown crowd, but wherever it might be staged, Driving Miss Daisy continues to be a story worth telling and retelling, even - and especially - for modern audiences. In our over-wired and aggressively connected new world of online relationships, it's all too easy to judge people and their personalities with a few clicks through characteristics rendered on a flat screen. Driving Miss Daisy gently reminds us how love can emerge in little things and unexpected relationships; in my estimation, it also goads us into looking beyond first impressions. Whether online or off, people - real people - are usually worth getting to know. And what alternative do we have, really, but to sequester ourselves in a less dimensional world? As Daisy would say, "I hope I don't spit up."

Driving Miss Daisy continues at Theatrical Outfit through May 17, 2009. Evening Performances: Wednesday – Saturday, 7:30 pm Matinees: Sunday, 2:30 pm. For tickets, call the box office at 678-528-1500 or visit www.theatricaloutfit.org.

Photo: Chris Bartelski

-- Amy Krivohlavek