Theater review part deux: Rabbit Hole

by Christopher Soden

How does a playwright begin to navigate the minefield of grief? Especially the grief that comes from losing a child? Is there any calamity that more pointedly begs the question of why such things happen? If it’s truly an accident then why is God so detached from our lives, and if not, what could He possibly have in mind? And how do you deal with these dilemmas without resorting to hackneyed homilies or the sort of prolonged introspection only someone like Eugene O’Neill or Ingmar Berman can carry off? You don’t want to go swiping at it like grizzly bear, but neither do you want to spend two hours walking on eggshells.

David Lindsay-Abaire’s Rabbit Hole, currently onstage at Contemporary Theatre of Dallas, manages this extremely difficult material with grace, clarity, and humanity. The script is intelligent, and often circumspect, as the characters seek to process the catastrophic loss of a little boy, who, chasing his dog into the street, is suddenly gone from their lives. Forever. Each copes in their own way, trying to find some internal respite while accommodating the mood swings of mother, Becca. The dialogue does not proceed in hushed tones or meltdowns, nor is it devoid of emotion. This family is trying to get on in the world as best they can, without discussing the loss a lot but still trying to manage the pain.

When Rabbit Hole opens, Becca is sorting laundry while her younger sister Izzy is explaining her altercation in a bar. Dressed in a combination of punk and goth casual, it’s not hard to believe when Izzy confides she clocked the woman who confronted her in the local watering hole. Her newly-discovered pregnancy comes as something more of a shock. Becca expresses fairly understandable frustration until she offers Izzy her son’s old clothes. Even though they belonged to her nephew, Izzy says, under the circumstances, it would just be “too weird.”

That’s the pattern to Rabbit Hole. Ordinary circumstances, everyday occurrences crop up that raise the unresolved issue of the little boy’s death. They take it in small bites. Lindsay-Abaire has chosen to handle this ferocious stuff without any explosions or tears to speak of. He draws the audience in by the vast, overwhelming torrent of what is unspoken or said with modulation. There is anger and resentment and helplessness and sadness and somehow Rabbit Hole manages to be clear-headed and forthright without being indelicate.

The young teenage boy, Jason (Kyle Curry), the unfortunate lad who drove the car in the aforementioned accident, is an odd but compelling character. His response to the tragedy seems entirely cerebral. His buried regret seems nearly repugnant, until his metaphysical explanation of a “rabbit hole” seems to balance Becca’s despair. His distance from the profound impact of the incident feels remedial to the maelstrom dragging at the center of the family.

Joanna Schellenberg as Becca, the mother, is sympathetic and intense, trying to get by on autopilot, even when situations elicit an incongruous response. Her tacit rage and panic are painful to experience (just like the play itself) and evidence of her skill and virtuosity as an actor. Ashley Wood as Becca’s husband Howie is endearing and affable. When you see him watching videos of he and his son in secret, your heart starts to brim. Sue Loncar as Nat, Becca and Izzy’s mother, is canny and genuine. She understands the restorative power of humor and admitting sometimes that you just don’t know. Marianne Galloway as younger sister (and enfant terrible) Izzy gives the play much needed practicality and appreciation of the absurd. She has the gift for being frank without seeming vindictive or insensitive.

Clare Floyd DeVries has done an exceptional job designing the set for Rabbit Hole, with its upscale middle class milieu and chipper kitchen that nonetheless feels somehow chilly. The gauzy translucent walls that surround the deceased boy’s bedroom was a masterstroke, giving it a dreamlike, indistinct quality appropriate to the narrative. I’m always impressed when I enter the Contemporary Theatre of Dallas, by the sense that I’m gazing upon a setting where people actually live. The set has great scope yet it never looks crowded.

Rabbit Hole is an exquisite, reflective (not without humor) play on holding back, holding on, and doing whatever you can to avoid the incomprehensibly awful truth, because once you really embrace it, it just might swallow you up. Like a rabbit hole. When we see Becca and Howie alone together in the night kitchen, we realize the play is concluding without the chaos completely conquered. And somehow that seems right. The two have reached a place of mutual understanding. Even if emotions are divergent, their marriage is intact. Whatever the future holds, Howie is sure they can manage it together. Rabbit Hole suggests that maybe the best answer to despair is a steady, vigilant, “not today.”

Christopher Soden is a theater critic who also writes for content partner The Column.