Awake and Sing

Clifford Odets' Awake and Sing, written in the depths of the depression in 1935, is full of stylized poetic phrases in the dialogue that are ripped from the gut and express the anguish of love, of poverty, of aspiration unfulfilled. The themes are as powerful (and sometimes funny) now as they were when Odets wrote them. However, this production, for me, is miscast and misdirected (by Bartlett Sher) with a lot of energy and lots of missteps including the wrong dog (what's a black poodle doing in the arms of these poor working-class people? It should be a light-colored mutt that we can see against dark costumes).

I can't imagine why they didn't hire a dialect coach for a Broadway show. Almost the entire cast, although they do say "Noo Yawk" properly, has a flat Midwestern "A," and it grates on my New York ears. They're just not Jewish people from The Bronx struggling to survive in a cruel time.

Zoe Wanamaker is basically on one note as the mother - harsh and perpetually bitter; Ben Gazzara as the grandfather has his one note too, growly; Pablo Schreiber, the young frustrated swain, wears his anguish on his sleeve, and his final tirades are rushed and garbled. Richard Topol's rabbit of a man doesn't walk; he shows us a man walking timidly, etc.

Jonathan Hadary, whom I usually like a lot, is just in the wrong play, and Lauren Ambrose does manage to show us in Act 3 that she has some emotional depth. Mark Ruffalo brings some strength and believability to his role and so does Ned Eisenberg.

Michael Yeargan's set is brilliant, gradually revealing thru scrims the world just beyond the walls of the apartment. Lighting by Christopher Akerlind totally fulfills the design. Costumes by Catherine Zuber are proper for the time and might be a bit blatant (dressing Schreiber in black). I guess we have to blame the producers, Lincoln Center Theater, for putting this gem of a play in the hands of a director who doesn't get it - not the flavor, the rhythm or the inner life of these depression-trapped Bronxites.