It’s interesting to note that The Waverly Gallery begins with a solid brick wall, as does The Ferryman. It could also be said that while both plays inject humor into a difficult situation, the audience feels mounting trepidation. In this case, it’s 1989 in New York City; the action moves from Greenwich Village to the Upper West Side. The tiny underwhelming gallery of the title is run by an elderly, scrappy aging hippie named Gladys Green. We instantly fall in love with her; as played by the remarkable Elaine May, she’s got a gentle heart, a distinctive style, and an appreciation for the arts and artists she tries to represent. The show is narrated by her grandson, Daniel Reed (Lucas Hedges). It’s obvious that he cares for Gladys deeply, but there’s a problem. The woman is becoming more and more unhinged, going quickly from being quirky to being demented. Daniel helps her as best he can; he constantly fixes her hearing aid, so she can understand better. He lives in two rooms in the back of her residence and is at her beck and call. But Daniel’s own life is far from ideal. He’s involved with a woman who “tortures” him, he has a job that’s less than fulfilling, and Gladys’s late night demands are making him sleep deprived. Also fraying at the end of her rope is Gladys’s long-suffering daughter, Ellen Fine. Joan Allen, as lovely as ever; wafer thin, with eyes that can’t lie, she shows us the other side of the story about dementia. Not only does the sufferer go down the rabbit hole, but those who love her fight for their equilibrium, too. Howard (David Cromer), Ellen’s husband, is kind and understanding, but the combination of having to shout so Gladys can here, and repeating the same question-and-answer dialogue time after time has taken its toll on him. Ellen has cooked endless dinners for Gladys and those Gladys has brought along with her, and Howard understands that while Gladys needs to be cared for, Ellen is also in need of a respite. A not very gifted young artist named Don Bowman (Michael Cera) has schlepped down from Lynn, Massachusetts to try his luck at selling his paintings in the Village; he finds his way to the gallery. He’s overjoyed when Gladys encourages him, and even offers to let him put up a cot in the back room. Ellen and Howard come to vet him, and decides it might actually be safer for Gladys to have him there. Gladys’s condition worsens; she stops being able to easily communicate, her memory is shot, and certain words escape her. We also see her fear and paranoia start to build. But what should be done? Gladys doesn’t like the women Ellen has hired so that she doesn’t have to administer the required diabetes shot every day. The landlord of the hotel where the gallery is located is demanding that she leave; he says he’s going to make a café out of the space. Ellen dreads the idea of having Gladys live with her; her mother feels the same. It would be interesting to know more of their history. We have tantalizing hints that the relationship was always contentious. Was it just the normal friction between mother and daughter, or was there more to the relationship? Things go from bad to worse. Gladys begins to hallucinate her late husband, to distrust those around her, and to lose her grip on reality. She sees everyone, even the dog, as crying, because she’d crying inside. She’s lonely and isolated because she’s driven everyone around her nuts, especially Daniel. We know what’s obvious and inevitable, but that doesn’t make it any less painful. This is a very funny, very sad comedy. For those of us who have had the experience of seeing a loved one disappear into dementia, we cringe even as we laugh. Superb writing and directing, and a pitch-perfect cast make it worthwhile to experience the pain. More than one member of the audience left the theater pulling out a cell phone to call home.
