"Harvey' on Broadway

Whoever thought of reviving Mary Chase's 1944 chestnut, Harvey, and its eponymous rabbit star has taken a good reading of the current Broadway zeitgeist. Escapist comedy appears to be the audience genre of choice this season"“ witness the success of One Man, Two Guvnors, possibly Broadway's most entertaining show in years. Producers are projecting"“ accurately— that in these troubling economic times we need some comic relief.

But comedy is also serious business, as they say. And this delightfully entertaining play about a large white rabbit named Harvey also generates some heady existential questions about reality, identity, sanity, happiness and basic human kindness (not to mention the value of psychiatry as a medical science).

The original 1944 Broadway production, directed by Antoinette Perry (after whom the "Tony" Awards are named), ran for more than four years and a total of 1,775 performances. James Stewart starred as Elwood P. Dowd and reprised the role in the 1950 film adaptation. When Harvey was revived in 1970, again with James Stewart, Helen Hayes co-starred as Elwood's sister Veta.

Since then, this celebrity bunny has lain low, until the current hare-raising revival at the Roundabout, directed by Scott Ellis and starring the droll and delightful Jim Parsons (of TV's "The Big Bang Theory" fame) as Elwood.

Quest for social status

This deceiving drawing room comedy begins predictably, or so it seems. Veta and her daughter Myrtle May are having one of their social "do's" at the Dowd family mansion in Denver, part of their continuing effort to maintain their social status. But Veta's brother, Elwood, who lives with them and shares the family wealth, poses a threat.

He has an imaginary friend"“ a white rabbit named Harvey"“ who accompanies him everywhere and whom Elwood addresses openly in front of others. Elwood's one-sided conversations are conspicuous to the point that Veta fears for the family's reputation, and for Myrtle May's marriage prospects.

To protect her social ambitions, Veta has a plan: She will institutionalize brother Elwood at the local sanatorium. But once they arrive there, the plot goes haywire.

Upon questioning Veta about her brother and his imaginary rabbit, the psychiatric staff determines that Harvey is a figment of Veta's imagination, not her brother's, and decides to commit her instead. Elwood blithely exits the hospital, causing mayhem and galvanizing a search party to capture the man and his invisible rabbit.

Credible farce

Sounds like a straightforward comedic plot with predictable twist and turns, n'est-ce pas? Yes— except for the end of Act I, when the hospital waiting room is cleared and the staff has departed to conduct the rabbit hunt. The stage is empty, and then suddenly we see a door open, a page in a book turn, a light go on and off…. and voila! The whole play is turned topsy-turvy.

What's going on? Does Harvey exist, after all? If so, who is sane? Elwood, who sees the rabbit? Or Veta and the psychiatrists, who don't?

The delights of Act II are yours to discover. Suffice it to say that the play teeters on the brink of farce, the absurd and the surreal, and could go any which way. But Scott Ellis directs it expertly, keeping one foot grounded in the plausible, so that it never tips in any one direction.

Thus when we see doors open and close on an empty stage, or a hat with holes in the top for two ears, we find ourselves thinking, "Why not?" We become part of the search party, too"“ for what's real and what's not.

Albee's advice

"Pay attention," one of Edward Albee characters reminds us. "What's true and what isn't is a tricky business." When other characters in Harvey (including the chief psychiatrist) start seeing Harvey too, we're being asked to slide along the slippery slope of truth and illusion, as we do in the plays of Albee, Pinter, Ionesco and other absurdists.

But have no fear"“ Elwood P. Dowd will set it right, if you just go along with him on the ride. Pursued, challenged, ridiculed by all, he remains the paragon of politeness, social grace and human kindness, to a fault.

"For years, I was smart," Elwood says. "Pleasant is better." Elwood befriends strangers who call him with the wrong telephone number. He invites everyone he meets (the entire sanatorium staff plus the taxi driver who drove him there) to dinner. He consoles the chief psychiatrist's needy wife. He offers flowers to a neglected staff nurse. Yes, they were picked from the hospital lawn, but what's the difference?

"I've wrestled with reality all my life," continues Elwood, "And I'm happy to state that I won over it."

Recipe for happiness

Watching Elwood practice the arts of listening, giving and caring, who could call him crazy? (Actually, the only true touch of madness about this play is that in 1945 it was awarded a Pulitzer Prize over Tennessee Williams's The Glass Menagerie).

This charming, old-fashioned little parable offers useful lessons about how to live in this world. Whatever its intentions— comedic or absurdist— it's a celebration of good fellowship and whatever it takes to achieve it. If the imagination can provide it for you at no cost to others, why not let it run free?

My son's teacher

I confess that Harvey carries a special resonance for me. Years ago, I was called into school by my eldest son's third grade teacher, who expressed her concern over his state of mind.

"Did you know he has created an imaginary island?" she asked sternly. "It's inhabited by people called the Herny Pochernys, and your son has invited Steven, his classmate, to go there with him. Steven talks of nothing else "“ and his parents are deeply distressed. What are you going to do about it?"

I was tempted to reply: "Go there with them?"

Who knows? A prescribed healthy dose of imagination, plus a dollop of humor, might put the practice of psychiatry out of business.