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- THEATER, Page 82The Whole Point of Life
-
-
- By WILLIAM A. HENRY III
-
- MARVIN'S ROOM
- By Scott McPherson
-
-
- A hardened, sinewy blond who is almost succeeding in
- fighting off the encroachments of middle age tells her
- unstylish, homebody sister how sorry she is that the homebody
- threw away her life caring for their bedridden father and addled
- aunt. The care giver insists she has no regrets: "I can't
- imagine a better way to have spent my life." Later she explains,
- "I have had such love." She does not mean her elderly wards'
- love for her -- they are often cross or ungrateful -- but rather
- hers for them. She is not confessing to neurotic possessiveness
- or bidding for sainthood. She simply believes that loving is the
- whole point of life.
-
- That poignant exchange is at the moral heart of Marvin's
- Room, an unflinching yet surprisingly funny play about illness,
- physical and mental, that opened off-Broadway this month after
- runs in Chicago and Hartford. Playwright Scott McPherson, 32,
- has an original voice, balanced between sentiment and
- surrealism, and a gift for creating characters who are more than
- the sum of their behavior. He also has AIDS, which gives him
- premature sensitivity about the importance of help and healing
- but imperils his talent just as it is emerging.
-
- Bessie, the care giver, connects tenderly with her harsher
- sister's teenage sons, one a powder keg of anger who burned down
- his neighborhood, the other a bespectacled Milquetoast who
- perpetually retreats into a book. She also has a wonderful
- speech recalling her only romantic love, a carnival worker who
- drowned before her eyes when a partying crowd onshore mistook
- his desperate pleas for habitual clowning. Amid the grim
- reality, McPherson's characters take childlike delight in simple
- things and maintain a giggly sense of humor. Bessie's father
- Marvin, unseen but for his shadow through a glass-brick wall,
- has been dying for two decades -- "real slow," Bessie explains
- with a hint of asperity, "so I don't miss anything." He still
- chortles in glee on seeing beams of light bounce off a hand-held
- mirror and play around the room. Bessie's sister, told she
- cannot smoke in a hospital, replies with steely illogic, "I'll
- be very quiet, then," and lights up. The daffy aunt, addicted
- to a soap opera, dresses to the nines for a character's wedding.
-
- Director David Petrarca, who has staged the show in each
- of its venues, handles the shifts in tones with equal measures
- of delicacy and boldness. Laura Esterman, who has played Bessie
- since the beginning, nonetheless has an aura of uncalculated
- spontaneity in the hardest sort of role, a character of true
- goodness who is still approachable and fun. Mark Rosenthal and
- Karl Maschek as the boys, also cast since Chicago, have been
- ably joined by Lisa Emery as their mother and Alice Drummond as
- their dotty great-aunt.
-
- For all the fun, the arc of the story is doom. It begins
- with Bessie's being tested for mysterious bruises that signal
- leukemia. It ends with her facing quick death, knowing she must
- abandon the father and aunt she has served so long and the
- nephews she has begun to help. The true tragedy, the most apt
- AIDS metaphor, is that the world needs more people like her and
- is about to have one less.
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