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Walnut's "Of Mice and Men' (1st review)
Dan Rottenberg
Steinbeck and the death of hope
DAN ROTTENBERG
“If a soul is left in darkness,” Victor Hugo observed, “sins will be committed. The guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but he who causes the darkness.” The tragic souls in Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men are migrant farm workers who’ve been cast into a double-darkness: the Great Depression plus the Dust Bowl drought of the ’30s. Money is the least of their problems: Without families, support networks or communications skills, they seek refuge in dreams that, however modest, lie forever beyond their reach. George yearns for a patch of land; his feeble-minded buddy Lenny wants to play with rabbits; Curley, the boss’s son, aspires to measure up to a wife who’s too much woman for him; Curley’s wife dreams of a career in the movies; and Crooks, isolated from the others because he’s black, simply yearns for companionship. But in their desperation they’re all doomed to make bad choices.
George is the noblest character in Steinbeck’s script, because he alone refuses to abandon his fellow man— in this case, his retarded pal Lenny. George has convinced himself that he and the hard-working and unfailingly loyal Lenny will take care of each other. But George’s chosen companion is more than he or anyone can handle.
As blandly portrayed in this production by Anthony Lawford, George is less a tragic hero than an innocent bystander— sort of an Alice in Wonderland reacting to the variety of Mad Hatters he encounters. For that reason I found myself relating for the first time to Lenny, a powerful hulking presence as performed by Scott Greer. Because Lenny possesses a weak mind in a strong body, he inadvertently crushes mice, puppies and other living things by petting them too aggressively. He’s the most endearing fellow on the farm, and physically the most dangerous. It’s only a matter of time before Lenny will cause real trouble— but then, in his desperate hunger for affection Lenny differs from the others (and you and me) only in degree.
Is this 1937 work still relevant for affluent urban audiences that never lived through the Depression or the Dust Bowl, if they’ve even heard of either? Oh my, yes. Loneliness, hope, compassion, responsibility toward one’s fellow beings (human as well as animal)— these are eternal issues. Walnut Street Theatre has done well to revive this classic with a straightforward, no-nonsense production, an impressive bunkhouse set and a capable cast. Of Mice and Men is often revived in small theaters and college campuses but rarely receives this kind of full-fledged treatment these days. For that reason, it’s well worth catching, whether you’ve seen it half a dozen times (as I have) or have yet to experience it for the first time (in which case I envy you).
To read Lesley Valdes's response review, click here.
To read a response, click here.
DAN ROTTENBERG
“If a soul is left in darkness,” Victor Hugo observed, “sins will be committed. The guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but he who causes the darkness.” The tragic souls in Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men are migrant farm workers who’ve been cast into a double-darkness: the Great Depression plus the Dust Bowl drought of the ’30s. Money is the least of their problems: Without families, support networks or communications skills, they seek refuge in dreams that, however modest, lie forever beyond their reach. George yearns for a patch of land; his feeble-minded buddy Lenny wants to play with rabbits; Curley, the boss’s son, aspires to measure up to a wife who’s too much woman for him; Curley’s wife dreams of a career in the movies; and Crooks, isolated from the others because he’s black, simply yearns for companionship. But in their desperation they’re all doomed to make bad choices.
George is the noblest character in Steinbeck’s script, because he alone refuses to abandon his fellow man— in this case, his retarded pal Lenny. George has convinced himself that he and the hard-working and unfailingly loyal Lenny will take care of each other. But George’s chosen companion is more than he or anyone can handle.
As blandly portrayed in this production by Anthony Lawford, George is less a tragic hero than an innocent bystander— sort of an Alice in Wonderland reacting to the variety of Mad Hatters he encounters. For that reason I found myself relating for the first time to Lenny, a powerful hulking presence as performed by Scott Greer. Because Lenny possesses a weak mind in a strong body, he inadvertently crushes mice, puppies and other living things by petting them too aggressively. He’s the most endearing fellow on the farm, and physically the most dangerous. It’s only a matter of time before Lenny will cause real trouble— but then, in his desperate hunger for affection Lenny differs from the others (and you and me) only in degree.
Is this 1937 work still relevant for affluent urban audiences that never lived through the Depression or the Dust Bowl, if they’ve even heard of either? Oh my, yes. Loneliness, hope, compassion, responsibility toward one’s fellow beings (human as well as animal)— these are eternal issues. Walnut Street Theatre has done well to revive this classic with a straightforward, no-nonsense production, an impressive bunkhouse set and a capable cast. Of Mice and Men is often revived in small theaters and college campuses but rarely receives this kind of full-fledged treatment these days. For that reason, it’s well worth catching, whether you’ve seen it half a dozen times (as I have) or have yet to experience it for the first time (in which case I envy you).
To read Lesley Valdes's response review, click here.
To read a response, click here.
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