Grace might be counted as an
eye-of-the-beholder experience that will play entertainingly enough to most,
but won’t satisfy across-the-board as consistently. The play by Craig
Wright seems to make no bones about its
thematic agenda. It’s framed in a flashback that moves in backwards time; we’re
in a Florida condo: Steve (Paul Rudd) rises from suicide death on a condo couch, unshoots himself, rises,
unshoots his wife Sara (Kate Arrington), whereupon they go through their last conversation with sentences in
reverse chronology, then Steve moves toward the door and unshoots his neighbor
Sam (Michael Shannon) who rises
and begs for his life.
Picture
freezes, set rotates a little, we go back to the beginning, Steve and Sara have
only recently moved in; Steve comes home to announce a big business deal for a
Christian themed hotel is about to go through. And as he talks, we realize he’s
an evangelical preacher with ambitions. And now we know—the story, one
way or another, is going to dramatize the pernicious aspects of a cult-minded
faith-based existence that sees only Its Way as Truth—as contrasted with
faith that develops of its own volition as life experience leads the way. And
sure enough, we see Steve in ideological conflict with the elderly but
energetically crotchety German expatriate exterminator Karl (Edward Asner) who genially calls him “Jesus Freak”; and
aforementioned neighbor Sam: reclusive, withdrawn, physically-and-emotionally
damaged in the wake of a car accident that left him a widower. And a growing
rift develops between Steve and Sara as his vehemence becomes angrier and even
less inclusive.
These
aren’t, of course, spoilers because the ending we begin with is so stark and
unequivocal that a few minutes into the beginning we can pretty much sense the
general arc—and the savvier you are about story structure and plot seeds,
the more particularly you’ll see what’s coming. So it’s all about beat for beat
delineation, dialogue, the briskness of the narrative; and all that Craig
Wright delivers with smooth, razored professionalism.
What
you won’t find here are the psychological revelations that provide deep insight
into the faith-based mentality. Mr. Wright gives us enough to understand the
bitterness and reclusiveness of Sam (which Michael Shannon delivers with the
acid humor of a life lived in rage); the philosophical pragmatism of Karl
(Asner at the top of his game, who can turn a wry nuance into a signature
moment); and though we don’t hear much about Sara’s psychological background,
it’s clear enough why she feels the need to escape from Steve’s oppressive
dominance…but what it is that fuels Steve, really fuels him, and is at the heart of not only his
relentless dogmatism, but his fear of releasing it, is never articulated…so he
remains forever nothing more than an evangelical poster boy, typically
bewildering in his intransigence. Which doesn’t leave Paul Rudd much ammo to
fill him out, and forces him to rely on whatever he can infuse into persona and
patter. And though the direction by Dexter Bullard is clean,
well-paced and efficient, it likewise doesn’t go deep.
With
that core piece of the puzzle undefined, Grace is riveting for some, unsatisfying for others. Curiously, the night I
attended, my significant other was unsatisfied, a close colleague was riveted
and I…well, I understood both points of view. Bottom line, though: I didn’t
feel my time was wasted, and I was glad to have taken the ride. I don’t know if
you’ll feel the same; take it on faith and see…
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