Culture

Theater review: ACT's 'night Mother' a tense examination of suicide

"People don't do such things," says Judge Brack at the end of "Hedda Gabler." By such things he means suicide, and he mouths the line despite the fact that the title character has just done such a thing in his immediate vicinity.

Brack's stated disbelief speaks to the silence that surrounds the act of killing oneself. Accounts of murders and bank robberies are invariably included in the news, but one seldom sees suicide reported even though it is far more prevalent than the other two things; there were 34 murders in Alaska last year compared to about 140 suicides. I think it's safe to say that every adult Alaska has known an associate, friend or family member who took his or her own life. People do such things. We just don't talk about it.

The two-woman cast of "'night, Mother" talks about it for 90 tense minutes. At the end of the show one may have fresh insight into why someone would want to stop living, but solid answers to old questions remain as elusive as ever.

Jessie, a middle-age woman living with her mother, Thelma, announces that she will shoot herself before the next two hours are up. She methodically makes preparations, collecting plastic bags to keep the gore off the sheets, locking the bedroom door so that the police won't suspect her mother of the deed.

Thelma is stunned by the announcement but, old and weak, is powerless to stop it. So she talks, trying every angle she can think of to dissuade her daughter: hope, love of life, practical responsibilities to the living (like aging parents, for instance) and of course guilt.

"You're doing this because you're angry at me," she says.

"It's not about you," Jessie replies.

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As they exchange arguments old secrets come out, attitudes are enunciated, emotions are illuminated. But at the end one cannot say where Jessie fits on the scale of sanity and mental illness, whether her decision is justified or not, whether Thelma is a good mother or negligent. Playwright Marsha Norman doesn't take sides but presents the drama as if a home video camera had been left running during the evening.

Brian Saylor's set, the kitchen/television room of a midwestern farmhouse, is perfectly detailed and familiarly cozy. A large clock provides a real time counting-down that torques up the anticipation.

The current production at Grant Hall is under the aegis of Anchorage Community Theatre in conjunction with RKP Productions. The initials stand for Dick Reichman, Audrey and Bruce Kelly and Bob Pond. The latter has been a fixture in the Anchorage theater scene since the 1950s. He was the director but took ill last week and Reichman stepped in to finish off the rehearsals. The Kellys have put together the annual tales in the cemetery event in recent years, in which Linda Benson, who plays Thelma, has been a regular participant.

An experienced thespian, Benson is on step throughout the play, riding a roller-coaster of uncomfortable emotions. The only issue comes at the start of the script when she speaks with a mouthful of candy as directed by the script -- not the smartest theatrical direction in that it makes her first lines hard to understand.

Jessie is played by newcomer Tiffany Dennis, soberly in control of the situation from beginning to end. There were places, however, where subtle shifts in mood or theme felt lumpy and arbitrary. Nonetheless, the catharsis of the drama overwhelmed the audience on Saturday night. When the lights came up after the curtain call people stayed in their seats, taking the better part of a minute before stirring or talking. Many may have been remembering someone they knew and reflecting on Thelma's poignant cry, "How could I know you were so alone?"

If you go to "'night, Mother" -- recommended for those who expect more from stage productions than television, but not for youngsters -- you can honestly tell people it's because you like the actors, it's good theater, a great script, won the Pulitzer Prize, etc.

You don't need to tell anyone the real reason unless you want to. It can be personal.

night, Mother

7 p.m. Thursday-Saturday and 3 p.m. Sunday

Alaska Pacific University's Grant Hall Auditorium.

Tickets: $15.50-$17.50 at centertix.net

Mike Dunham

Mike Dunham was a longtime ADN reporter, mainly writing about culture, arts and Alaska history. He worked in radio for 20 years before switching to print. He retired from the ADN in 2017.

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