The revival of Wendy Wasserstein's 'An American Daughter' is disappointing

 

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.