To put it bluntly, Julie Hébert’s intimate and mystical family drama “Tree” is no “Ruined,” the comparatively epic and topical Pulitzer Prize winner by Lynn Nottage (set in the Congo) that Horizon Theatre had originally announced as its fall production.
While it may not seem fair to fault one play for not being another play, look at it this way: Imagine you’ve eagerly expected to see a big Broadway show with a famous star in the lead, only to get there and find out that the understudy’s going on instead.
It’s easy to cut Horizon co-artistic director Lisa Adler some slack, of course, because the change in plans was less a creative decision than an economic one (“Tree” involves four characters; “Ruined” features a cast of 11). But, even so, that doesn’t make “Tree” any better or more firmly rooted as a piece of work in its own right.
The ubiquitous Donna Biscoe (late of “The Green Book” and “The Little Foxes”) delivers a strong performance in the demanding role of Jessalyn Price, an aged black matriarch suffering from dementia. Living in an upstairs room of her divorced son’s Chicago home — or is it a treehouse? — she drifts between the present and the past, between reality and dreams.
There are isolated moments of clarity, but she’s mostly prone to ramblings that are by turns poetic and ponderous. “We call on the rain and now it’s calling us back,” she intones. Occasionally, her voice alters in midsentence or suddenly echoes. Foul-mouthed outbursts come out of nowhere. So do certain bizarre anatomical references.
Elsewhere, however, Adler’s staging is beset by weaker interpretations of the play’s two other pivotal roles. Primarily versed as a flighty comedian, Megan Hayes (“Boeing, Boeing,” etc.) is sorely miscast as Didi Marcantel, a white Louisiana woman who arrives on their doorstep with a batch of old letters that suggests she might be part of the family.
That Hayes is a likable actress doesn’t adequately suit the brazen desperation of the character, who barges into their lives, rummaging through the refrigerator or various boxes stacked about the place, and otherwise rattling proverbial skeletons in the closet. Moreover, despite her mannish attire, she’s hardly convincing as someone who’s rather absurdly described as “butch.”
Portraying Leo, the skeptical son and possible half-brother, the usually reliable Geoffrey D. Williams (“Jitney”) isn’t so much miscast as he is ill-defined. He’s more persuasive in ribbing Didi about her sexuality and “liberal white guilt” than in truly registering any sense of shock or revelation about the turn of events, thereby undercutting a climactic emotional breakdown that’s competently performed but lacks the appropriate setup or foundation.
As is often the case in Hébert’s overwrought drama, we can’t really see the forest for all the trees.
About the Author
