Photo Source: Julieta Cervantes
The proceedings begin with our arrival, as a staff member greets us at the door, politely asks us to check our bags and coats, then ushers us up the sweeping staircase to the second floor. Here we wait for Alice while a catering staff serves sandwiches, chocolates, and tea and a pianist softly plays classical music.
As we take in the richly carved wooden paneling, elaborate ceiling moldings, glittering crystal chandeliers, imposing marble fireplace, and such, Alice's butler Blake urges us to examine the large black metal sculpture that dominates the front room. It looks like a large overstuffed chaise longue bent upon explosion, pocked with lumps, craters, and clusters of boil-like eruptions and topped by a smallish rectangular opening that yawns with the empty, unforgiving relentlessness of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. (Kudos to designers Louisa Thompson and Zane Wilson.)
We mill and nod and smile and chat and begin to grow impatient as the minutes tick well past the stated curtain time. Suddenly, we hear a door slam, and a staff member whizzes down the staircase leading to the third floor, head down, fleeing from humiliation. Shortly thereafter an imperious voice calls for Blake. We are soon escorted upstairs to meet Alice, elegant in Susan Hilferty's tasteful black ensemble of embroidered jacket and pants accentuated by pearls and jewels. She greets each person warmly in carefully modulated tones and directs us down the hall to her richly appointed front sitting room (nice work again from Thompson, lit with subtle warmth by Mark Barton).
Once we are settled on the plush furniture, Alice enters and works the room like a good hostess, finally settling herself in a chair beside an empty wooden bookstand. Aghast at the oversight, she roars for the cowed Blake to fetch her book. A witty comment about the necessity of scripting improvised remarks leads to Caldwell reading Adjmi's monologue.
Alice tells us why she commissioned the sculpture, which her absent German husband loathes and fears is growing, then goes on to chat about such topics as the nature of love, the challenges of friendship, her sainted mother, her favorite tea, and a happy trip to Disney World, throughout which she somehow weaves her opinions on torturing terrorists and the concept of human rights. Inevitably, we grow uneasy with the selfish ferocity increasingly glimpsed beneath the impeccably graceful exterior, even as we fear that we are not entirely free of that ferociousness ourselves.
The superb Caldwell toys entertainingly with us as she allows glimpses of Alice's inner gorgon, which finally seeps through and poisons the matron's cultivated social façade. There's also the added frisson of being in such intimate contact with this legendary actor. Caldwell does her best to make us forget that she is reading and largely succeeds, but the power of the unique staging is a bit undermined whenever we remember that these rambling thoughts are not just springing unbidden from Alice's mind.
Because only 30 people can be accommodated at each performance, the run of "Elective Affinities" quickly sold out. Nevertheless, Soho Rep says that there may be a few tickets made available on the day of the performance and recommends that prospective attendees regularly check the show's website (www.hautpmannresidence.com). I can only say that tea with Alice is quite the trip.
Presented by Soho Rep, Piece by Piece Productions, and Rising Phoenix Repertory at an Upper East Side townhouse, NYC. Dec. 2–18. Thu. and Fri., 7 p.m.; Sat. and Sun., 5 p.m. (Additional performance Wed., Dec. 14, 7 p.m.) (212) 352-3101, (866) 811-4111, www.theatermania.com, or www.hauptmannresidence.com. Casting by Jack Doulin.
