That Face by Polly Stenham

That Face, the British play which opened last night from the Manhattan Theater Club, is about a dysfunctional family. Mom is an alcoholic and also probably insane. Dad is gone, in Asia with his new family. And the two teenaged children have to deal with the situation. Henry, the older of the two, is his mother's caretaker and companion, while Mia is a boarding school rebel.

I saw the play twice, once at its invited dress rehearsal and once last night at opening night. The first time, I was impressed with the the theatricality of the play, even as I felt that the reason I was aware of its theatricality, as separate simply from it, was because it was somewhat contrived. The play opens on a scene during which an unconscious girl sits in the middle of the stage, bound and gagged, as her boarding school housemates argue about how best to torture her. It creates a good deal of suspense and I noted that, impressed. Likewise, I noted the way that the pseudo-incestuous relationship between Henry and his mother created uncomfortable suspense that propelled the play forward. In a scene in a hospital, the constant threat that someone might come in and find our characters in a compromised position created suspense; I noted it. In the final scene, a huge dramatic blowout among the four characters in the first time they have shared a room in years, Henry is dressed in his mother's nightgown, his mother's jewelry and his mother's make-up. "You look ridiculous," remarks his father in the middle of the drama and he does. And it's a shrewd move on to the part of the playwright. But the first time I saw it, I didn't feel much because I basically felt like I could see through to the bones of the thing. It hadn't come alive yet.

Last night, I felt much differently. Last night, as I watched the show, three weeks more rehearsed and with the intermission removed, I was much less aware of the devices and much more aware of the emotions and the real drama. This time around, it seemed much less a story of extremes pumped for their dramatic value and much more a universal story. When the final scene unfolded and everyone was in misery, I had the sense that it was every divorce I was watching unfold. The children blaming themselves and their parents; the mother needing too much; the father wanting too little.

It was an interesting lesson in scheduling. In the future, I will think twice about going to a play when it's in previews.

NOTE: I wrote this before the largely poor reviews came out. I wonder when the reviewers went. They must have gone in previews, but I wonder whether it was closer to the Invited Dress or to Opening Night.