Exact Center Of The Universe, The

Joan Vail Thorne's The Exact Center Of The Universe takes us to semi-familiar territory in its story of Vada Love Powell (Frances Sternhagen), an aging Southern belle in the 1950s. She's alarmed by her son Appleton's (Reed Birney) shotgun marriage to a sweet Italian girl (Tracy Thorne), all the while being visited by his new bride's twin sister (also played by Thorne), who is softening the blow for her beloved sibling. Vada Love is a feisty old bird, but not your garden-variety, crotchety old widow. As played by the majestic Sternhagen, Vada is allowed her biting asides but harbors considerable heart, especially toward her eccentric son. She spends afternoons discussing Southern affairs with her elderly canasta partners (Sloane Shelton and Marge Redmond), one of whom has quite an alarming secret.

This is Robert Harling-land if you haven't guessed by now, and Thorne's play has some of the genial charm of his Steel Magnolias, crossed with a touch of Driving Miss Daisy, without the black-white conflicts. The first act is unsurprising but effective, allowing Sternhagen to create a fully rounded matriarch who doesn't beg for much sympathy but has clear motives and is generally a good person, despite her coarseness. Sternhagen is a veteran film and stage actress making a triumphant return to the stage. Her instincts are still flawless, her body language completely marvelous. However, the Southern soufflé falls flat in its second act, when it attempts to thaw out Vada's frosty demeanor. The drama of the already too-genteel story is lessened, and the play turns out to be one of those "old people need to get with the times" concoctions, a sentiment that is even voiced by one of the players.

Act two hinges on a debate about photographic nudity and children, an iffy premise made rather silly by giving it such alarming weight. It never rings true, despite the game cast's best efforts. One wishes the second act had the same lulling effect as the first, which wasn't particularly profound, but at least was honest and playful. (It's one of the few instances in theater where having an edge is not an improvement, especially with a pro like Sternhagen at the helm, who can create effortless meaning with a gesture as small as opening her mouth.