While plaudits and bouquets are
being thrown toward Horton Foote's The
Orphans' Home Cycle—nine
one-act plays divided into three evenings, running in repertory at the Signature
Theatre—my feeling, which is also
quite positive, is nonetheless more muted. Mr. Foote (who recently died at 92
while preparing and editing the debut of this cycle, most of whose components
were written in the 70s and performed separately—and
variously—onstage and on screen) is the reigning master of small moments
writ large, delving into the prosaic lives of prosaic people, most of them from
small, Southern towns, most of their language devoid of wordplay or conspicuous
wit, most of their stories set between the turn of the 20th Century
and the 1970s. (Indeed, most of Foote's active writing career seems to have
stopped in the early 80s; but his plays—produced regionally and with little
success on Broadway—have been having a resurgence and rediscovery unique
in American theatre [possibly triggered by the 1985 film version of his 1953
play, The Trip to Bountiful], such that major new productions of
catalog plays are not received as the revivals they technically are, but rather
take on the luster of premieres, since it is only in revival that they have
earned their due attention.)
But
as befits an imprimatur that zeroes in on the minutiae of "just folks," Mr.
Foote's work has a hit-or-miss quality to it, and the line between a hypnotic
spell woven and lulling monotony is often extremely fine. And the Cycle, consolidating
plays written over many years, thus
being a distillation of Foote's spectrum, shows him at his very best
and his—I won't say worst, because that's harshly untrue—but let;'s say
close to his least
effective. At times the Cycle can be unbearably poignant, such as when the death of a
parent will render a child unwanted; at times it can be patience-trying, as
when the boy, now a young man, courts a young lady who will clearly never get
it together enough to choose him over less destructive suitors; at times it can
be reaffirming, such as when the young man claims his dignity as family
provider, refusing all offers of aid, thus finally achieving the respect of his
wealthy father-in-law. All of these situations (and many more), are dramatized in the first two parts of the Cycle (the third has yet to open), which follow aforementioned young man,
Horace Robedaux from his 12th year through his mid-20s.
On
balance, though, the worthwhile far outweighs the merely endurable, and both
director Michael Wilson and his 21
member cast (which of course features Foote's daughter, the
excellent Hallie Foote) deliver up a
marathon of cinematic fluidity and consistent, sensitive texturing. And
whatever else is true, Mr. Foote's corner of Americana seems largely
undramatized elsewhere; his work is worth supporting if only because without
it, a bit of our national heritage fades away...