Relationships with one’s parents are often mined for drama and comedy. The Thanksgiving table can sometimes seem like immersive live theater. Once in a while, a playwright uses his personal experience to explore his own feelings. Robert Anderson does that in his deeply introspective I Never Sang For My Father.
Son Gene is picking his parents up from the train in New York City as the play opens. Their snowbird months are over and it’s time to return to Westchester. Mom is suffering from cancer, heart attacks and arthritis. She seems to be a cheerful soul. Dad is a retired Brigadier General who only watches westerns on television. He has a nagging cough but will not see a doctor. Self-absorption fuels his interactions with family and strangers.
Tom and Margaret are fairly ordinary parental types. She is kind and defers to her husband. When he banned their daughter for marrying a Jewish man, she acquiesced. His philosophy is staunchly mid-century white American male. “Any man with a sound body can achieve whatever he wants within reason.” The first argument is between father and son concerning the route to drive home.
Even though we’ve seen these people before (on stage and off), they are defined individuals and believably developed. The audience bonded with them early. Jokes about driver’s licenses and handkerchiefs elicited knowing laughs of recognition. With a simple stage of black boxes, director Richard Hoehler creates smooth transitions, notably from the backyard garden to Schraft’s restaurant.
After a fight over who is paying for dinner, Gene implores Dad not to order dinner based on the lowest priced option. We have seen and heard all of this before so what makes this play needed? Mr. Anderson is writing from a very personal space. The mood is melancholy. The pace is very measured. The result is a production that feels excruciatingly long.
Details are repeated over and over throughout the play. Some are critical to the plot such as Dad’s narcissistic obsession with telling his life story to anyone who will listen. Others just slow down the momentum like references to westerns and the father’s pained relationship with Gene’s grandfather. The tone feels intentional and intimately personal. The story is not incredibly unique so the oft-repeated points become barriers to absorbing the emotions of the play. Instead, the audience is enduring a marathon of familial analysis.
Mr. Anderson’s writing contains some very thoughtful observations. One of my favorites was from Mom. “What a shame children cannot see their parents when they are young and courting.” Many of the scenes are well-done. The acting is good despite fairly generic characters and situations. The role of Gene flips repeatedly between narrator and son. Portrayed by David Lee, the effect is a clinical study rather than an emotional journey. Whether or not intended, the result is to create distance between the viewer and the family.
As Gene’s parents, Michael S. Horowitz and Georgia Buchanan have created nicely shaded portrayals of elderly parents in decline. The highs and lows of a full life lived are etched in their words and mannerisms. Another highlight was the assorted characters played by Elizabeth Maille in supporting roles. Different accents were employed and they were immensely fun to watch. That’s a good thing and a bad thing. I thoroughly enjoyed her interpretations as the core drama was plodding along.
I Never Sang For My Father is clearly a heartfelt meditation of a son’s coming to terms with the distant relationship he had with an overbearing, selfish, wildly successful father. The average theatergoer, however, will not have enough patience to experience this journey despite its realness and importance to the author.
I Never Sang For My Father will be performed at The Chain Theatre through September 22nd.