Florian Zeller, the Parisien l’auteur dramatique who has taken the English-language stage by storm with six plays since his West End debut in 2015, has returned to New York for his third time in three years. The Height of the Storm follows up—in theatric, thematic and most likely successful manner—on his first local visit with The Father, which the estimable Frank Langella rode to a 2016 Tony on the very same Manhattan Theater Club mainstage on West 47th Street.
André (Jonathan Pryce) is a legendary writer, grappling with dementia in his rustic country house. That much seems clear, anyway. (Note: If you’re intending to see the play but don’t like to know anything about what you will see, you might wish to skip the next three paragraphs.)
André’s daughters Anne (Amanda Drew) and Elise (Lisa O’Hare) are visiting from Paris, the former to search his papers for unpublished but publishable manuscripts and both to broach the idea of selling the family manse and dispatching André to what they call “the Blue House.” This following the recent funeral of the writer’s wife, Madeleine (Eileen Atkins); no sooner than which in she comes, alive and kicking and preparing sautéed mushrooms with chives—green, red and yellow—from their beloved backyard garden.
[Read Melissa Rose Bernardo’s ★★★ review here.]
Or does she? We have become accustomed to ghost dramas, where one character might play scenes with another character who turns out not to be there; or engage with another character who is there, except the discussion took place years earlier or years later; or alternating versions of the same presumably real-life scene played repeatedly with twisted dialogue. Zeller, in The Father, added a real-life twist to this. As his protagonist was descending into Alzheimer’s, it made perfect sense for said character’s conversations with diverse characters—real and imaginary—not to make sense, thus at times purposely deceiving the audience.
Here, André is—too—struggling with dementia. Presumably, at least. Playgoers, sitting patiently in their seats, naturally if subconsciously attempt to glean the reality of the proceedings and assemble them logically. Zeller, in both of the plays in question, purposely thwarts that, basing his truth on the illogical confines of the patient. If you sit there wondering but which is real? you are missing the point. For André—and, for that matter, Madeleine—there is no truth, no reality.
Those who remember the Langella play might recall that the father in The Father was named André, with daughters named Anne and Elise. The characters in the new play are clearly a different André, Anne and Elise. Or are they? Again, Zeller doesn’t raise the issue; he is content to leave at least some viewers wondering.
Even were the text not so intriguing, the evening would be altogether memorable thanks to the acting on display. (The Manhattan Theater Club production, directed by Jonathan Kent and designed by Anthony Ward, is a direct import from last October’s engagement at Wyndham’s Theatre, with five of the six-person cast intact. Avant de s’envoler originally opened at Théâtre de l’Oeuvre in Paris on October 5, 2016.) Two-time Tony and two-time Olivier-winner Pryce (Miss Saigon) is wonderful as the writer, spending half his time in limbo but struggling to regain command when he perceives a personal threat in the conversation which swirls around him. Watch Pryce’s right hand; time and again he hides it—thrusting it into his pocket—just before it starts to shake uncontrollably. He also has some stuttering speeches which are exceptionally well played.
As for Dame Eileen, she is magnificent; her intensity is staggeringly controlled, and she can express more without words, more with a glare or a simple glance, than just about any actor on the present-day stage. The 85-year-old Atkins—who in addition to hundreds of stage, screen and television appearances since her professional debut in 1952 found time to write screenplays (Mrs. Dalloway) and co-create the hit television series Upstairs, Downstairs—rivets attention throughout the piece.
For those not quite up on continental playwrights, Zeller is a forty-year-old successful novelist who latterly turned to theater. The Father is part of a trilogy, preceded by The Mother (which visited the Atlantic Theatre last winter in a less-than-inspired new staging) and followed by The Son, which opened on the West End two weeks ago to high acclaim. Yet to reach our shores are two other internationally-successful plays, The Truth and The Lie. The English-language versions of all six plays—and this is not inconsequential—have come from Christopher Hampton, an excellent dramatist in his own right (with The Philanthropist and Les Liaisons Dangereuses among his credits). Hampton sets Zeller’s plays like a jeweler working with rare gems, and the latter is most perceptive to enlist the former.
The Height of the Storm is a puzzle built on cobwebs, with a couple of puzzle-pieces purposely missing (or perhaps several pieces too many). This allows Zeller’s play, like The Father, to succeed on its own terms, sending you out into the night (after eighty-odd minutes with no intermission) talking, thinking, considering and—yes—puzzling over the affair. But in any case, fully and totally engaged.
The Height of the Storm opened September 24, 2019, at Samuel J. Friedman Theatre and runs through November 24. Tickets and information: heightofthestorm.com
