Driving Miss Daisy Broadway Reviews

With three great actors -- Vanessa Redgrave, James Earl Jones and Boyd Gaines -- at their apogee, the enchanting revival of 'Driving Miss Daisy' is the best theater can be.

Jones gives a performance that I'd classify as one of the ten or so best I've ever seen in the theatre. Hoke is in his blood, it seems, and he reveals this man with respect and compassion and a deep understanding that helps us appreciate not just his place in the play but the place of men like Hoke in our country's history. His Hoke is certainly funny, wise, and canny; but he's so much more than that! Moments when Hoke feels Miss Daisy's thoughtless bigotry are galvanizing. Moments when he exposes himself, out from behind a pose of subservience that's second nature to him, are wrenching. He gets Hoke's dialect exactly right, to my ear, and also his posture and walk, which slows ever so gradually as time passes and Hoke becomes an octogenarian himself. It's a privilege to see this fine, fine actor at work.

With that sole exception, this is as fine a production of 'Driving Miss Daisy' as I can imagine. It is so fine, in fact, that I was astonished to be reminded that this is the play's Broadway premiere: The whole of its original 1,195-performance run in New York took place first at Playwrights Horizons and then at the John Houseman Theatre. Fortunately, it is being mounted in one of Broadway's most intimate and well-proportioned spaces, the 804-seat John Golden Theatre. This means, however, that tickets for the 16-week limited engagement of 'Driving Miss Daisy' are going to be hard to obtain, so do whatever you have to do to get one. Perhaps some hotshot at PBS will get the bright idea to tape the production-it would look terrific on TV-but I wouldn't count on it.

'Daisy' finally makes it to theater’s promised land with a dream team that’s bound to strike fans as 'the second coming.'

At a distance, this threatened to be too easy a mark, too much of a sentimental sure thing for such theater legends. Surely, one might be forgiven for thinking Vanessa Redgrave and James Earl Jones could have found a tougher, less familiar vehicle than 'Driving Miss Daisy,' Alfred Uhry's 1987 Pulitzer-winning drama and 1989 Oscar-winning movie.

Sometimes massive, earthshaking events require - even demand - that they be depicted on stage with an equally vast canvas. And sometimes all you need is a can of salmon.

Neither Jones nor Redgrave loses the regal bearing we have long attributed to them; rather, they channel it to suggest the dignity of seemingly ordinary characters. In doing so, they remind us that great acting can transcend not only life but art as well.

Still, despite any quibbles, it remains a pleasure to watch these two old pros at work, and Gaines, as usual, is an absolute delight, more than keeping up with his older co-stars.

A 'little play' in that its emotions are understated and its brief scenes are mostly everyday situations, 'Driving Miss Daisy' could easily be overwhelmed by actors of such magnificence as Redgrave and Jones, but they unerringly provide honest and nicely-detailed performances that befit the modest story.

What unbalances David Esbjornson's sensitively shaped production is, improbably, Redgrave: Her painstakingly detailed quietude and delicacy as Daisy, carefully underplayed to fit what's probably a quite valid concept of the era's notion of ladylike gentility, put the character in a softer focus, reducing her power. And though Daisy can't drive the car, she must drive half the play. Instead, Redgrave's results, though never false, seem cautious and deferential. She leaves the way open for Jones, who builds from his own distinctive persona a spectacularly solid performance of Hoke, wholly different from Freeman's unforgettable work yet every bit as convincing. Even more surprisingly, Redgrave's reticence grants space for Gaines to render Daisy's son, Boolie—no more than a necessary functionary in earlier productions—as a figure of both three-dimensionality and significance.

Granted, you often wish the show bared more teeth instead of settling into comfortable, sepia-toned banter. But for better or for worse, this is not that kind of play, and this is not that kind of production. Besides, a soft touch can also leave an impact. Just look at the last scene, when Miss Daisy is mentally and physically fragile, in a wheelchair.

While Redgrave barely comes across as a southern Jewish woman, she convincingly stresses Daisy's restless spirit. Jones, on the other hand, provides a congenial counterpart with an undercurrent of pain. Gaines, as Daisy's son, is credibly worn-out and frustrated by his mother's relentless demands.

In Mr. Esjornson's staging, the final scene—Daisy revealed, alone in a wheelchair—is stunning; it brings a tear to even a hardened theater critic's eye. Throughout, indeed, one's heart is warmed. But there's also nothing in the play that's tough or unexpected or genuinely thrilling. But that's what Miss Daisy likes: a smooth, easy ride.

Ms. Redgrave plays the title character, and Mr. Jones her chauffeur, in David Esbjornson's revival of Alfred Uhry's 1987 play. If the production's stars feel squeezed or confined by what is a very slender work, they never let on. They give responsible, intelligent performances that are infused with two old pros' joy in the mastery of their craft. And they pull off the deft trick of registering as big as we want them to be without making the play in which they appear seem even smaller than it is.

Vanessa Redgrave is a world-class actor, but she has little business playing Daisy Werthan—or rather, she has too much business, in the sense of fussy stage activity. From the first scene, which she spends whipping up a cake, to the last, in which she screws her face into a cartoon of wizened mischief, she never quite jells into personhood. Her deracinated Daisy verges on hokey; and so it falls to Jones’s slightly dazed Hoke to give their relationship the requisite depth. Hale and booming, the actor is in fine fettle—though, at nearly 80, long-toothed for the part—and his imposing presence lends poignancy to Hoke’s solicitude and dignity to his growing self-respect. His scenes with the reliable Boyd Gaines, as Daisy’s son, have an enjoyable rhythm. But without a strong connection between the odd couple at its core, the play putters along as little more than a star vehicle, and one in which Jones does most of the driving.

At just 90 minutes, 'Driving Miss Daisy' is a theatrical spin around the block - a pleasantly starlit but unchallenging trip down memory lane.

There are lessons to be learned from this revival of 'Driving Miss Daisy,' the 1987 play about the unorthodox friendship between a white Southern lady and her black chauffeur that won a Pulitzer Prize for Alfred Uhry (and an Oscar for Jessica Tandy when she and Morgan Freeman starred in the movie). Lesson No. 1 (duh) is that Vanessa Redgrave and James Earl Jones could do this show buried up to their necks in a pit and still break your heart. Lesson No. 2 has to do with how radically the dynamics change when age-appropriate performers are cast in the roles. Still astonishing at 73, Redgrave has the age as well as the regal stature to play Daisy Werthan, the imperious and extremely vital Jewish matron who is 72 when the play opens in 1948 Atlanta. Holding herself tall and taking long, athletic strides, the statuesque thesp lets us know that this old lady has the physical stamina to support her sharp mind and independent spirit.

It seemed like such a good idea on paper: Vanessa Redgrave and James Earl Jones in 'Driving Miss Daisy.' When the excellent Boyd Gaines was announced to complete the three-person cast of Alfred Uhry's Pulitzer Prize–winning 1987 drama, the project sounded even more promising. So it's with tremendous regret and disappointment that I have to report that, under the puppy-soft direction of the usually reliable David Esbjornson, this 'Daisy' never fully blooms.

Apart from Gaines, we're treated to two very famous voices, and very little else. John Lee Beatty's scenic design is a sepia box, a few sticks of furniture and a staircase: Video projections of historical moments through the decades fill the substantial void for anyone who might decide, mid-play, he'd rather be home, Netflix-ing the film version. And when the lights are at general-wash, the whole thing looks strangely scuffed and ugly, a cross between a half-vacated college dorm and one of the nicer basements from the Saw series. I felt like I was watching a hastily organized radio play, and half expected a station-break from the Guy's All-Star Shoe Band.

Even worse, there's no apparent bond between these supposed best friends. All that seems to connect them is Daisy's unfortunately named son, Boolie (played with ample square-jawed, Southern-fried charm by Boyd Gaines). Also completely lost in translation: Redgrave's Atlanta accent.