Think hard: When was the last time a promising American playwright met or exceeded expectations? If you can't remember, don't worry, for the drought is over. With Rabbit Hole, David Lindsay-Abaire has written a painstakingly beautiful, dramatically resourceful, exquisitely human new play.
Instead of wacky characters in offbeat scenarios -- hitherto the typical, expected Lindsay-Abaire formula -- the play presents a gratifyingly normal family portrait. Becca (Cynthia Nixon) and Howie (John Slattery) are the parents of a 4-year-old, Danny, who has been killed in a freak accident by Jason (John Gallagher Jr.), a sensitive but clearly guilt-ridden teen.
Becca's younger sister, Izzy (Mary Catherine Garrison), is her polar opposite: Whereas older sis is prim, proper, and ostensibly centered and grounded, younger sis is the family punk. Izzy doesn't shirk from punching some other woman's lights out in a bar while pregnant. Izzy's trash-mouth tendencies, however, don't make her crass; they simply mean she takes after Nat (Tyne Daly), the sisters' deeply opinionated mother, more than Becca does.
In a reliably loony Lindsay-Abaire play, imagining these five as rambunctious, goofy folk -- no doubt beset by bizarre plot turns and linguistic backflips -- wouldn't be hard to do. Yet, abetted by Daniel Sullivan's light yet surefooted directorial touch, Lindsay-Abaire has crafted the most serious, simply told work of his career. Rabbit Hole, which takes its title from a fantastical short story Jason writes in a grasping attempt to assuage his grief, deals with the aftermath of Danny's death.
Becca and Howie naturally suffer the most from the loss. In this sense, what happens to them during the play is less vital than their background: Their sex life has waned; Becca's best friend has been distant; Becca wants to sell the house (gorgeously designed by John Lee Beatty); Howie stares at videos of Danny in a fruitless search for catharsis. Izzy's pregnancy amplifies the pain, but the tiny whiff of jealousy between the sisters is subtle, one of many unspoken, unarticulated dynamics that make Rabbit Hole endearingly mortal.
Nixon's performance is as tender as a mother caressing a child, and just as instinctual. Near the play's end, Becca meets with Jason, who attempts to unload information to relieve his conscience. It is in this scene -- precisely when the play stands at the crossroads of redemption, loss, and pain -- that Nixon lets Becca cry, and we realize how supremely genuine her work and the play really are.
That goes double for Daly. Smartly if modestly clothed in Jennifer von Mayrhauser's costumes, she gets the play's best lines -- lines reminiscent of the Lindsay-Abaire of old. But they always serve a purpose. There is a bit about the Kennedys' bad luck: How the scene is constructed, and how Daly plays it, you learn all about Nat and her family in one swoop. Nat is an unpretentious Mother Earth: "Look up kitschy, wouldja, Howie? See if it says crap?" she asks her son-in-law.
In another scene -- when Jason appears at the door -- Nat isn't dominant on stage. Instead she's up center, her spine aligned with a door frame. In old Lindsay-Abaire plays, Daly's Nat would stare at Jason: What is he doing here? But this isn't that play; there's no melodrama here. Here Daly's Nat stares at Becca: What will she do? The greatest thing about Rabbit Hole is not knowing the answer -- and knowing that we want to.
Presented by Manhattan Theatre Club,
261 W. 47th St., NYC.
Feb. 2–April 2. Tues.–Sat., 8 p.m.; Sat.–Sun., 2 p.m.; Sun., 7 p.m.
(212) 239-6200.
Casting by Nancy Piccione/David Caparelliotis