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Play House proves enduring power of ‘Of Mice and Men'
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Reviewed by FRAN HELLER, Contributing Writer
What is it about John Steinbeck's classic “Of Mice and Men” that retains its power to move us, no matter how many times we've seen it?
Answers may vary, but for me, the compassionately drawn characterizations of George and Lennie and their relationship with each other go to the heart of it.
That relationship is chiseled in sharp relief by Harry Carnahan (George) and Jeffrey Evan Thomas as the feeble-minded Lennie in a luminous production directed by Seth Gordon at The Cleveland Play House. It runs through Jan. 28.
A play of its time that also transcends time, “Of Mice and Men” is a modern American tragedy that speaks to the isolation, loneliness and unrealized dreams as part of the human condition.
Steinbeck wrote his 1937 novel with a play in mind. Later that same year, the play, which Steinbeck also wrote, opened on Broadway in a critically acclaimed production directed by Jewish playwright George S. Kaufman.
The setting is California during the Great Depression, when the American Dream for most people seemed more distant than ever.
For George Milton and Lennie Small, that dream rests in owning their own land and enjoying a life of independence and self-sufficiency.
While George serves as the retarded Lennie's protector, the childlike, innocent Lennie helps George keep the dream alive. Although Lennie is dependent on George, George is equally dependent on Lennie for hope and purpose.
As the title, drawn from the Robert Burns poem “To a Mouse” suggests, the best-laid plans of mice and men can and do go awry.
Set designer Hugh Landwehr's marshy riverbank, where George and Lennie settle in for the night, establishes a strong sense of place.
Lennie likes to pet soft things, which keeps him calm. George tells a rapt Lennie about the rabbits Lennie will tend on the farm where they will live. As the sun sets, Michael Lincoln's lighting bathes the men's faces in a golden glow as if reflected in the fire's flickering embers. The distant howl of wolves and coyotes (sound design is by James C. Swonger) adds to the milieu.
Lennie worships George, and watching his slavish imitation of George's behavior is both humorous and poignant. The relationship between the two is like parent and child.
George scolds Lennie for always getting them into trouble and openly laments how much better and easier life would be without him. Lennie, in turn, feigning hurt, threatens to run away, fully aware that George will beg him to remain.
When George recants, Lennie radiates with delight.
Life on the ranch (the transition to the wood bunkhouse is magical) emphasizes the loneliness and powerlessness of the isolated ranch hands who have no personal stake in the ranch or each other.
Gordon's sensitive direction illuminates the warmth and closeness of the two men in contrast to the solitude and isolation of the other characters.
The importance of human connection is one of the play's most important themes.
Thomas inhabits the role of Lennie physically and emotionally. Towering over George and the other ranch hands like a gentle giant, Lennie grows dangerous only when threatened or terrified. His transition from mouse to monster is terrifyingly real.
Carnahan is terrific as Lenny's keeper George, a mixture of exasperation and love. While George openly chafes at the responsibility of keeping Lennie out of trouble, he also remains fiercely protective of his vulnerable charge. After Lennie is bloodied by the hot-headed Curly, George takes him by the hand to help wash him up. This wordless gesture at the close of the first act underscores George's love for his buddy.
Supporting roles range from adequate to stellar. Jeremy Holm is outstanding as the even-tempered, laid-back muleskinner Slim, who is also a loner. Noting how not many guys travel together, Slim muses, “Maybe the whole world is scared of each other,” a spare line that packs a wallop of meaning.
Chet Carlin makes Candy's transformation from a defeated and downtrodden old man to one with a determined spring to his step, a joy to watch. Wiley Moore's droll portrait of the cynical black man Crooks is a delightful mixture of humor and cunning.
Vayu O'Donnell lacks sufficient menace as the mean-tempered bully Curley, while Amanda Rowan fails to exude enough sexual heat as Curley's Wife. Completing the cast in perfunctory performances are Rohn Thomas as The Boss and Caleb Sekeres and John Woodson as ranch hands Whit and Carlson.
Making the play so effective is its absence of sentimentality. Though Lennie and George remain inseparable, in the end, self-preservation prevails.
The issues Steinbeck addressed 70 years ago, including racism, economic inequality, and the plight of the powerless, remain just as relevant today.
Tickets: 216-795-7000, ext. 4, or visit www.clevelandplayhouse.com.
What is it about John Steinbeck's classic “Of Mice and Men” that retains its power to move us, no matter how many times we've seen it?
Answers may vary, but for me, the compassionately drawn characterizations of George and Lennie and their relationship with each other go to the heart of it.
That relationship is chiseled in sharp relief by Harry Carnahan (George) and Jeffrey Evan Thomas as the feeble-minded Lennie in a luminous production directed by Seth Gordon at The Cleveland Play House. It runs through Jan. 28.
A play of its time that also transcends time, “Of Mice and Men” is a modern American tragedy that speaks to the isolation, loneliness and unrealized dreams as part of the human condition.
Steinbeck wrote his 1937 novel with a play in mind. Later that same year, the play, which Steinbeck also wrote, opened on Broadway in a critically acclaimed production directed by Jewish playwright George S. Kaufman.
The setting is California during the Great Depression, when the American Dream for most people seemed more distant than ever.
For George Milton and Lennie Small, that dream rests in owning their own land and enjoying a life of independence and self-sufficiency.
While George serves as the retarded Lennie's protector, the childlike, innocent Lennie helps George keep the dream alive. Although Lennie is dependent on George, George is equally dependent on Lennie for hope and purpose.
As the title, drawn from the Robert Burns poem “To a Mouse” suggests, the best-laid plans of mice and men can and do go awry.
Set designer Hugh Landwehr's marshy riverbank, where George and Lennie settle in for the night, establishes a strong sense of place.
Lennie likes to pet soft things, which keeps him calm. George tells a rapt Lennie about the rabbits Lennie will tend on the farm where they will live. As the sun sets, Michael Lincoln's lighting bathes the men's faces in a golden glow as if reflected in the fire's flickering embers. The distant howl of wolves and coyotes (sound design is by James C. Swonger) adds to the milieu.
Lennie worships George, and watching his slavish imitation of George's behavior is both humorous and poignant. The relationship between the two is like parent and child.
George scolds Lennie for always getting them into trouble and openly laments how much better and easier life would be without him. Lennie, in turn, feigning hurt, threatens to run away, fully aware that George will beg him to remain.
When George recants, Lennie radiates with delight.
Life on the ranch (the transition to the wood bunkhouse is magical) emphasizes the loneliness and powerlessness of the isolated ranch hands who have no personal stake in the ranch or each other.
Gordon's sensitive direction illuminates the warmth and closeness of the two men in contrast to the solitude and isolation of the other characters.
The importance of human connection is one of the play's most important themes.
Thomas inhabits the role of Lennie physically and emotionally. Towering over George and the other ranch hands like a gentle giant, Lennie grows dangerous only when threatened or terrified. His transition from mouse to monster is terrifyingly real.
Carnahan is terrific as Lenny's keeper George, a mixture of exasperation and love. While George openly chafes at the responsibility of keeping Lennie out of trouble, he also remains fiercely protective of his vulnerable charge. After Lennie is bloodied by the hot-headed Curly, George takes him by the hand to help wash him up. This wordless gesture at the close of the first act underscores George's love for his buddy.
Supporting roles range from adequate to stellar. Jeremy Holm is outstanding as the even-tempered, laid-back muleskinner Slim, who is also a loner. Noting how not many guys travel together, Slim muses, “Maybe the whole world is scared of each other,” a spare line that packs a wallop of meaning.
Chet Carlin makes Candy's transformation from a defeated and downtrodden old man to one with a determined spring to his step, a joy to watch. Wiley Moore's droll portrait of the cynical black man Crooks is a delightful mixture of humor and cunning.
Vayu O'Donnell lacks sufficient menace as the mean-tempered bully Curley, while Amanda Rowan fails to exude enough sexual heat as Curley's Wife. Completing the cast in perfunctory performances are Rohn Thomas as The Boss and Caleb Sekeres and John Woodson as ranch hands Whit and Carlson.
Making the play so effective is its absence of sentimentality. Though Lennie and George remain inseparable, in the end, self-preservation prevails.
The issues Steinbeck addressed 70 years ago, including racism, economic inequality, and the plight of the powerless, remain just as relevant today.
Tickets: 216-795-7000, ext. 4, or visit www.clevelandplayhouse.com.
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| Hard-hitting play on racism at CPT lacks focus |
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