BWW Reviews: GOOD PEOPLE Presents a Lesson on Pride at Syracuse Stage
Margaret Walsh swears she will never beg, even if she wanted to. Her sarcastic pride would stop her before uttering a profane-introduced "please." Or, at least that's what she demands you to think.
She's begging the entire time, and that's okay. She has every right to.
Margaret, or "Margie" as she's lovingly called, comes straight from playwright David Lindsay-Abaire's wheelhouse. The Pulitzer Prize-winning writer (he won for his 2006 drama RABBIT HOLE) has a particular flair for crafting heartbreaking female-in-crisis leads that are forced to confront adversity. GOOD PEOPLE, the absorbing below-the-poverty-line dramedy-currently running at Syracuse Stage (this production is co-produced with the Cleveland Play House)-is not about facing adversity, it's about dealing with it.
And when you're from South Boston-a "Southie" as it were, you roll right along with the endless punches. Why? Because you have pride. You can't be too soft.
Margie, played with a gripping combination of compassion and stiff resilience by Kate Hodge, is stuck in her heritage. Stuck isn't the right word. She's lost in it, identifies with it-wears it like a tattered badge of honor. Yet, she's terrified to admit that she wants out. Instead she relies on nostalgia and stale stories, two good Bingo-playing friends and her adult daughter, who has the mind of a child, to reaffirm that she's where she belongs.
This sense of belonging and unhappiness is what fuels the complex piece. Lindsay-Abaire doesn't employ any tricks in his text; there aren't any major plot twists or extraordinary characters. The audience gets a realistic display of an unemployed woman deciding what to do next, and it's enthralling. Margie becomes a relatable emblem for anyone who is out of a job and continuously refreshing the wanted ads on Craigslist or tiring out friends for prospective leads.
She is more relevant than she realizes.
Though it's hard to believe that Margie, who was recently fired from her cashier position at the dollar store, seems so deliriously OK at all times. But, when she finally tears up-never sobbing-it's a relief. She knows where she is in life.
After losing her job, fired by the much younger Stevie (a charming, caring Patrick Healy) Margie must now find a new occupation. She sneers at working at the local blue-collar factory-she's too old. Her landlady, the foul-mouthed, hysterically boisterous Dottie (an appealing comic Denny Dillon) needs the rent and her tough, thoroughbred Boston best friend Jean (captivatingly portrayed Elizabeth Rich) are there for the rough times.
Margie discovers that her one-time summer fling, Mike (an engaging, fine David Andrew Macdonald) has found a new lot in life for himself: he's a fertility doctor, with a house in the swanky Chestnut Hill neighborhood to boot.
Inherently, that makes Mike a "lace-curtain" in Margie and presumably the rest of the South Boston's eyes. The insult is one that Mike doesn't take lightly, and its one that propels the rest of the show. As explained by Margie and through Mike's lifestyle, a lace-curtain is someone who's forgotten his roots and is barely a representation of the Boston hood he grew up in. In short, his Southie identity has faded. Though Mike fights to defend his title, his lack of accent-especially compared to that of Margie who says, "pawdon"-and his ritzy home, with a good amount of fancy cheeses, don't help his case.
But, Margie still recognizes the best of him, saying, "He was always good people."
Mike gets flustered having to defend himself. He lets it be known that he has worked hard to get out and make something of his life: it's Margie who hasn't, which has made her hard. Though she claims she's too nice and soft. There's this weird trait about the single mother: she's cunning. The sarcastic, biting banter and passive-aggressive head games she plays with Mike and his young, princess-esque wife, Kate (a believable, precise Zoey Martinson) is a new side of Margie. It's unsettling. She's conceded; it's an obvious begging that she would never admit.
With skilled direction from Laura Kepley, GOOD PEOPLE is a gripping, uncomfortable portrayal of the ever-present haves versus the have-nots.
You might see a familiarity in the playwright's version of South Boston. We all know a Margie or a Mike: people who consider themselves "good."
They're trying anyway.
Photo: Roger Mastroianni
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