Theater review: Rabbit Hole

by Cheryl Cory of John Garcia's The Column

Rabbit Hole (now playing at the Contemporary Theatre of Dallas) is quite simply, a masterful exploitation of every level of human emotion that makes you almost feel guilty for eavesdropping but one cannot turn away.

This is a story that we don't want to intimately experience. Accidental death is a challenging concept. It strikes without warning. It doesn't respect age or relations and in this case, Danny, a 4-year-old boy, was struck by Jason's car, a teenager still trying to come to terms with the finality of his actions.

The opening scene causes immediate laughter as the very likable Izzy chats away about her dramatic evening as Becca mechanically folds her little boy's clothing.

The story unfolds quickly as we realize that Becca is not conducting her daily laundry chore; but, rather dealing with her dead child's belongings to be packed away forever.

"Sure they do, you ought to get out more," Izzy spouts off to Becca, who is questioning Izzy's fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants actions of the previous evening. Becca smothers Izzy on a level with which only older sibling/younger siblings understand. Becca is protective but also quite critical without saying very much at all. Though Izzy too, watches out for Becca, it's much less apparent and unbeknownst to Becca. Their relationship is further complicated by Izzy's unexpected pregnancy and a sense of blame that takes turns swirling around each character but landing nowhere in particular.

The contradiction and distance between Becca and Howie magnifies when Jason intervenes and attempts to heal his own wounds. Becca sneaks into Danny's bedroom to read Jason's letter. Though Kyle Curry, as Jason, lacked the level of star quality evident in the other actors, this scene was exceptionally well performed.

Danny's upstairs room is ingeniously viewed through a light piece of cloth which creates a surrealistic feeling to this piece. At one point, Nat, helping Becca clear out Danny's room, picks up his shoe and stops cold. "Don't," Becca says, as she quickly places the sneaker in the basket. "Quick and clean, like a Band-Aid. Otherwise, we'll never get through it." These chilling words linger through the air, transform into tears and land delicately on the checks of those observing. Packing away a loved one's possessions is something everyone can relate to, even if they have not yet experienced it.

Nat fills the uncomfortable silences with humor and with her impeccable delivery; I could not help but be reminded of the great Shirley MacLaine when watching Sue Loncar. I'm honored to view such an incredible performer. She demonstrates wit, finesse, and ability to shoot a look across the stage while flawlessly spewing an offhanded comment so unexpected that your laughter tumbles out loud. Nat's monologue about the Kennedy family is priceless and truly had the audience in stitches.

There's a sense that Nat and Izzy are cut from a similar cloth and quick wit was genuinely passed on. Izzy's emotions are a bit more complex and a mixed bag of guilt and pleasure, joy and sorrow which she proudly displays on her sleeves and shares them with those who'll listen. Marianne Galloway fabulously embarks on this journey of self discovery and delicately matures her character as the play progresses.

Howie, too, goes through changes. He watches the videotapes of his son, hiding the fact that this aids him to work through his grief. He finds comfort in group therapy but may be too comforted by one of the other grievers. Though subtly stated, there's something more happening when one parent is moving through to the future and the other is crumbling at a standstill.

Ashley Wood's powerful portrayal of Howie rattles and shakes the theater to the very core. His shouting scenes could not have been more genuine. He manages to walk that fine line between over-acted and under-delivered, causing chills as his anger and frustration fill the room. A brilliant and stunning performance by this crafted actor!

It's hard to stand out among this kind of cast, but Joanna Scellenberg does just that with an incredibly moving performance, cleverly designed to trickle emotions to the surface till they spill over and run down your face. Not enough can be said about Joanna's Becca. Her facial expression delicately displays the grieving mother, struggling with her life's purpose now that her basis for living is gone. We're not immediately drawn to this sadness but become attune to the depth of her depression through comparisons and interactions. Joanna projects a woman functioning but not living, present but absent. Others want to help but realize that the door is not open to do so. There's no reaching in unless Beccca reaches out.

Joanna brings to the forefront how exquisitely difficult it is to play a character quietly struggling with her own identity and depression while others around seem to be able to find some occasional happy places, even through their turmoil.

She is called upon to display the varying levels of relations between husband and wife, mother to mother, sister to sister, and victim to assailant. Joanna surpasses any possible expectations and clearly soars in this role.

The entire play takes place inside their home, which is an incredibly realistic setting with the absolute greatest attention to detail!

Wheat Thins sitting atop the refrigerator could be easily transposed to Any Kitchen, U.S.A. Becca makes great statements as she silently slithers down the stairs to secretly witness her husband's moments of video joy. This same stairwell carries Becca to her son's bedroom; a staircase which the director brilliantly utilizes and engages as if directing an additional character.

Playwright David Lindsay-Abaire does not end the evening by wrapping things up nicely, tied with a bow. Becca reaches out to Howie and vice versa but without the gushiness and convenience of a made-for-TV movie. Emotions are raw and real and, wisely, director Cynthia Hestand does not go for a happily ever after ending. The audience is left feeling hopeful, but not "task completed," further evidencing that these characters are a work in progress.

My only real disappointment is that this production ends November 8. Run, don't walk, to experience this play — just don't forget the tissue.