Three Journeymen
I coined a new term during Act IV of the current revival of Long Days Journey into Night. "Subjunctive" acting: Im not sure how useful it is. Im not even sure how seriously I mean it. I was watching Brian Dennehy and Robert Sean Leonard (as James and Edmund Tyrone) go head to headto whatever extent Eugene ONeills characters ever actually go head to headand thinking about how all through the play wed been looking at two acting styles, one from Dennehy and Vanessa Redgrave and another from Leonard and Philip Seymour Hoffman. I was thinking how antithetical they were: the one where everything is played on the surface, the other where everything is allowed to churn up from below. I was also wishing that Dennehy wouldnt always bare his teeth when Tyrone becomes angry.
Actors have a term for this sort of performance. They call it "indicating," because the actor is signaling to the audience what the character is supposed to be feeling. It occurred to me that Dennehys style of acting was indicative in another, almost grammatical, sensethe way linguists speak of the indicative mood as the mood that governs statements of fact: what is, what has been, what will be. This is as opposed to the subjunctive mood, which is the mood of uncertainty and ambiguity. Dennehys performanceRedgraves, too, to a lesser extentwas all about manifesting whats explicitly stated in the script: anger, agitation, fear, reproach and so on. Leonards and Hoffmans performances were all about evoking what was longed for or what might have been. Its the difference between taking the script at face valuereiterating what the characters say is going onand mining it for something else, something between the lines that cannot be expressed in words or ideas.
Theres nothing untoward about actors in this play embodying different stylesin fact, its oddly fitting. Long Days Journey was ONeills great ambivalent act of literary rebellion against his famous actor-father. James ONeill Sr., who had performed with some of the leading tragedians of his day, became a national celebrity playing the eponymous hero of Charles Fechters The Count of Monte Cristo, a play that ONeill took on in his mid-30s, bought the rights to and went on performing in until his mid-60s. The betrayal had less to do with what ONeill revealed about his father in the person of James than his disclosure, in the figure of Mary Tyrone, of the long-kept family secret about his morphine-addicted mother, Ella. The ambivalence lay in the fact that having written Long Days Journey (the play was finished in 1941), ONeill suppressed it throughout the remaining 12 years of his life and asked that it not be published until 25 years after his death (a wish that his widow waited a mere three years to violate).
On some level, though, even in ONeills mind, the play must have been about two antithetical forms of theaterthe grandiose, melodramatic style that his father represented and the new sui generis form he himself invented, thereby making the former obsolete. We see this in that very Act IV scene in which the old has-been and hack laments to his future-great-artist son about "that God-damned play I bought for a song and made such a great success in" and how "it ruined me with its promise of an easy fortune." We see it in the speech that Edmund counters with, in which he describes being reborn through his experience at seaa reference not only to ONeills own early sea-addled plays but also, surely, to the big scene in Monte Cristo, where the prisoner Edmond Dantes made his watery escape and emerged bedraggled yet reborn from the waves to declare, "The world is mine!" Finally, we see it in ONeills swapping names with a real-life older brother, a child named Edmund who died in infancy so that his own alter ego would bear the name of the character his father so famously played.
The revival of Long Days Journey at the Plymouth is the hardest sort of production to reviewneither great nor terrible, better in some ways than youd expected, wonderful in some ways that youd counted on and disappointing in some ways that may change. It reunites Dennehy with Robert Falls, artistic director of Chicagos Goodman Theater, who directed him in a much-touted revival of Arthur Millers Death of a Salesman in the late 1990s. In view of the way that production was receivedparticularly by the New York Timessome sort of follow-up vehicle for Dennehy, similarly epic and highbrow, seemed almost inevitable. Actually, though, you dont have to regard Mr. Dennehy as the worlds greatest actor to want to see this production. I admit to being among those who greeted his Willy Loman with something less than ecstasy, but I was curious to see his version of Tyrone. Dennehy may be a big, old ham (I mean that in the nicest possible way), but then so is Tyrone. Moreover, Dennehy is the right sort of ham to play him. (Jack Lemmon, who starred in the landmark Jonathan Miller production 17 years ago, was precisely the wrong sort of hamtoo urban-intellectual, too contemporary-neurotic, too Jewish.) I also wanted to see Redgraves Mary and Leonards Edmund.
Mostly, though, I wanted to see Hoffman perform the role of Edmunds dissolute, cynical-sentimental older brother, Jamieand that surprised me, because it isnt really a very big part. It made me wonder if we dont approach this play in much the same way that James ONeills fan base flocked to see The Count of Monte Cristo, or the way that eras ballet and opera audiences must have approached certain famous but uninspired worksnot so much to see a particular story reenacted as to see certain particular roles performed and how certain great performers will embody them.
This strikes me as quite different from the way we approach other plays in the American canon, and it doesnt necessarily place ONeill in the best possible light as a dramatist. Most plays that we regard as classics are works that we approach for their totality. When we attend a performance of, say, Our Town or Death of a Salesman or A View from the Bridge, it really is the play were going to see. Our ability to be moved by Emilys failure to connect with Mother Gibbs in the graveyard scene or by Willys title speech about Dave Singleman (who died "the death of a salesman" aboard the New York New Haven & Hartford) or to be shocked when EddieCarbone kisses Rodolfo on the lipsthese things rely on what has come before.
I honestly dont think thats true of Long Days Journey. It has some wonderful set-piecesthat one of Tyrones about the old play, Jamies story about Fat Violet and the scene in which he confesses to Edmund his true feelings about him, perhaps the closing lines of Marys curtain speech. But most of the playlike so much ONeillconsists of characters saying the same thing to one another over and over and illustrating what other characters have said about them. Again and again Tyrone complains about the boys fecklessness and lack of ambition. Again and again they complain about his miserliness. Again and again Mary remarks on the fact that he never provided her with a real home. That James, Sr., is willing to spend any amount of money on worthless land and none on his family; that the old mans frugality was what led in the first place to Marys addiction; that this time everyone really thought she had it licked; that she seems to be backsliding and everyone hopes it isnt so. We hear these things stated or referred to incessantly. ONeill was a man who, if he thought a thing worth saying, thought it was worth saying 18 times. The thing about the memorable elements in the playthe things that dont get repeatedis that they could be appreciated or enjoyed just as easily out of context. Thats a terrible indictment, if you think about it.
Theres a reason for it, though. Hardly any engagement ever takes place between the characters in ONeills plays; consequently, theres no buildup of the interstitial energy that the alchemy of theater relies on. As a dramatist, ONeill avoided conflict like the plague. For all the recriminations and indictments flying around, no one in Long Days Journey is ever called upon or allowed to answer anyone elsenot really. The play consists entirely of characters making speeches. Even when others are present they speak in soliloquy. ONeill would probably have claimed to be saying something about modern mans existential condition, but its a trite point, one arguably not worth four hours of our time. The truth is that ONeill had no interest in or facility with dialogue. But dialoguethe agonis what theater is about.
What was brilliant about the infamous overlapping dialogue in Jonathan Millers 1986 revival of the play was, first of all, the way it echoed the actual rhythm of family life. With characters constantly interrupting and cutting across each other, Miller suggested that the scenes we were seeing played out had actually been in progress for many yearsthe same arguments and accusations. It also allowed for the possibility of subtext: For if characters werent talking for the reasons they thought, it had to be because there was something else they wanted.
Its difficult for anyone who saw that revival and found it revelatory to revisit the play in any more conventional formand Falls production is nothing if not conventional. It has a suitably claustrophobic and oppressive set, all dark wood and wicker furniture and so literal that its hard to believe it was designed by Santo Loquasto (he also designed the costumes). Everything is laid out as ONeill called for, every look, every pause, every scripted gesture or piece of blocking dutifully in its place.
Whats wonderful about the production are Hoffmans and Leonards performances and ultimately Redgraves. Whats disappointing is Dennehysat any rate, at the matinee I attended, there was a little too much of Dennehys John Wayne Gacy in his portrayal of Tyrone. One wanted him to realize that there is such a thing as anger that isnt rage and such a thing as rage that isnt psychotic. But this may come as the production settles down. Hes an actor of sufficient stature and force to make that sort of thing unnecessary.
Leonard, as always, is nimble-minded and understated. Its the most thankless role Ive seen him in, and he acquits himself with his characteristic grace and intelligence. Not being a magician, he cant make Edmunds big speech about the sea seem like anything other than the adolescent twaddle it is, but he makes listening to it bearableand God knows that man can recite verse. (One could listen to him for hours. One wishes one might.) Hoffman is less well-schooled in that regard; he seems less comfortable with all the Dowson and Swineburne that Jamie has to get through, but his gorgeous, melancholy grunge-rock voicelike a great hinge opening up to uncover some deep well of sorrowgives his prose speeches almost the ring of poetry. These really are two of the finest actors of their generation.
The real star of the production turns out to be Redgrave. I dont know how she brings it off, because a good deal of her work in the first three-quarters of the play seems obvious and heavy-handedindicative, if you like. But she uncovers a truth in Mary so glaringly right and revelatory that you cant believe you never guessed it before: the rage of this woman. Perhaps its a function of all the indicating shes done earlier in the play. Perhaps thats the pointthat it is phony, the self-recriminations, the hysterical fears. In the vacuum that occurs when she finally turns it off, we get to see the sadistic satisfactionjoy, almostin the suffering she has the power to inflict on these men who have made her suffer. Perhaps its just a function of being a great actress.
Long Days Journey into Night at Plymouth Theatre, 236 W. 45th St. (betw. Bway and 8th Ave.), 212-239-6200