Theater Review by Samuel L. Leiter . . .
I have a feeling that no American holiday, not even Thanksgiving, brings families together as much as Christmas. It may have religious significance for Christians, but a large percentage of those celebrating do so without giving a thought to the holiday’s higher significance. For many—like my own Jewish/Catholic/ Muslim/Protestant family—regardless of their differing religions or their relative piety or skepticism, family Christmas parties are just an annual excuse for those who can get there to catch up, eat, drink, and distribute gifts with those they may not have seen all year. Sometimes, however, the joy of seeing loved (and even not-so-loved) ones, even if only once a year, turns grim, resentments boil over, and holly, jolly feelings go up the chimney with the Yule log smoke.
This, at any rate, is what happens in Cult of Love, Leslye Headland’s engrossing, often funny, but sometimes frustrating exploration of dysfunctional family dynamics on view at Second Stage’s Helen Hayes Theater. In Headland’s semi-autobiographical dramedy, first seen in 2018 at Los Angeles’s IAMA Theatre, the Dahl family assembles at a Connecticut farmhouse one snowy Christmas Eve. It is part of the playwright’s Seven Deadly Sins series, its theme focusing on pride, although such a theme is more a whisper than a shout.
Our attention is held more by characters than plot, or any specific sinful theme, across an intermissionless, hour-and-40-minute span. We witness an assortment of ten colorfully troubled people, played by a superb ensemble, struggle to feel goodwill toward one another amid the barbs of familial tension. Constant overlapping, sharply crafted dialogue heard within a cozy home, adorned by the great John Lee Beatty with an abundance of Christmas glitz, creates a superficial semblance of naturalism.
Headland introduces the passive-aggressive Dahl family matriarch, Ginny (a fine, low-keyed Mare Winningham), and puppy dog patriarch, Bill (David Rasche, sweetly befuddled). Bill has Alzheimer’s although, as pictured, you could be forgiven for mistaking it for absentmindedness if it weren’t mentioned. Everyone suspects he should seek help, but Ginny, in denial about so many things, pooh-poohs it. She also looks the other way about accepting the gayness of her religion-hating elder daughter, Evie (Rebecca Henderson), recently married to a woman. Ditto Ginny’s ignoring the addictions of her younger, life-of-the-party son, Johnny (Christopher Sears), perpetually in rehab, whose late arrival prevents everyone from sitting down to eat.
Meanwhile, older son Mark (Zachary Quinto), who turned to law after training for the priesthood, is about to chuck his promising career, even after clerking for Chief Justice Roberts. He insists he’s no longer a Christian, but Ginny won’t hear it. The other sister, Diana (Shailene Woodley), whose sleeping baby is present via a monitor, is a homophobic, pregnant, Christian fundamentalist who can’t help proselytizing nonbelievers.
Add to this Rachel (Molly Bernard), Mark’s cynical, disaffected wife, a Jew converted to Christianity; Loren (Barbie Ferreira), Johnny’s companion, also a recovering addict, who serves as a surprisingly levelheaded raisonneur on the subject of faith; James (Christopher Lowell), Diana’s feckless husband, an Episcopalian priest ejected from his church for his wife’s behavior, and hoping to start a new one; and Pippa (Roberta Colindrez), Evie’s even-tempered wife, and you get a volatile keg of people just waiting for a spark to light their fuse.
Among those sparks are mental illness, homophobia, pregnancy, addiction, motherhood, and most significantly, the importance of love, both human and divine. When these issues come to a head, they sometimes inspire monologues that take the play outside its naturalistic bounds, not because they’re unrealistic, but because their rhetorical polish exceeds the reality of the circumstances. The number of issues on the table and people arguing keep things hopping, but at the expense of anything or anyone being more than thinly treated.
For instance, Bill, who sails placidly through a sea of familial discord, always hugging someone and telling them how much he loves them, offers an extended tribute to the power of love over hate. Given his faltering condition, it seems oddly out of place. Similarly, late in the play, there’s a lengthy theological discourse on God’s love from Mark; he insists he’s no longer a Christian but can’t fully dismiss his beliefs. This may be entirely reasonable but it takes the play to a heady level that doesn’t quite fit the context.
Despite their slings and arrows, the Dahls are tied together by their affinity for music. All of them sing (Diana is especially gifted), and several display skills on the banjo, mouth organ, and piano, not to mention the tambourine. The instruments materialize from corners of the set where they’ve been casually tucked away among the many odds and ends.
Multiple carols and folk songs, often sung at considerable length, are performed in such perfect harmony that you must go to the program to confirm that someone (Jacinthe Greywoode) supervised the music and someone else coached the vocals (Gigi Buffington). Like much else, you’re obliged to accept that this bickering band of brothers, sisters, parents, and spouses can combine in angelic harmony—as if they’ve never stopped practicing—whenever the spirit moves them.
A first-rate ensemble gets the play across even when its characters’ reactions seem forced and its confrontations contrived. Director Trip Cullman’s ability to score the actors’ speech and movement with rhythmic precision is a definite plus, his stage pictures often speaking more loudly than a thousand words. Heather Gilbert’s lights evoke some lovely moments, especially when the lights are dimmed; Sophia Choi’s costumes are true to their wearers; and, all the other creative components contribute nicely.
The Cult of Love never rises to the level of two other similar plays to which it’s been compared, August: Osage County and Appropriate, but there’s much to love in it. Just not enough to love all of it. Cue the music.
Cult of Love. Through January 5 at 2nd Stage’s Helen Hayes Theater (240 West 44th Street, between Seventh and Eighth Avenues). www.2st.com
Photos: Joan Marcus
