UMR Communications is offering the latest headlines in the RSS format.
Reviews
THEATER REVIEW: ‘Screwtape’ staged with devious skill Mary Jacobs, Jul 13, 2010
COURTESY PHOTO
Max McLean and Karen Eleanor Wight star as Screwtape and Toadpipe in "The Screwtape Letters."
By Mary Jacobs Staff Writer
“The safest path to hell is the gradual one,” wrote C.S. Lewis in his classic book, The Screwtape Letters. That’s the devilishly difficult challenge tackled by creators of The Screwtape Letters, the dramatic version of Lewis’ book now performing off-Broadway at the Westside Theatre in New York.
Gradualness is not the stuff of great drama. But with clever staging, the play draws viewers, like the frog, into evil’s treacherous waters, as they heat up one degree at a time. Spend 90 minutes with C.S. Lewis’ most famous demon, and you’ll leave with new respect for his diabolical ways.
His Abysmal Sublimity Screwtape (Max McLean), Under Secretary of the Satanic Lowerarchy, opens the play in military garb, addressing a graduating class of “tempters.” (That portion draws from “Screwtape Proposes a Toast,” a postscript to the “Letters” that Lewis wrote shortly before his death in 1963.)
Moving to his skull-lined office in Hell, Screwtape dons his brocade smoking jacket, sits back in his big leather chair, and dictates a series of letters. The letters counsel his nephew, a junior tempter named Wormwood, on how to recruit a young Christian man, referred to only as “the patient,” to the cause of “Our Father Below.” Screwtape’s avuncular advice offers the finer points in luring souls into eternal damnation.
Specifically, he advises, subvert the “patient” by fostering selfishness, encouraging greed, sowing doubt and bolstering his false pride (especially pride in his own humility.)
Mr. McLean portrays Screwtape with oily, actorly elegance, delivering the entirety of the dialogue with unflagging energy and convincing assurance. He’s the only person talking for an hour and a half, and he pulls it off.
Toadpipe (Karen Eleanor Wight) acts as Screwtape’s secretary, a sort of reptilian Igor to Screwtape’s evil genius. She slithers and grovels about the stage, obeying orders and mutely submitting to Screwtape’s occasional cruelty. She also provides the b-roll to Screwtape’s narration. With only gestures and facial expression, Toadpipe assumes characters ranging from a priggish church lady to a runway model, all examples of the human foibles in which Screwtape delights.
Because the play stays true to Lewis’ words—in general, a wise choice—it feels dated in places. Lewis aimed his satire at cozy, pious British churchgoers—a group that is virtually extinct today, in post-Christian Europe. Barbs about the Christian who kneels piously in church, nodding to the grocer in the next pew, ring a bit hollow.
But that’s a minor quibble for an otherwise witty and engaging show, which succeeds in showing, not just telling, how evil really works.
As Screwtape dictates one letter after another, the play settles into a lulling rhythm, so that at first, we hardly notice the change. The “patient” isn’t responding as planned. Cracks are revealed in the so-called affectionate relationship between uncle and nephew. Screwtape’s voice grows more shrill, his pacing more urgent.
Suddenly it’s clear: Screwtape is unhinged. The stage is littered with paper, he’s spitting his words out with venomous hatred, his hair is wild. Screwtape’s controlled façade falls away, baring his ugliness and ravenous greed.
The transformation has happened so gradually that it’s diabolical.
The result: The Screwtape Letters on stage presents a compelling portrayal of evil consuming itself. If virtue is its own reward, as the play so hellishly dramatizes, then evil is its own punishment.
The play continues through Sept. 5 at the Westside Theater, 407 West 43rd Street, New York, (212) 239-6200.
COURTESY PHOTO
Mr. McLean portrays Screwtape with oily, actorly elegance, delivering the entirety of the dialogue with unflagging energy and convincing assurance. He’s the only person talking for an hour and a half, and he pulls it off.
