| . | 07/08/2009
THERESE RAQUIN
By: Eugene Paul
Scott Janes as Laurent and Lily Balsen as Therese Raquin
photographer Stan Barouh
In probably its heaviest season in years, the Potomac Theater Project, now PTP/NYC, is presenting in repertory Howard Barker’s The Europeans and Neal Bell’s Therese Raquin, both tragedies, both just the kind of projects you might expect college professors to feel bound to mount for the good of students, the culture and the zeitgeist. Therese Raquin is Bell’s take on the novel which is considered Emile Zola’s first major work, published in 1867. Six years later, Zola staged it as a play in order to demonstrate that Naturalism had come to the 19th century stage, something more than the machinations of craft oriented playwrights with plots dominating characters. He wanted characters to determine the flow and outcome of their actions, to suffer the consequences of what they thought, felt and did, no matter where it took them. Well, up to a point: the master’s hand is plenty in evidence, even in Neal Bell’s careful adaptation. His 1991 version – it’s had a number of productions -- is but one of several adaptations for the stage.
Of movies, there have been about a dozen versions so far with another coming up, Glenn Close starring. There is something in the dark knot of murder, lust and guilt at the center of this brooding, unpleasant play which clutches at generation after generation for over 140 years. Fascination? Empathy? Wishful thinking? Perhaps the dreadful, murderous lovers speak to the dreadful in all of us? But first, you have to be lovers. And praise be, PTP’s got ‘em. Lily Balsen as Therese and Scott James as Laurent, tear up the stage, fornicating all over the place, which is not easy to do in those complicated Victorian clothes.
Therese, the daughter of Capitaine Raquin and an Algerian woman he met on duty in Africa, is brought to live with his sister, Madame Raquin, after Therese’s mother dies. Madame raises her along with Camille, her sickly son, doting on the boy, giving short shrift to the girl, allowing her no life other than the company of Camille. Eventually, she engineers the marriage of Therese and Camille but life is not better for Therese; Madame continues to rule them both. Camille demands they move to Paris in order for him to get a decent position. In Paris, he meets Laurent, a childhood friend and brings him home. The fat is in the fire. Laurent sees through the suppressed, lonely, frustrated girl and their passionate love affair soon consumes their every waking thought. In order to be together, they devise Camille’s death by drowning. Madame Raquin’s friend, Inspector Michaud, is satisfied Camille’s death was an accident. The lovers marry with Madame’s blessing. Consumed with guilt, they are haunted by Camille’s ghost, as they continue to live with Madame Raquin who has suffered a stroke and cannot speak. Their guilt makes them tear at each other. Madame hears enough to discover they have murdered her son and undergoes a second stroke. There is no good outcome for any of them.
Staging such an awkward chronicle presents enormous challenges. Director Jim Petosa has chosen to use a bare stage, a scrim and two chairs, relying on his actors and his audience to supply all the needed settings. He also depends on cast and audience to distinguish spoken thoughts from delivered speech, and here, the strains set in because all the actors are not on the same page as actors. In addition, there are many pages of the play itself in dire need of surgery. He has, however, cannily put all of his cast in substantial nineteenth century clothing, giving them visual substance and relationship but Helen-Jean Arthur as Madame Raquin is somewhere deeper in the nineteenth century than the rest of the company, not working in Zola’s Naturalism, nor in discernable realistic mode. Her character portrayal is easily read, and as easily dismissed. Been there, seen that, done that. Willie Orbison as Camille is a surprise over and over. His hesitant, studied walk to view the portrait Laurent has painted of him is a little masterpiece in itself. Peter Schmitz lends some gravitas to the character of Michaud and his family follow in his wake. But it is Lily Balsen as Therese and Scott James as Laurent who finally give substance and some reason to care about what happens or is going to happen, in spite of being the dismaying characters they are. The role of Therese has been a constant lure to actresses and continues to be because of its wide ranging palate, yet in this production, it is Laurent who dominates. Scott James is a find. I haven’t seen a play so swept away by a lesser character since George C. Scott took the stage in his debut against Dame Judith Anderson, which was quite a taking.
Atlantic Stage 2, 330 W. 16th Street, between 8th and 9th Avenues. Tickets: $20, $10 students,seniors. 212-279-4200 or ticketcentral.com. Wed-Sun 7:30 pm.Mat Sat,Sun 2 pm.
the dark knot of murder, lust and guilt at the center of this brooding, unpleasant play clutches at generations for over 140 years.
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