When I walked into the Irene Diamond theatre for An American
Daughter I gasped and said to the usher, “What a set.” The large sunny living room featured a high
ceiling with windows nearly floor to that ceiling and a cushioned,
pillow-filled window seat that looks out to a garden of trees, with a windowed
door opened invitingly. Comfy furniture,
shelves filled with books, a huge portrait of a young woman over the fireplace
indicate the country home of a wealthy family
Wealthy, yes, but Mikiko Suzuki MacAdams’ set represents
Georgetown, which surprised me when I read the program. I spent a great deal of time in Georgetown
when I lived in Baltimore and never thought that much green space could be
behind those stately facades, but then I only knew them from walks through the
neighborhood. Our seats were in the wide
cross theatre aisle, with seats on the other side descending, so we had a clear
view. With nothing in front of us my
friend and I felt as if we were right there in the bright living room (lighting
design by Alan C. Edwards). What a
treat.
So, set: 10.
For performances, by veterans such as Robert Sean Leonard (in
photo), Montego Glover and Dakin Matthews, it was acting: 10. But play by Wendy Wasserstein, well, maybe
7.
It’s not that I didn’t like the play, which opened last
night. It’s that at two and a half hours
it’s way too long. If it were greatly
tightened, especially in the first act, and unfolded quicker, it would be a
good play. Sarna Lapine, who most
recently directed Call Me Izzy on Broadway, directs.
The play opens with Lyssa Dent Hughes (Jean Lichty, in photo)
holding a remote tightly and speaking along with television coverage of herself
from her earlier appearance before Congress to accept her nomination by the
President to be the new Surgeon General.
(Lichty is founder and executive director of La Femme Theatre, which is
producing this revival of Wasserstein’s 1997 play).
Lyssa is waiting for the moment where she makes one tiny mistake
and gets furious with herself. She’s a
classic high achiever, most recently president of Georgetown Hospital, and
prides herself on being an American daughter as the fifth-generation
granddaughter of General Ulysses S. Grant.
It is his wife, Julia Dent Grant, whose likeness, in various shades of
blue, is portrayed in the painting over the fireplace. Her father, Alan Hughes (Matthews) is a
conservative Republican Senator from Indiana.
Lyssa later describes her family ancestry as, “My family is
American and has been for generations in all its branches, direct and
collateral.”
Lichty is diminutive, maybe 4’ 9’, and railing thin. Costume
designer Donna Zakowska made a wise choice in creating her style. Lyssa wears slacks with an oversized top that
give her some physical stature to command the attention her professional
stature deserves. The large top is well
structured so it doesn’t look sloppy or just thrown on. It’s Lyssa’s unique style, one that for her
I’m sure is intentional.
Unfortunately, she’s the only well-developed character. Her husband, Walter Abrahmson (Leonard), is a
bland but esteemed sociology professor at Georgetown and her close friend since
their Miss Porter days, Judith B. Kaufman (Glover), is the stereotypical single
professional desperately trying to have a child through fertility
treatments. She’s an oncologist but her
main identity is that of a baby obsessed and despairing woman. As she puts it, she can’t give or save
life. Glover deserves better. I first fell in love with her in Memphis,
which I saw twice and I still enjoy through the CD cast recording.
Another stereotypical character is Quincy Quince (Carmen Zilles),
a former student of Walter who is now enjoying success as the author of a
wildly popular book called The Prisoner of Gender. She walks confidently into Lyssa’s living
room one day, having let herself in through the garden where the gate seems to
always be unlocked. (No one in
Washington D.C. in 1997 would have any unlocked door, especially in an affluent
neighborhood and with a resident who is becoming a high-profile figure in the
news.)
Once inside Quincy asks for Walter and when Lyssa tells her he’s
not there she makes herself at home anyway.
I’m sure everyone in the audience will conclude as I did that she either
had an affair with Walter, was still having one or planned to. And they would be right. The older male college professor and young
female student relationship is ridiculously overdone.
A character who would have been more enjoyable if he had been a
stereotype is Morrow McCarthy (Ryan Spahn), a gay man who is a friend of Lyssa
even though he’s recently turned anti-choice.
He’s a former Washington Post columnist turned screenwriter who
has sold a script to Disney for seven figures.
Usually the lone gay character has the best laugh lines or is the
lovable, sympathetic friend but Morrow comes off as an annoying pest who seems
to always be around. The only humor
associated with him comes when Judith addresses him with a Shakespearean “Good
Morrow.”
Lyssa is on target to sail through her confirmation hearings
until she makes a comment during an interview with popular television
journalist Timber Tucker (Chris Ghaffari), which she sits for at the
President’s request. Her description of
her mother as “the kind of ordinary Indiana housewife who took pride in her ice
box cakes and cheese pimento canapés” sets off a backlash the way Hillary
Clinton’s comment about not staying home making cookies did during her
husband’s 1992 presidential campaign.
Any hopes for shifting this narrative are torpedoed by Walter who,
at a brunch Lyssa is hosting, drops the bomb in earshot of Timber that Lyssa
has never served on jury duty. She had
received a notice once but, busy woman that she is, had left it to the
assistant who handles her mail to make sure she sent it in by the appointed
date and then put it out of her mind.
She never saw the notice again and figured the maid might have thrown it
out.
Sensing a new angle, Timber asks why she didn’t contact the court
for a new jury notice. As this unfolds
it sends her once sure-thing confirmation from a little wobbly because of the
baking reference into a major crisis, as small things often do for female
candidates.
A nerdy image consultant, Billy Robbins (Will Devary), is called
in. By the time Lyssa walks into the
living room for her final interview with Timber she looks like a 1950s
socialite in an off-white Chanel suit with the skirt below her knees and
wearing a matching hair band. Anyone who
remembers the 1992 campaign will instantly think of the derision Hillary
Clinton faced when she began wearing hair bands to shift her image, which to
the right wing was equal to that of Lady Macbeth.
I won’t tell you the ending, which would have had more power if it had come sooner. I hope seeing all Lyssa had to endure won’t discourage any potential female candidates in the audience. Hopefully, though, it will make them steer clear of hair bands.
