NY Review: 'The Caretaker'

Harold Pinter's first international hit, "The Caretaker," originally produced in 1960, is a tricky proposition. If the actors and director don't achieve exactly the right balance of menace and desperation, this three-character power play over the jurisdiction of a shabby flat can be deadly boring. A 2003 mounting from Roundabout Theatre Company starring Patrick Stewart as Davies totally missed the human dimension and settled for bluster, shouting, and mayhem. Fortunately, Christopher Morahan's production for Liverpool Everyman and Playhouse, which headlines Tony and Olivier Award winner Jonathan Pryce and is now in a seven-week run at Brooklyn Academy of Music, doesn't go for the surface Pinteresque clichés. Instead, it explores the loneliness and need underneath the weird behavior and dialogue.

The plot, such as is it, involves a destitute old man being considered by two bizarre brothers for the position of caretaker in a rundown building. One of the siblings, Aston, is a nattily dressed former mental patient suffering from the aftereffects of a lobotomy. The other, Mick, is a hyperactive type prone to violence and rambling monologues about interior decoration. The mysterious old guy—he says his name is Davies, but it could be Jenkins—is brought to the decrepit room by Aston and invited to stay there as caretaker. While Aston is out, Mick bursts in and alternately terrorizes and coddles Davies. Mick makes the same offer of employment to the tramp. We never find out, and neither does Davies, which of the brothers is the real landlord and therefore controls the derelict's fate.

What follows is an intense struggle for dominance as Davies shifts his loyalty from brother to brother. Unless the cast conveys the subtext of yearning for home and a connection with another human being, the play can devolve into meaningless word games.

Pryce, who delivers an expert performance as the disheveled Davies, is receiving the most publicity, but Alex Hassell (Mick) and Alan Cox (Aston) are equally deserving of attention. Pryce remembers that Davies' imperative goal is to keep his bed after what has probably been years of homelessness. You can read this muddled man's rapid and confused thoughts on the actor's expressive features as the situation keeps changing and it's never clear who can be trusted. Watch his astonished eyes as Hassell's quicksilver and scary Mick utters a series of non sequiturs. It's obvious that Davies is dancing mentally as fast as he can to keep up with these screwy siblings.

Cox is extremely moving as the placid Aston. In an unforgettable moment, he slowly and matter-of-factly tells Aston's pathetic story of mental illness and psychiatric surgery as Colin Grenfell's eloquent lighting imperceptibly isolates him in a spotlight. This touching scene is later paralleled by one in which Davies uncovers his anguish to Ashton, but the latter slips out unnoticed halfway through the confession. When Davies realizes that he has been talking to himself, Pryce gives full vent to the character's rage and frustration. "He wasn't even listening," he screams, like an abandoned child. Morahan's subtle production stresses this universal longing for contact, which this trio of misfits buries under macho swagger or shallow obsession with objects.

The properly depressing atmosphere is created by Eileen Diss' junk shop of a set and Dany Everett's incisive costumes.

Presented by Brooklyn Academy of Music at BAM Harvey Theatre, 651 Fulton St., Brooklyn, N.Y. May 4–June 16. Tue.–Sat., 7:30 p.m.; Sat., 2 p.m.; Sun., 3 p.m. (718) 636-4100 or www.bam.org. Casting by Siobhan Bracke.