In the 5,000 years they’ve been married, George and Maggie Antrobus have survived wars, plagues, floods, and everything in between. Now they're running low on food – and a massive glacier is headed toward their New Jersey home. An epic, timely comedy about the endurance of human spirit, Thornton Wilder’s THE SKIN OF OUR TEETH follows one “everyfamily” through the great struggles and triumphs of the human experience. Led by innovative director Lileana Blain-Cruz in a production that speaks directly to our current moment, this Pulitzer Prize-winning classic with additional material by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins is a profound reminder that life is always worth living – no matter how difficult things get.
If Blain-Cruz's vision falters in the play's third act-which certainly is its weakest, though still transcendent in moments-that is because Wilder shifts focus to Mr. Antrobus and Henry (Julian Robertson), far less rewarding characters on the page. This production simply finds more of interest in the play's women. So while Blain-Cruz has wrangled many of the play's impossible contradictions, she has no particular take on the father-son argument which dominates act three (a baffling scene, in which the actors again drop in and out of character), and the production does slow as a result. No matter. The overall achievement of this staging is still titanic, both for its wrangling with an impossible play and its pushing forward of a theater defined by traditions. One can feel the struggle of a creative team (all making LCT debuts, except Blain-Cruz) boldly willing the dried-up gears of an aging apparatus to move in new, exciting ways. Like Wilder's play, the ultimate achievement is messy, imperfect, and seminal.
Looking at the big picture, this gorgeous monster of a production brings together two urgent trends in theatrical discourse today: casting reparations by creating Black space in the white canon and also, embracing a sprawling meta-drama that feeds a hunger for stories that are not merely sociological but cosmological. We know that patriarchy, greed, and white supremacy have spawned misery across ages; without pretending they have the solution, theater artists can find deep bass strings of commonality to pluck. For me, The Skin of Our Teeth is a boisterous hymn to humanity, the most moving and inspiring work of the season. Even so, Skin won't be to everyone's taste. There are tonal fumbles in the second act-the French accent laid on a bit thick, Priscilla Lopez's Fortune Teller too wispy, the chaos before the flood overly manic-but I think a certain degree of failure has always been baked into this idiosyncratic classic. Yes, It's long and taxing on the brain, but the exhaustion you feel while leaving has the afterglow of exhilaration. We survived this speeding glacier, this world-drowning deluge of a play; we're spent and dazed; but isn't life a miracle, and aren't you glad for tomorrow?
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