Past Reviews

Regional Reviews: Boston

The Whale
SpeakEasy Stage Company


John Kuntz and Josephine Elwood
Let's get one thing straight from the start. Samuel D. Hunter's play The Whale is not about obesity. Yes, the lead character Charlie is a six-hundred pound, morbidly obese man, and yes, his apartment looks like it was decorated by Ronald McDonald, Colonel Sanders, the Sunshine baker and the mustachioed Pringles man. However, the protagonist's girth is a means to an end, the dramatic vehicle Hunter employs to explore the weighty topics of empathy, connection and redemption. Charlie is eating himself to death in the wake of a great personal loss, but he hopes to repair the broken ties with his estranged teenage daughter Ellie and make a difference in her life before it is too late.

Winner of the 2013 Lucille Lortel Award for Best (Off-Broadway) Play, The Whale is having its New England premiere at the SpeakEasy Stage Company. David R. Gammons directs Boston actor John Kuntz in what must be called a heavyweight performance as Charlie. To say that Kuntz inhabits the role is an understatement. The physical demands of donning a fat suit weighing upwards of fifty pounds (it takes two people nearly an hour to stuff him into it), as well as wearing it for two hours on stage, are daunting, but absolutely vital to authentically create the character. Augmenting the look with facial prosthetics and enormous grey sweats, Charlie's external appearance is complete, courtesy of costume designer Gail Astrid Buckley. Kuntz constructs the man's humanity and optimism from the inside out, eventually freeing the audience to shift their focus from his body mass to his massive heart.

Rarely moving from his berth on the couch cum all-purpose resting place, Charlie eats, sleeps, works and entertains visitors, surrounded by the necessities of his life, which include his laptop, cell phone, television remote and a giant 7-11 Double Gulp. Scenic designer Cristina Todesco has done a stunning job, conveying the collapse of Charlie's world by the disrepair of his apartment and the eye-popping quantity of discarded food containers on, under and around the elevated stage. On two or three occasions, Charlie rises with great effort and the aid of a walker to lumber to the bathroom, an area upstage suggested by a hanging light fixture. Kuntz's movements are languorous and his breathing labored, but his face reflects his determination.

Charlie's visitors are his enabling friend/nurse Liz (Georgia Lyman), unhappy and angry daughter Ellie (Josephine Elwood), young Mormon missionary Elder Thomas (Ryan O'Connor), and acerbic ex-wife Mary (Maureen Keiller). What they all have in common is choosing dysfunctional coping mechanisms to deal with their damaged lives, but their relationships with Charlie have the potential to be life-altering. Despite the profound depression which consumes him, Charlie has unabated optimism and a desire to teach others about honesty and empathy. He practices with his online writing students, but the stakes are highest in his interactions with Ellie. Elwood is spot on in her portrayal of the wild child trying to make her father pay for his abandonment of the family. Ellie is a manipulative brat, but she is also whip smart and Charlie finds ways to nurture her intelligence.

Despite battling through some form of seasonal illness at the press opening, Lyman is commanding as Charlie's primary caregiver. She loves him, but is extremely possessive and she berates him about his health, but brings him all manner of junk food. Liz is the guardian at his gate and Lyman shows she is not to be trifled with. Although her assessment of the situation is off base, her claws come out when she arrives to find Charlie in conversation with Elder Thomas, and the lanky O'Connor shrinks in the glare of her evil eye. The actor making his SpeakEasy Stage and professional debut acquits himself nicely as he travels the arc of his character's growth and peels away his layers of artifice.

Hunter makes great use of the whale metaphor by interweaving threads of "Moby Dick," as well as references to the biblical story of Jonah and the whale. If Jonah is the avatar for Charlie, his own body is the whale and he must have a spiritual awakening to be set free. That's where Thomas comes in as he makes it his mission to save Charlie. Of course, Liz believes that she is the only one who can save him, creating dramatic conflict between the two would-be saviors. Charlie is more concerned with saving Ellie because he doesn't think that her mother can do the job. Mary drinks and is in way over her head with her recalcitrant child. She first appears midway through the second act, apparently just to get a look at Charlie, and although Keiller does what she can in the role, it is underwritten and there's no compelling reason for her to show up.

The Whale script resembles a Venn diagram, but some of the interconnecting relationships are stretched too thin. This is an example of the SpeakEasy production surpassing the play with its stellar performances, considered direction and skilled design elements. Sound designer David Remedios provides effects that mimic the ocean and Charlie's increasingly difficult breathing, and Jeff Adelberg meets the challenge of lighting a set with a ceiling by using a few overhead fixtures and banks of lights on the side and rear. Even with the shortcomings of the script, Hunter achieves the goal he set for Charlie to be seen as a person, and he has John Kuntz to thank for letting us see his heart and soul.

The Whale, performances through April 5, 2014, at SpeakEasy Stage Company, Roberts Studio Theatre in the Stanford Calderwood Pavilion at the Boston Center for the Arts, 527 Tremont Street, Boston, Massachusetts; Box Office 617-933-8600 or www.SpeakEasyStage.com. Written by Samuel D. Hunter, Directed by David R. Gammons; Scenic Design, Cristina Todesco; Costume Design, Gail Astrid Buckley; Lighting Design, Jeff Adelberg; Sound Design, David Remedios; Production Stage Manager, Christine Lomaka Cast: Josephine Elwood, Maureen Keiller, John Kuntz, Georgia Lyman, Ryan O'Connor


Photo: Craig Bailey/Perspective Photo

- Nancy Grossman