Machinal

Sophie Treadwell's 1928 expressionist drama, now receiving its belated Los Angeles premiere, was suggested by the 1927 murder trial of Ruth Snyder and Judd Gray. It tells the tale of a doomed young woman, Helen (Charlotte Chanler), who suffers from an incurable malaise that leaves her feeling suffocated and hopeless. Marooned in a hopelessly unfulfilling job and pressured by her nagging mother (Marilyn McIntyre), she marries her loud, vulgar boss (flamboyantly funny Arthur Hanket) and, despite the repulsion she feels toward him, bears him a daughter—for whom she feels nothing. After several years of emotionally threadbare marriage, she for once allows herself to go out on the town and is picked up by a handsome salesman (Dylan Maddalena), who makes love to her, tells her she's pretty, and regales her with his Mexican adventures. He brings her temporarily to life, and in her desperation to hold on to her bit of happiness, she murders her boorish husband—but the lover disappears back to Mexico.

Treadwell's play presents a telling picture of NYC in the 1920s and the stultifying effects of the mechanized workplace, but director Barbara Schofield's production seems ponderous and unarticulated, predictable when it should seem inevitable. Chanler, who has done splendid work in the past, here seems almost catatonic, and we're not permitted much sense of who she is until the end of the play. Partially this is because Schofield chose to present her long monologues as voiceovers, denying her the chance to speak them and perhaps connect with us emotionally. Hanket provides the kind of precise, stylish, larger-than-life performance that is lacking elsewhere. Maddalena's performance may have the magnetism it needs, but much of it is staged in near-darkness, so it's hard to tell. The large ensemble does good work, but the production fails to pull it into sharp focus.

Jim Spencer's set design is conceptually clever but less successful in the execution. Shon LeBlanc's '20s costumes are handsome and effective.

Presented by and at the Open Fist Theatre, 6209 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. Oct. 14-Nov. 20. Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m. (323) 882-6912. www.openfist.org.