Alex Sharp with (from l.) Mercedes Herrero, Richard Hollis and Jocelyn Bioh.     Photos by Joan Marcus

                                              By Eugene Paul

The play has not begun and already you are uneasy; the stage is a huge black box, even the raked floor is black, all walls and floor overlaid with a precise, white grid.  Lighted bench areas at the side walls.  Black doorways slide open soundlessly as some people in black enter, then sit motionless on those lighted side bench like areas.  Sudden blackness. When the lights come up, Wellington, a large dead dog, a pitchfork plunged into him, lies center stage, a sorrowful boy kneeling beside the dog, hand on his body. An agitated lady leads a policeman into her back garden to the scene.  Back garden? We are in a black and white grid. 

She accuses the boy, her neighbor, Christopher (Alex Sharp) of killing her dog. The policeman questions Christopher, name, age, et cetera. Christopher answers precisely; he is 15 years, three months, two days old.  There being no other suspects immediate, the policeman arrests Christopher but the second he puts his hand on the boy, Christopher flies into a whirlwind of fists.  He cannot bear to be touched.

Alexander Sharp
Photo by Joan Marcus

And we begin to understand a little.   Extremely intelligent, Christopher is nevertheless, what we call autistic, in a world of his own. And a whole mess of richly mad theatre artists bend their gifts to convey to us what that might mean, from Mark Haddon, whose inspiring hit book inspired extraordinary Simon Stephen’s play, this play, to intuitively inventive Bunny Christie, designer of the electronic marvel we find out this setting contains, to Marianne Elliott, the imaginative, empathic director – she directed the astounding War Horse – and a whole team of lighting, video, sound, kinetic experts, Paule Constable, Finn Ross, Adrian Sutton, Ian Dickinson,  Scott Graham, Steven Hoggett whose striking skills bombard us from now on constantly, without let up, as we are drawn into the mind of Christopher as he sees and hears what he does, desperate to uncover who murdered Wellington.

His father, Ed (Ian Basford) forbids him flatly from becoming involved. And Christopher disobeys.  They are alone. Christopher’s mother, Judy (Enid Graham) is gone, dead, Ed tells Christopher, heart attack. We learn bit by bit from Siobhan (Francesca Faridany), Christopher’s tutor, as she reads from the account Christopher has written about his investigations concerning the death of Wellington. And from the dizzying welter of compartments in the walls and the floor,  Christopher pulls out objects  as he begins to construct a miniature of his world, trees, houses, tracks, trains, people, animals whenever he is turned off, thwarted by the people in the black and white world who do not understand him.

He will only touch the carefully extended palm of his father with his own outstretched palm, briefly, a sign of trust. But – it is his father, he discovers, who has killed Wellington in a wild temper driven by his own problems. And Christopher runs away.  He has discovered the last address of his mother in London. He is going to find out what happened to her.

The walls and floor become alive with sensations as Christopher travels by train and by underground crowded by unfathomable sights and sounds, climbing the walls, traversing the walls, the ever pulsing, ever changing walls, incomprehensible, overloading his senses. He perseveres; he has a goal. He must get there.  It’s a battering, grueling, dangerous journey.

And there’s his mother. In consternation and surprise. No more than he. Complications! How to resolve! Will they resolve?

More than forty characters swirl through Christopher’s story, played by fifteen marvelous actors who at times become set pieces as well, cogs as well in mass movement devices, action figures for director Elliott working the company through Christopher’s mind. It is a stunning performance.  And present throughout, Alex Sharp, fresh out of school, as Christopher, making his electrifying—no pun intended—debut on Broadway.

Warning! You must not leave after the enthusiastic curtain calls! There’s a special treat!   Enjoy!

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

Ethel Barrymore Theatre, 243 West 47^th Street. Tickets: $27-$139. Plus premium. 212-239-6200.
2 hrs,30 min.