Norman Moses and Carrie Hitchcock in the beautiful play, “How to Write a New Book of the Bible,” at Next Act Theatre.
There are quite a few playwrights I’d like to meet. Shakespeare is definitely invited to my “amazing authors throughout the ages” dinner party, but I’m actually taking Bill Cain off the list. Not because I don’t think his work is smart, funny and intriguing, but because I already met him, through his transparently autobiographical work, “How to Write a New Book of the Bible,” on stage at Next Act Theatre through April 28th.
Cain’s understated play is both a beautifully realized story of a mostly functional family -- a true rarity onstage -- and a meditation on grief from many perspectives. And though it sounds absurd in the title, the work also frequently compares the Cain clan to Biblical figures and adds lessons on faith, love, ritual, and spirituality as extra layer of introspection. From other playwrights this might sound gimmicky or trite, but Cain is not only a masterful writer, he is also a Jesuit priest. His insights are gentle but profound and as the writer’s axiom goes, by including hyper-specific snapshots of his family’s past -- from a smashed jack-o-lantern to a box full of letters from Bill’s brother serving in Vietnam, to the orchids that Bill’s mother felt she should have received from his father -- the story becomes universal.
Though Dwyer explains, even boasts, at the top of the show that the Cain family had a system for fighting fair, it did not exclude this foursome from pettiness, jealousy, antagonism or disappointments in one another. In the months of doctor appointments, yelling over his mom’s sports shows, and arguments about butter, Dwyer’s frustrations are just as real as his search for higher meaning. The pressure to be both a good son and a spiritual counselor, when at times he feels inadequate at both, makes the entire story richer. The playwright shows his “warts and all” family, as well as plenty of his own foibles, with real intention, not as a documentary but as a beautifully woven tapestry of experience that adds up to much more than just another funeral.
As Bill’s mother Mary (of course she’s named Mary) Carrie Hitchcock is delightfully idiosyncratic. Her fierce love for her family often comes out in sharp words when her husband and sons don’t live up to her expectations, but her devotion is true. Hitchcock transitions instantly between scenes that take place decades apart, simply by changing her posture and her specific gait. Alternately stubborn and sweet, she equates being supportive with reminding her husband that he drinks a little bit too much and telling her sons that they never quite reached their full potential. It’s a tricky balancing act, but Hitchcock centers the character in Mary’s heart rather than her disapproval.
Her easy chemistry with husband Pete (Hitchcock’s actual husband Norman Moses) allows them to speak volumes about the couple’s relationship in only a few brief flashback scenes. And their ongoing conversations after Pete’s death are also a highlight of the play; they feel so natural and necessary for people who have faced life together for so long.
In the present, Paul (Wainwright) is a math teacher in faraway El Paso, and the absent sibling checking in on mom over the phone for much of the play. But in the middle of this drama, there is a sudden shift in focus that allows older brother to drive the story. After serving in Vietnam and then abruptly leaving the military after earning a handful of medals, Paul doesn’t talk about his experiences there until decades later when he and Bill drive cross country together and stop at the Wall -- the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington D.C. Wainwright brings just the right combination of heartbreak, regret and anger to mourning the friends Paul lost there, demonstrating yet another way that people process life and death traumas.
Once again, Bill’s job is to continue listening and looking for God in the people around him -- a challenge that feels more daunting in every scene. But Dwyer’s comfortable rapport with us and with his beliefs make difficult subjects easier to approach on intellectual, spiritual and emotional levels.
Rick Graham’s set, composed of tall, rolling panels in neutral colors is at first underwhelming, but pays off in versatility that helps the storytelling by accommodating video during Paul’s chapter of the play. Amy Horst’s costume design is similarly plain, playing off the gray, tan and light blue of the stage pieces.
Though the end of the play is never in question, the journey is full of love in all its forms, and a few surprises. There were plenty of tears in the audience on opening night, but there were also plenty of laughs. This light touch dealing with serious subject matter is a big part of the play’s appeal. With director David Cecsarini’s smooth transitions and steady pacing, the production doesn’t wallow in dark places for the sake of emphasis. It right-sizes each vignette, which is a real accomplishment.
And after further consideration, Bill Cain is back on my invite list. Along with his family, he is exactly the kind of guy I’d like to know better.