Earlier tonight, my yawns were entirely suspended, as I attended a performance of The Screwtape Letters, realized for the stage by Max McLean and the good folks at the Fellowship for the Performing Arts. The play is directed by Jeffrey Fiske, who shares playwright credits with McLean.
Frankly, heading to the theater, my expectations weren't all that high, largely due to the high bar set by the recording of the work by John Cleese, with which I am very familiar, and by the anticipated difficulty this work would have in being staged successfully. (To top it off, I'm not the greatest fan of one-man shows.)
But I was very pleased. For starters, this wasn't a one-man show. Screw-TAPE (as McLean expectorates it) was accompanied on the stage by Toadpipe, his secretary (played by Karen Eleanor Wight). Also, the supernatural nature of the narrative was the basis for continually adding visual interest--often subtle--to the presentation.
The Letters were edited down of course, for the 90-minute production. For example, there's nothing in there about the time Screwtape gets so worked up he transforms (requiring him to finish writing a letter in dictation). But as Toadpipe is transcribing the letters throughout the play (although very loosely so), it made sense to cut that sequence. Screwtape, to be sure, comes unhinged at times, bearing little resemblance to the snob who begins the play with a stuffy academic address.
But first let me get my comments about the staging out of the way. The set design and lighting were very artful and effective. When I entered the church-theatre space, I saw an wonderfully asymetrical, abstract stage with a overstuffed chair and side table, a bare metal podium (illuminated from below), a twisted ladder going up (also illuminated from below), and a suspended lockbox that turned out to be a mailbox. (Gone was the odd drawing-room used in a previous production.)
The radial-patterned surface of the stage appeared to be brick or cobblestone. The stage was apparently suspended above...something, with the blackness past its edges filled with mist for much of the production. (Although the use of mist seemed inconsistent and was somewhat distracting at times when it rolled back in after disappearing.) With a minimum of fuss, over the course of the play, the stage is transformed and revealed subtly and gradually before the audience into a much darker and more sinister place. I'd say more, but that would spoil the fun. The final scene, which, faithful to the book, underscores Screwtape's gastronomic intentions towards Wormwood, is truly creepy and masterfully underplayed and understaged.
Screwtape is costumed as one might expect, including a scarlet vest and (cough) smoking jacket. Toadpipe, an imp, is costumed in a scaly bodysuit. If I fault the production, I think it would be that Toadpipe's costume should be reimagined to be a bit less Halloweeny. From the photo gallery on the website, it would appear that this is a revision from an earlier costume that made Toadpipe more human, perhaps previously appearing a bit seductive in a cocktail dress. That also wouldn't have worked, especially given the current staging's physical demands and reptilian movements for the character. I think there's a balance somewhere in between that would work better.
Throughout the production, Screwtape is dictating his responses to Wormwood's letters, and these responses are accompanied by Toadpipe's vocal (not verbal) reactions and occasionally by Screwtape using Toadpipe as a puppet to enact some of the characters mentioned in the letters (e.g., the "patient's" mother, wife, etc.). One particularly amusing sequence is when Screwtape goes off on the various fashionable body types of women through the ages, and ToadPipe mimics each in turn. Based on earlier, more critical reviews (such as this one in Variety), it would seen that Toadpipe is being put to much better and more effective use as the work continues to evolve. (The video on the production's website is from the previous production.)
McLean covers the appropriate range of the character well, taking full advantage of his rich and powerful voice, ranging from reserved and pedantic to ravenously demonic. While the subtle tones that Cleese managed to achieve are absent, I think this entirely legitimate. Each approach has merit, and both might very well be the best for their respective genres. Even a small, off-Broadway stage can't be as intimate as an audio book in your earphones. But an audio book cannot capture the full rage of a proud Hellion creature defeated and pouncing on his scapegoat. While Cleese's Screwtape is haunted by the glory that he has lost but still understands, McLean's undersecretary--perhaps more theologically sound--is twisted and resistant to the end, confused and enraged by a glory he is no longer capable of comprehending.
The show plays at 8pm on Thursdays and Fridays, and twice on Saturdays and Sundays, at the Theatre at Saint Clement's, on 46th street between 9th and 10th, a ten-minute walk from Times Square. Tickets range from $20 to $48, with substantial discounts for students, groups, and certain advance sales. And you should order your tickets in advance. The performance I attended was sold out. (I got the last ticket about 30 minutes before curtain time.)
The production got a great blurb from Terry Teachout in the Wall Street Journal:
QUOTE
"Wickedly witty…It is – if I may say so – one hell of a good show... McLean’s plummy, supercilious bass-baritone voice is ideally suited to Screwtape, who lounges around in a smoking jacket dictating snidely chatty letters to his amanuensis Toadpipe… McLean is delightfully repulsive."
