Curiosity Didn’t Kill the Dog, But it Fueled the Plot

What I’ve heard from current and former Butler University students is that the Indiana Repertory Theatre and the Phoenix Theatre here in Indy are a perfect working pair. The IRT is more known for their detailed work on traditional or reserved pieces of theatre, while the Phoenix tackles big new works in an exciting and expanding climate. If this is the case, IRT has tipped the scales, thanks to executive artistic director Janet Allen. Based off of the book by Mark Haddon, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time has rightfully earned its way from the page to the stage. Dealing with contemporary issues of understanding and equality, the family dynamic, and the importance of trust, every member of any audience should walk away feeling empowered and educated.

The serio-comedic nature of the work was brilliantly brought to life by the personable Mickey Rowe, aka Christopher Boone. A ground-breaking actor, Mr. Rowe is the first autistic man to play this autistic role based of a character written by an autistic man. Inconceivable! A common challenge for beginning actors is to learn to play their age up, but Mr. Rowe has a prime opportunity to play his age down. The unique tics of Christopher’s autism force him to be clear and to the point, focused on one thing at a time much like a child. His brave feats of acrobatics mask the vulnerabilities of Christopher’s daily life. Similarly, Mr. Rowe’s remarkable ability to break the fourth wall informs his audience of Christopher’s turmoil, but also of his love of mathematics. Poignant moments like these are artfully mastered and carefully placed to keep the audience from bursting into tears at any given moment.

Though the story primarily addresses Christopher’s point of view, the finely tuned work of the ensemble raises the stakes of each obstacle he encounters. The company moves both the narrative and the physical production along. When the secondary actors aren’t directly involved in a scene, they are seated stage right or left, visible by the audience, in classroom-esque chairs. Whether this is to facilitate efficiency in their acting or remind the audience that they are participating in a story telling a story is unclear, but it does function to keep the actors engaged at all times. Each member of the remaining company had their own significant piece of the story to tell. Gail Rastofer did an especially noteworthy job of transforming the grieving Mrs. Shears into quite the uppity principal. However, it was hard to ignore the irony that the Swindon police officer and Mr. Shears were both played by Eric Parks. These dualities emphasized to the audience the importance of ensemble work, and how effective ensemble work transforms a good show into a great show.

The primary method of storytelling in this work was not through the use of words, or even actions in the broader sense of the term, but through the movement of the character. People on the autistic spectrum respond to sensory input in very physical ways. That being said, it is a spectrum, and Mr. Rowe likely responds to stimuli very different than Christopher would. His ability to control his natural impulses and react to a situation as a character in astounding.

Christopher is an obvious example, but the entire ensemble works in conjunction with Mr. Rowe to create a moving message. In a world where Christopher must remind himself to walk at right, left, right angles, cloaked and masked figures swirl and bounce around him at their own paces. Each bump on the train ride is different than the last, the opening of each imaginary door is filled with tension. At the same time, no two moves will ever be exactly the same. Tomorrow the train will ride on a different track, or Christopher will react to a new stimulus. Every member of this cast had the power to make their movement their own, another fine detail that makes a performance stand out.

In my opinion, it is hard to make a modern work visually intriguing. If we go to the theatre to see something that can help us escape the real world, it’s a wonder why works that are set in the 21st century are so popular. Swindon, Great Britain probably looks like any other town, the people dress like regular people, they live in regular flats. Tasked with bringing Christopher’s mind to the Swindon setting, scenic designer Russell Metheny embraced his challenge. The set was designed much like the thoughts of an autistic individual. Each piece of the set had a specific purpose and direction. The towering glass doors and foggy replicas created separations between Mr. Rowe and his fellow actors, as if they were a physical representation of Christopher’s disconnect with each person he encounters. The square designs on the floor follow a specific path to the next train, and the structure of the projection screen isolates each of the contents of Christopher’s pockets. While the attention to detail was admired, sometimes the function of the set suffered. The intensity of leaping onto a set of train tracks is lost if you cannot see or hear an actor in a ditch, for example.

In hindsight, if this is the only palpable issue with a set piece, this performance has been blessed by Metheny’s creativity, especially in conjunction with lighting designer Michael Klaers. His lighting vision aligned brilliantly with Metheny’s pieces. In clouds of confusion, Christopher comes down stage in little splotchy patches of light. The next moment he’s floating though space bathed in the speckles of the Milky Way. Each lighting cue was soft enough to wrap you in the glory of Christopher’s, but dark enough to warn you of the dangers that may lie ahead.

Modern costumes are also hard to make intriguing. There must be a way to take the every-day clothes we wear and actually make them mean something. Costume designer Devon Painter does just that. He subtly makes the social statuses of the characters seen. In each train station Christopher travels through, the swirling masked commuters are nearly devoid of color. They don’t want to be seen, yet the continuity of their dress intensifies the feelings of suffocation and fear Christopher is feeling. In a complete contrast, the characters who drive the plot must wear their emotions on their sleeves. Mrs. Alexander, the mysterious stranger next door, is played by Margaret Daly. She is dressed in a slight deviation from common modern dress, enough to elucidate the mysterious and fleeting nature of her personality. She and Christopher are both adorned in red, linking their characters together in their struggle to be understood. In addition, the continuity of the red was striking. Each new clean shirt was red, the notebooks across different frames of time were red, even the foods that we see Christopher eat come in shades of pink. It’s the attention to details like this that help us escape the real parts of the real world.

While the aforementioned elements and participants express their crafts quite clearly at the IRT this season, others do not. Robert Neal and Constance Macy are cast as Christopher’s parents. Separated by unbelievable standards, their relationship with each other and their son is indeed difficult to believe. For a man who intends to raise his autistic son on his own, Ed Boone does very little to ensure that his son is safe, let alone happy. The moment of violence that Ed directs towards his son is a moment that can define his objective for the remainder of the show. The audience has to make a decision about Ed in this moment. Either he must fight to regain his son’s affections or forgo the chance of their rehabilitation. The choices Mr. Neal leaves the audience searching somewhere in the middle. This character is essential to a lot of Christopher’s decision making in the script, but Mr. Neal left it underdeveloped. The same could be said of Ed’s wife Judy Boone. The history of their relationship justifies her ghostly nature, but it doesn’t mean she should simply be floating around on stage. Ms. Macy had a difficult time locking in on her objectives as well. Her choice to feel constantly irritated with her family and her lover led her on a path to nowhere. They both claim to love their son, but little of it was found on stage. Put Robert and Judy together, and you have a relationship that is bound to feel forced. Granted, this could be the goal that director Lisa Brainin was trying to achieve, but more of a commitment was needed from the actors to make their choices effective.

I am a massive fan of contemporary playwright John Cariani. His major works, Almost, Maine and Love/Sick, deal with nearly every form of human emotion. Love, loss, frustration, regret, hopelessness, fear, isolation, excitement, you name it and its in there. Simon Stephen does the same thing in his writing. The flow of the show created no place for applause, where Cariani includes nine plays within his plays. The differences in structure did not obscure the similarities of the content. They were made plainer to me because my train of thought was not interrupted. Both playwrights and performances use red as a symbol for crying out loud! The connection was so obvious I saw it the moment Christopher stepped on stage. Seeing this continuity across writers and genres reinforces the faith I have in our community of actors and writers.

The goal of a successful professional playwright is to profess the truth, whether it is his own, or the genuine experience of a human emotion. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time manages to accomplish both of these through a poignant frame narrative, and the dedication of a village called the IRT to raise Christopher Boone from a castaway to a curious child.

---

---

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

Indiana Repartory Theatre

140 W. Washington Street Indianapolis, IN 46204

317-635-5252