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(Critic's choice)
NEW YORK – To return to the Greeks, the most powerful tragedies have generally been those in which the result could have been avoided. Pieces like "Oedipus Rex" – or even "Hedda Gabler" – show us how the human head, not fate alone, precipitates misfortune.
Tragedy is now a different thing, and the admirably played double bill that opened on Thursday at the Public Theater, starring Tom Sturridge and Jake Gyllenhaal, is an excellent sampler of modern calamity. Simon Stephens' "Sea Wall" and Nick Payne's "A Life", there is no one to blame for disaster – with the exception perhaps of God, not found.
The problem of God's localization is in fact the underlying theme of "Sea Wall", the opening monologue. Sturridge plays Alex, a 31-year-old photographer whose flickering life has recently stabilized thanks to a woman he adores and a girl he cherishes.
For fear of spoilers, I do not have to tell you what happens to him specifically, even if it is somehow beside the subject. We know from the beginning that something bad is happening and, as we have already seen plays, approximately, when. We also have a good idea of who will be involved.
What we do not know, is how. In the end, it is an accident too random to have been avoided; Even Alex, trying to put the responsibility somewhere, can not bring himself to name names.
The name he really wants is God, which gives the play a profound importance, though somewhat arbitrary in its plot. Something horrible would have served that – not to minimize the effectiveness of Stephens' writing. (This is as tight and characteristic here as in the wonderful two men "Heisenberg" and in "The curious incident of the dog in the night.") The way he let the fear slip into the l & # 39; 39, history as the morning light, and grow up to fill the stage almost empty otherwise, in fact a tear to more than one title.
And Sturridge, whose hard work in "Orphans" and "1984" does not call subtle, knows how to pull the strings here. Under the pianissimo direction of Carrie Cracknell, he begins so vaguely, wandering in sweatpants and sneakers, that it's hard to know if the play has even begun. While he sneaks into the narrative, his naturalism is so convincing that audience members tried Tuesday to help him when he searched for a word. Although the fumble is actually in the script, you would never have known.
But as the story continues, Sturridge becomes more expressionist; for example, what seemed at first sight a charming cameraman strabismus begins to look like a moral migraine. Indeed, when he bursts out of sorrow – not at the main event, but intelligently, at his side – he offers us all the horror of gratitude that the Greeks sought. What he recognizes, however, is not the tragedy of pride that they have prescribed, but a tragedy of faith. Why is God no longer absent when you need him most?
Except as an interjection, God is also absent from the second monologue, "One Life," in which Gyllenhaal plays Abe, another loving husband and recent father. But Payne's play, of which an earlier version had been interpreted as "The Art of Dying" in 2013, is structured as a competition between two possible tragedies instead of telling them again. At first, the options alternate at a slow pace, but eventually, they twinkle so fast that they become blurred.
Despite his green cardigan and black jogging pants, Gyllenhaal is unconvincing as a zhlub. Yet, it is invaluable with the dialogue under pressure. In an artificially constructed scenario of panic, he exploits a surprisingly authentic, even pathetic humor, focusing on Abe's prevention rather than the expression of pain. Unable to directly communicate the true feelings – he does not stop telling us what he should have said as if it mattered – he's like a mouse in a maze of emotions, bumping into the walls and instantly changing course.
But if "A Life" (not to be confused with the great game of Adam Bock of the same name) suggests that the failures of communication are the human condition and a source of misfortune, they do not rise to the level of tragedy, modern or otherwise. What happens eventually, though sad, is common and natural, and does not imply a flagrant injustice or significant challenge to faith.
Maybe Payne, who played the role in the 2013 production, was too close to the material to let it go where it was needed. (He said that the story was somewhat autobiographical.) Nevertheless, as he did in "Constellations," which poses a multiverse of ramifications still ramified to a basic romantic premise, he finds ways to ingenious to let the structure compensate for the development of the character. Here, the convergent plot shows us how things – failure and redemption, illusion and urgency – train in a life, and the little control we have on each of them.
I'm not sure that's too much, and it seems to me that Cracknell, whose rhythm and use of the scene are otherwise superbly delicate, may have compensated for that when she added a schmaltzy coda ( although effective).
But even if "a life" is a bit of a comedown of "Sea Wall", both are intelligent companions. True, they are a showbiz synergy model; the two actors appear together in the movie "Velvet Buzzsaw" by Netflix, and Gyllenhaal has already played in "Constellations" on Broadway.
Monologues also talk to each other. Although they were written independently – "Sea Wall" was born at the Bush Theater in London in 2008, the audience's production, which marks the first in New York's combo set, gives the impression that they were designed to be bookends. Certainly, representations give you the opportunity to show how we perceive life, with or without destiny, as the tragedy of each.
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Production notes:
"Sea wall / a life"
Until March 31 at the Public Theater, in Manhattan; 212-967-7555, publictheater.org. Duration: 1 hour and 45 minutes.
Simon Stephens and Nick Payne, directed by Carrie Cracknell; Laura Jellinek's sets; Kaye Voyce's costumes; lighting by Peter Kaczorowski; Fabian Obispo's sound; music of Stuart Earl; production manager, Peter Lawrence; the management, Kate Croasdale; Associate Artistic Director and Director of Public Theater Productions, Mandy Hackett; General Manager, Jeremy Adams. Presented by the Public Theater, Oskar Eustis, Artistic Director, and Patrick Willingham, Executive Director.
Actors: Tom Sturridge (Alex) and Jake Gyllenhaal (Abe).
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.
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