A play based on the writer’s memoir about the death of her husband, in its first New York revival, goes small to powerful effect.
The timeline of loss was mercilessly fast. On Dec. 30, 2003, Joan Didion’s husband, John Gregory Dunne, died mid-conversation at the dinner table in their apartment on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. In late August 2005, their grown-up only child, Quintana, died, less suddenly.
Even mid-devastation, Didion did what writers do: observe and chronicle. First came her crystalline memoir of grief for Dunne, “The Year of Magical Thinking,” a best seller when it was published in October 2005, only weeks after their long-ailing daughter’s death. “Blue Nights,” Didion’s memoir of mourning Quintana, was that book’s counterpart, released in 2011.
In between, with a rapidity that’s startling, Didion’s stage adaptation of “The Year of Magical Thinking” arrived on Broadway, in March 2007. A monologue directed by David Hare and produced by Scott Rudin, among others, it starred Vanessa Redgrave as Didion. This was a prestige cultural event: tasteful, literary, remote. Presumably, remote was not the goal.
The scale of it was all out of whack — not the script, which Didion imbued with a soul-baring directness, but the production. The memoir’s starkly personal story, so intimate as a reading experience, was told now before a crowd of hundreds. We, the audience, were asked to accept one famous artist — the sturdy, statuesque Redgrave — as the stand-in for a highly recognizable other, the diminutive Didion, who was in her early 70s then, with a fragility about her. It was all too large. It did not capture the essence of the book.
How thrilling, then, that the first New York revival of “The Year of Magical Thinking” does. Directed by Jonathan Silverstein, this Keen Company production goes small, and in doing so, gets the play sublimely right.
Rejecting the distancing formality of a traditional theater setting, it is being performed around the city in living rooms and community spaces whose seating capacity ranges from 12 to 35. Its star is the esteemed Off Broadway actor Kathleen Chalfant, in what may be her best-matched role since Vivian Bearing in “Wit,” more than 20 years ago.
The performance I saw took place in a private townhouse on the Upper East Side, about a dozen blocks from where Didion lived. Chalfant seated herself in front of a stone fireplace and slipped into the story of Didion’s discombobulated year, which started on a cozy evening, when, as was their habit, Didion and Dunne had a fire in their fireplace.
“Fires said we were home, we had drawn the circle, we were safe through the night,” Chalfant-as-Didion said with a lightness of touch calibrated just right for the room, where we sat on comfortable chairs drawn in a circle, seemingly secure from the menace of the world.
Didion and Dunne weren’t safe that night, of course, and neither are we in the long run. As she warns, “Life changes in the instant.” Her play means to gird us for when we, too, find ourselves plunged into grief for someone whose death we cannot bring ourselves to absorb.
“The details will be different, but it will happen to you,” she says. “That’s what I’m here to tell you.”
The play is a report back from an emotional abyss, yet for all its intensity, it isn’t grim or overwrought. It’s rigorously self-scrutinizing, dryly self-mocking, fairly stunned — somehow both unsentimental and consumed with love.
Didion remembers her trauma-scrambled brain wanting to fend off an obituary for Dunne in The Los Angeles Times, because maybe on Pacific Time, he was still alive. She remembers “just playing along,” for quite a while, with the idea that he was dead.
What she doesn’t remember — like precisely when the ambulance arrived at their apartment, or how long the E.M.T.s stayed — she fills in with research, because this is the kind of person she is: a woman with a razor-sharp intellect who armors herself with knowledge. Someone seemingly too firmly in control to become unmoored.
Vivian Bearing, the dying professor in “Wit,” is that way, too, which is part of the brilliance of casting Chalfant here. She doesn’t physically resemble Didion, and she’s not attempting an impersonation. But her Didion has that same sharp cerebral quality and that same destabilized vulnerability, along with a subtle, charismatic warmth.
Didion, who died in December, wanted so badly to protect her little family. She couldn’t, but she could alert the rest of us.
“Life changes in the instant,” she says again. “The ordinary instant.”
The Year of Magical Thinking
Through Nov. 20 in various spaces around New York City (addresses will be shared with ticket holders on the morning of the performance); keencompany.org. Running time: 1 hour 30 minutes.
Source: Theater - nytimes.com
