Isis Productions presents Bryony Lavery's 'Frozen'

Or, more piquantly, it purports to. But neither Lavery’s script — plodding, message-heavy, and strewn with pop psychology — nor Neill Hartley’s dramatically inert production comes close to cracking the surface-level tension of a mother’s journey to understand the man who raped and murdered her preteen daughter.

Forgiving the unforgivable

The play unfolds primarily in a series of monologues for its three characters. (This device, a favorite among U.K. writers, can make for frustratingly passive storytelling — no exception here). Nancy (Renee Richman-Weisband) recounts the events that led to her daughter Rhona’s abduction by Ralph (Allen Radway), a dangerous pedophile who has operated with little oversight for more than 20 years. She blames herself for instructing the girl to return a pair of garden shears to her grandmother’s house down the road, a trip from which she never returns.

Ralph’s speeches give voice to his sexual fantasies, most of which involve prepubescent girls, in startlingly graphic detail. He betrays little remorse for his actions, even after he’s imprisoned for life. A parallel arc shows Agneatha (Kirsten Quinn), an American psychiatrist, attempting to interview Ralph for a thesis on whether serial killers are truly accountable for their crimes. The working title? “Serial Killing: A Forgivable Act.”

Lavery offers a compelling portrait of Nancy’s progression from helpless mother to fierce advocate for missing children. When it becomes clear that Rhona has died, Nancy sheds the veil of magical thinking and empowers herself to support others. This conversion makes some of Nancy’s previous wishes — that Rhona will call home on her birthday; that one day she’ll just walk through the front door, as other missing children have — more shattering.

But neither Ralph nor Agneatha contain similar levels of depth. For much of the play, Ralph comes across as a compendium of predatory tropes and foul language; he snarls, sneers, and screams to show his menace. A predictable pivot arrives — the revelation of his abusive childhood — but even that feels ham-fisted and familiar, designed to engender undeserved compassion for an unrepentant monster.

Agnetha gets the shortest shrift. The opening scene portrays a panic attack that’s never explained; it’s a testament to Quinn’s gifts as an actor that the moment doesn’t turn completely comedic. Agneatha is presented as a leader in her field, but her theories seem juvenile (she considers the concept of evil a fallacy) and her methods surprisingly unprofessional. A salacious personal thread that’s hinted throughout and revealed in the final moments comes straight from a soap-opera script.

I'm okay, you're okay

More troublingly, the play buys into the fetishization of forgiveness that’s launched a thousand self-help books. With the fervor of a religious convert, Nancy becomes convinced she must “forgive with her whole heart” — but why? Lavery never examines the personal or societal impetus to pardon those who perpetrate unfathomable acts; instead, she takes its alleged power at face value.

Considering the gravity of Ralph’s actions, Nancy’s desire to absolve him requires more soul-searching than Lavery allows. She leads the viewer to believe that forgiveness frees the giver as much as the recipient, if not more.

But I never sensed a greater peace in Nancy following her decision; if anything, she appears truly rudderless for the first time. That could have been interesting to explore — what does a person have once she gives up her anger? — but Lavery leaves it on the table.

The central performances do little to assuage the play’s deficits. Despite some finely calibrated individual moments, Richman-Weisband seems more concerned with maintaining her wandering accent than creating her character’s inner life. The usually terrific Radway would seem custom-made for Ralph, but the threatening danger he’s brought to past performances is surprisingly absent here. Their one joint scene, a jailhouse visit that should be the drama’s beating heart, quickly fizzles.

Hartley — who co-designed the spartan sets with Rich Miller — does little to define the characters beyond what is written. Matters aren’t helped by overlong blackouts and manipulative sound effects (including children laughing and being beaten), both designed by Allen Clark.

Ultimately, Frozen doesn’t so much ask for sympathy for the devil — it demands it. A better play would expect him to earn it.