Surface to Air: Scratching the Surface

It seems ironic, in hindsight, that Thomas Jefferson wanted the dove to be the national bird of America: in a time of war, the man responsible for giving his people a reason to fight chose an emblem of peace for his new nation. By the time the War of 1812 rolled around, politicians in favor of fighting were called "Hawks," and the image of the two birds at ideological odds was born, with few remembering that while the nation may have been born in war, its founding fathers dreamed of peace.

The conflicts of hawks and doves and parents and children are the driving force of Surface to Air, which opened on Wednesday at Symphony Space for a limited run. In David Epstein's earnest drama, set just after 9/11, a family reunites to receive the ashes of the eldest son thirty years after he died in Vietnam. With shock, grief and fear at the front of everyone's mind, the family tries to reconcile their past ideals with their more mature perspectives, and to come to terms with the violence that has affected them all.

While the concept is emotional and powerful, the execution is somewhat less successful. Rather than analyze war from many different perspectives, Epstein lets a fascinating idea slip through his fingers, filling his script with shallow banter and banal monologues that seem painfully clichéd. Likewise, the characters are barely developed, making it difficult to care about them or their emotions. There is the Patriotic WWII Vet Father who wants to carpet bomb any nation that challenges his values. There is his daughter, The Busy Hollywood Executive, who brings her husband, The Artsy Pseudo-Intellectual, along. There is his surviving son, The Emotionally Stunted Vietnam Vet, and his new wife, The Sweet Yet Spicy Latina. There is the matriarch, The Old Lady Who Lives in her Memories and is Innocently Profound. And lastly, there is the ghost of the dead son, recounting his time in Vietnam and his death with long monologues between scenes: The Omniscient and Philosophical Observer.

As written, they are more caricatures than characters, and as such, boring. Worse, many of their individual stories are like unloaded guns on the proverbial mantles: they could be relevant to the main point of the play, but rarely are. The new daughter-in-law (Marisa Echeverria) has a subplot about creating a Latin restaurant/bagel store (one of the many flat jokes in the script) that goes nowhere but to annoy the patriarch (Larry Bryggman), who is horrified that his children are focusing on their futures instead of the past. When he criticises his daughter for taking business calls during such an important family moment, she shrugs it off with "Life goes on, Daddy." His response is one of the more emotionally honest moments in the play: "No, life does not go on. It stops."

Were that the thesis of the play, it might have worked better. The past and the present are often in conflict, and the clash of the two could make for excellent drama. Instead, Epstein's climax involves an angry and cliché-ridden fight about Vietnam that is clearly meant to echo the current troubles in Iraq. Dogma is rarely dramatic, and while the moment is emotional, it does not make the impact it should. We've heard these arguments for thirty-five years, now, and Epstein doesn't say anything new or remarkable. When flat characters are given banalities to speak, the play suffers greatly, no matter how noble its intentions.

The cast of seven, saddled with weak characters and dialogue, do as well as they can, and manage to strike some sparks in some of the better moments. Lois Smith, as the matriarch, fares best, conveying her character's grief and confusion while never going over the top. Tony-winner Cady Huffman is given far too little to do as the ambitious daughter of the family, except to make one wish that she were starring in a lavish musical again. Mark J. Sullivan, as the ghost of the long-dead son, does his best work non-verbally, letting many emotions flow across his face as he watches his family. Marisa Echeverria is warm and charming as the newest member of the damaged family, but, like Huffman, is given almost nothing to do in terms of drama.

James Noone's set nicely captures the suburban normality of the family, and Clifton Taylor's lighting aptly sets moods, whether bright, gloomy or ghostly. Tony-winning actor James Naughton's direction never quite reaches the fever-pitch of emotion the story needs, though admittedly, it does keep time with the wan script.

War is hell on both soldiers and their loved ones, and no one remains unscarred by violence. We can never have enough art reminding us of these facts, but that art needs to be more than superficial. Missiles may go from surface to air, but art needs to be deeper.