Kellie Overbey, Emily Walton, Beatrice Tulchin, and Shannon
Harrington
Photo: Richard Termine.
By Marc Miller
The title Women Without Men evokes one of those 1950s
women's-prison melodramas, where Hope Emerson terrorizes Eleanor Parker or Ida
Lupino bats Phyllis Thaxter around, while Agnes Moorehead or Howard Duff look
helplessly on. Hazel Ellis's 1938 drama, as revived by the Mint
Theater Company, is hardly that genre, but it does summon some of the same
cat-fighting emotions. Ellis, an Irish actor-turned-dramatist who penned two
well-reviewed plays and abruptly stopped writing, is concerned with the pent-up
feelings, natural rivalries, and destructive behaviors of women amongst
themselves, in this case the teachers and administrators at Malyn Park, a
Protestant girls' private school well outside Dublin. They're a frustrated
bunch, and Ellis gives generous voice to their petty jealousies and dead-end
careers. Unfortunately, she doesn't do much else. The Mint, which specializes
in rediscovering forgotten plays, does a well-nigh flawless job with this
one. The trouble is, the characters are such unpleasant company. And Ellis's
diagnosis of what these women need and lack--in a word, men--is highly
debatable.
You may be reminded of Lillian Hellman’s The Children’s Hour,
with troubled teachers battling deceitful little brats, or even Stage Door,
with its mostly-girl cast trading wisecracks in a confined environment. Here
that environment is the teachers’ sitting room, in Vicki R. Davis’s nicely
shabby-genteel design, where it’s the first day of term and the veterans on the
staff are about to give a formidable hazing to the new face.
Emily Walton and
Kellie Overbey
That’s Jean Wade (Emily Walton), barely out of school herself,
assigned to English and history, and dewily optimistic and effusive in a way
that any first-year drama student would know is about to be tested. Miss Strong
(Mary Bacon, in a Cherry Jones sort of part) is straightforward yet enigmatic,
cynical and unsparingly critical of those around her. Miss Willoughby (Aedin
Moloney) is pouty and self-sabotaging, one who sees herself as a victim and
everyone else as an enemy. Miss Ridgeway (Kate Middleton) is at least
vivacious, given to primping and doing the Big Apple, but similarly pessimistic
and suspicious. Mademoiselle Vernier (Dee Pelletier) also feels victimized by
everyone, and her birdlike manner masks a lifetime of regret. And Miss Connor
(Kelly Overbey) is a real terror: She started teaching early, never developed
any other identity, is unfailingly harsh with her pupils, and has pinned
whatever hopes she has on the “history of beauty” she’s been writing for 20
years. The headmistress, Mrs. Newcome (Joyce Cohen), thinks the worst of
everyone, stints on praise, and doesn’t bend rules.
The staff is, in short, not merry company. They get into pointless
arguments, snipe behind each other’s backs, and are as quick to indict as they
are slow to forgive. The rainy Irish landscape exacerbates their moodiness, and
the girls, led by smart, crafty Peggy (Alexa Shae Niziak), have no viable role
models among the faculty—save for Jean, who in this environment won’t stay so
sunny for long.
Shannon Harrington, Beatrice Tulchin, and Alexa
Shae Niziak
Ellis knows how to fashion a well-made play. She subtly points up
the differences among the faculty, and she drops the Act One curtain on a
crisis that guarantees you’ll come back for Act Two. It’s just such a dreary,
oppressive setting; there’s so little kindness onstage, and the talk is so
small, and frequently vindictive. The company plays it brilliantly: Under Jenn
Thompson’s sure direction, each actor gets to shine, even Matron (Amelia
White), who does little but sew and belittle. In a cast this excellent. it’s
hard to know whom to single out, but Overbey’s Miss Connor goes harrowingly
from self-possessed to acid-tongued to panicky, and Moloney’s Miss Willoughby
is a fascinating horror, vicious and small-minded, one who lives to accuse. The
women are trapped: Irish ladies of this era had few life choices beyond marry
or pursue an unrewarding career, and their options were further limited by the
1937 Catholic Constitution, presumably part of what Ellis was ranting about, in a sea of Catholic
official dogma as established by the Irish Free State with its stated
requirements: if you’re lucky enough to be a married female, you have no right
to hold a job, or serve on a jury.
She seems to come down firmly on the side of marrying: Jean is the
only teacher with a beau, and, it turns out, the only one who’ll be able to
escape this crushing existence, because her fella is there to rescue her. Maybe
conditions really were that dire, but it’s a curiously anti-feminist
perspective that sends one out on an uncertain note: Are men truly the only
cure for unfulfilled women?
The Mint, happily evicted from its unglamorous home in an office
building on West 43rd, has taken up temporary residence at Stage II
at City Center, and it’s a snug fit. Before it settles into its next permanent
home, which hasn’t been announced yet, let’s pause to thank this indispensable
company once more for its superlative efforts in bringing back forgotten plays.
Women Without Men, however, while it may not deserve to be forgotten,
isn’t one of the Mint’s more thrilling rediscoveries. These women are trying
company for two hours. Heaven knows how they’d survive a whole semester of one
another.
Running time: 2 hours 5 minutes, with one 15-minute intermission.
Women Without Men plays through Mar. 26 at New
York City Center Stage II, 131 W. 55th Street. For tickets, visit
http://www.nycitycenter.org/tickets/productionNew.aspx?performanceNumber=9626#.VsoXAI-cGhd