By Grace Suh for The Pitch
I heard today from a friend whose cousin, a funny, bright man with four daughters, went missing last week. Fortunately, the police found him before he could commit the suicide he was contemplating. Despite two jobs, he had sunk deep into debt, a fact he had hidden even from his wife.
Awake and Sing!
Through December 5 at Metropolitan Ensemble Theatre 3614 Main, 816-569-3226, metkc.org
He was on my mind as I thought aboutClifford Odets‘ Awake and Sing! playing at the Metropolitan Ensemble Theatre. Born into a poor, Jewish immigrant family and raised in the Bronx, Odets was a young man by the time of the Great Depression, when he wrote his poetic, passionate masterpiece, Awake and Sing! The play held up a mirror to that moment: families evicted onto sidewalks, workers struggling ineffectually for fair treatment, and an ever-widening gap between the obscenely rich and the desperately poor — scenes too familiar in our own moment.
As the play opens, three generations of the Berger family live in a cramped Bronx apartment: Bessie and Myron; their grown children, Hennie and Ralph; and Bessie’s father, Jacob. Hennie is beautiful, proud and cynical beyond her years. Ralph yearns to make something of his life, but his obligation to contribute to the family’s keep traps him in a dead-end, low- paying job. Myron is ineffectual and charming, and Jacob is devoted equally to communist ideology and recordings of Caruso — both promises of paradise. So it is up to Bessie — vigorous, shrewd, shrewish — to keep the wolves from the door.
Jeanne Averill delves deeply into the role of Bessie, embodying her as a formidable force of nature while deftly unfolding her complexities and insecurities. Bessie’s imperious manner is belied by the awkward, hip-heavy walk that Averill gives her. There’s a delicacy to the way Averill holds herself — feet braced for a brawl, hands clasped like a lady — that speaks volumes about how Bessie wishes her life had been different. Despite her manipulations, belligerence and hypocrisy, Bessie is not a monster but a mother who wants her children’s lives to be better.
When Hennie gets pregnant, Bessie schemes to marry her off to Sam Feinschreiber, an unwitting immigrant whose devotion blinds him to the truth. Coleman Crenshaw paints an affecting portrait of Sam as an innocent bystander whose heartbreak may be the play’s one true moment of unmediated anguish.