written in tears and blood
by Douglas Messerli
Eugene O’Neill Long Day’s Journey into Night / Los Angeles, Geffen Playhouse, the
performance I attended was on February 28, 2017
As I wrote in My Year 2004: Under Our Skin, in 2003 I was scheduled to travel to
New York where I had a ticket for a revival of Long Day’s Journey into Night with Vanessa Redgrave.
O’Neill’s great family drama is far more difficult to realize, I now
perceive, than one can imagine simply by reading it or seeing such a brilliant
production such as the film starring Katharine Hepburn, Sir Ralph Richards,
Jason Robards, Jr., and Dean Stockwell.
Certainly the cast at Los Angeles’
Geffen Playhouse were capable: all have played in numerous theatrical, film,
and TV productions of important works. And this version’s James Tyrone, Jr.
(Alfred Molina) is one of my favorite current actors.
Colin Woodell is a handsome Edmund, perfect the role, but seemed a bit
ghostly even before he gets the sad confirmation of his consumption. Stephen
Louis Grush also has none of the slightly loathsome charmer qualities that he
later is asked to reveal. And Jane Kaczmarek seems far too earthly and powerful
to be the frail Mary Tyrone, not so secretly hooked on morphine.
Jamie’s drunken admission that he has attempted all of his life to
corrupt his younger brother is a beautiful testament to his true love of
Edmund, but also, we perceive, a sad testimony to how these family members
destroy one another in their very embraces.
And even Kaczmarek came alive in the long scene with her drunken maid,
Cathleen (Angela Goethals), repeating all the lies about her youth—that she was
a marvelous pianist and a committed religious believer—that James and her sons
later disavow. This Mary seems far more grounded in the flesh than in any
spiritual world. And by the end of the play, when her hair truly has “fallen,”
a feat she displays throughout the work, she does almost seem to be the monster
that the family sees her as.
Although all of these figures already represent the living-dead—in real
life O’Neill lost all three in a little more than three years—in the August
1912 day in which the audience encounters them, it is Mary who is the major
“spook,” a woman, as Swinburne’s poem “A
Leave-Taking” reiterates, cannot “hear,” “know,” “weep,” “love,” “care,” or,
finally, even “see.” She is in another world, another time in the past that
perhaps never quite existed.
What is so amazing about this “play of old sorrow” is how relevant it is
still today, more than a century later, where variations of the same drug abuse
and alcoholism is being played out in thousands and thousands of American
families. Although we no longer like to imagine that our mostly university and
large hospital-supported doctors are “quacks” such as the one who prescribed
Mary to take morphine and sent off Edmund to a cheap public facility to cure
his tuberculosis, too many doctors today care just as little for their patients
in over-prescribing opiates and antibiotics, the latter of which, by allowing
super-viruses to develop, may result in an even worse public health crisis.
The ghosts that haunted O’Neill’s family members are walking all over
the US and throughout the world even today. Perhaps that is why, over the last
several years, we have seen so very many vampire and flesh-eating horror films.
This Belle-Époque vision of the
“real” US resonates with the first 17 years of our own new century. And its
effects threaten to end the global community just as surely as did the murder
of Archduke Franz Ferdinand.
Los Angeles, March 1, 2017
Reprinted from USTheater, Opera, and Performance (March 2017).
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