Our Town , Cleveland Play House, Cleveland, Ohio

The Cleveland Play House’s legacy is its history as it remains the longest-running regional theater in American theater history. Thornton Wilder was only eighteen when the Cleveland Play House was founded in 1915. Our Town premiered in 1938 on Broadway, and the following year Wilder’s classic play made its first of several appearances on the Cleveland Play House stage. The institution was established as an art theater, intended to celebrate and mimic the work of Edward Gordon Craig, leading to many avant-garde works and an audience familiar with experimentation and innovative staging.To open its 110th consecutive season, the Cleveland Play House presented Our Town for the first time since abandoning its original facilities and moving to downtown Cleveland’s performing arts complex, coincidentally named Playhouse Square. When the Play House moved downtown, they took over and remodeled the Allen Theatre—a 2,500-seat proscenium theater built in 1921—and reduced the audience to 500 to emphasize intimacy while maintaining the massive stage. The Allen proscenium arch is thirty-eight feet wide and twenty-five feet high, and the stage is approximately fifty feet deep. Past productions have seen the Cleveland Play House struggle to fill the stage (including audiences onstage) as the cost of any scenic design is substantial without narrowing the width of the arch. All of this detail is to highlight the vast, voluminous space that greets the Our Town audience walking into the Allen Theatre as they spy a completely empty stage (aside from a few chairs and several lighting booms) and the exposed back wall of the theater (fig. 1).Standing upstage in isolation as the audience entered, the Stage Manager, played by Christopher Donahue, stoically and observantly glanced around the auditorium and occasionally watched individual patrons as they found their seats. Dressed in a brown three-piece tweed suit, his formal posture provided an air of dispassionate control as he moved around the stage. As the theater filled and the “go” time drew closer, Donahue began to place chairs around the perimeter of the stage, defining the main performance space. When the lights dimmed over the audience, Donahue moved downstage and nodded (presumably to the stage manager at the back of the Allen Theatre). The silence was broken by the sound of mechanical whirring, without any visual cues until Donahue looked skyward, and eventually a dozen battens with light fixtures slowly descended from the flyspace and into view. In case any patron was not familiar with the admitted theatricality of Our Town, the decision to highlight the exposure of the lights informed audiences not only of the play’s metatheatricality but also of director Mary Zimmerman’s penchant for striking imagery. Once the pipes and the dozens of lights were lowered into position (about twenty feet above the actors), Donahue stepped downstage-center and began the introduction to the play.What initially proceeded was a controlled, predictable interpretation of the play, with the Stage Manager calmly introducing the layout of Grover’s Corners and the two households featured in the first act. Donahue walked upstage into shadows to suggest the location of the main street, and then he proceeded downstage, grabbing two chairs along the way (“There’s some scenery for those who think they have to have scenery” Collected Plays 150) but still delivering his lines enveloped in a series of shadows, leading to the suggestion that this production was either stressing the early morning light (or lack of it) or that the central guiding character was somehow untrustworthy and not forthcoming given that his declarations were delivered in half-light. Then, something remarkable happened: the real stage manager of the production utilized the “God mic” and announced a hold and for the actors to leave the stage. Artistic Director Michael Barakiva and Managing Director Rachael L. Fink bolted from their seats and proceeded to the front of the stage. As someone familiar with Wilder’s work, thoughts raced through my head: Was this pause intentional? Would Wilder have approved? Had they received permission from the Wilder Estate to address the audience at this point in the show (as it was the opening night of the season, artistic directors usually welcome the guests with a small speech)? As it turned out, the interruption was unexpected; the lighting system had frozen, causing the unintentional shadows across the stage. Following a ten-minute break, the play resumed with the Stage Manager’s line, “This play is called ‘Our Town’” (Collected Plays 149).This interruption is not mentioned to fault the performance or the production in any way; after all, the love of live theater is what inspired Wilder. However, watching the play begin again provided a unique insight into the style of the play which varied little in its two iterations. Donahue delivered his lines with the same intonation, deliberate rhythm, and dry humor as he did the first time, suggesting Zimmerman approved of (if not imposed) his slow, deliberate, and distant interpretation of the Stage Manager. Compared to other well-known interpretations of the central character, Zimmerman’s choices became pronounced. In 1989, Spalding Gray offered a controlled delivery, but he was dressed in contemporary clothing, providing an obvious connection to the audience. Paul Newman’s imperfect characterization (with his tie askew and homespun approach) in 2003 presented a relatable everyman. Jim Parsons, delivering his lines in the same, familiar intonation utilized in many of his performances, provided familiarity in Kenny Leon’s unique interpretation of the play in 2024. In each of these productions, an effort was made by the director and/or actor to present an engaging guide to the world of the play. It is clear that Zimmerman rejected the lighter, approachable interpretation in favor of a more omniscient, distant, and formal guide, suggesting that this Stage Manager is unaffected and unsurprised by the events of the play or perhaps serves as a source of pontification toward the audience.One of Wilder’s many remarkable talents is his ability to describe a thought or concept that readers/audiences may not have spoken or heard elsewhere yet recognize as a universal truth. The Stage Manager’s function as a guide is not only to the geographic layout of Grover’s Corners, but also to the introspection that Wilder asks the audience to ponder. As opposed to the friendlier or more-accessible versions from Newman or Gray, Donahue’s character appeared more judgmental and instructive, which enforced the idea that we were being shown a view of life rather than encouraging the audience to recognize it as one similar to their own. In a 2019 interview with Backstage, Zimmerman spoke about the importance of respecting the playwright’s voice in the text, claiming, “If I’m doing a play, I’m doing it because I’m interested in the voice of that play. I am loath to superimpose my own ideas” (Horowitz). Afforded the luxury of seeing the opening moments of the play twice and noticing the limited variation between Donahue’s two performances, it was evident that Zimmerman approved of this stoic interpretation. As would become clear through the remainder of the show, Zimmerman was responsible for the most compelling as well as the most problematic moments of the production (fig. 2).The remainder of the first act proceeded without incident as audiences were introduced to Emily Webb and George Gibbs, portrayed by Madalyn Baker and Byron Johnson, both members of the Case Western Reserve University/Cleveland Play House MFA Program (along with six other members of the ensemble). Baker and Johnson offered a more presentational version of the young characters (as expected when adults are playing teenagers), befitting the simplicity of their high school existence. In the second act (following another nod from the Stage Manager and the lowering of the lights another five or eight feet), Zimmerman played for the comedy in moments that could have been sincere or more heartfelt. Most notably, the moment when Emily cries to her father before the wedding was played as a humorous moment of youthful hysterics (and supported by the reaction of her father portrayed by Geoffrey Short). Baker played the moment with frenetic energy and robbed it of any tenderness, whereas Johnson’s George Gibbs was sincere and charming. The decision to emphasize the humor in the wedding scene betrayed the small moment between father and daughter established in the first act. When Mr. Webb peered up at Emily from the street, he offered her kind words, and Zimmerman let this simple moment resonate as a connection between a father and daughter with a special bond. None of that gentle simplicity remained in the wedding scene as Short’s caring father transformed into a two-dimensional patriarchal figure who failed to understand (or simply dismissed) the anxieties of his daughter on her wedding day.Baker maintained consistent intensity throughout the second act, hindering her scene with Johnson in the soda shop and prohibiting the audience from appreciating the awkward yet sincere moment when they revealed their feelings for each other. Similarly, Baker’s presentational intensity continued into the third act, making it hard to sympathize with Emily’s emotional tribulations and realizations. As she gesticulated and delivered a one-note performance, the emotional impact of George’s visit to the graveyard at the end of the play rang hollow. In addition, the Stage Manager’s lack of curiosity and empathy combined with the cemetery dwellers’ dry (if not monotone) recitations created an environment devoid of any humanity (let alone empathy) only to be contrasted with Baker’s over-the-top delivery.Despite these criticisms, I reiterate my claim that Zimmerman remains responsible for the best and worst aspects of the production. It should be noted that, in total, the ensemble delivered strong performances, with eight of the fifteen cast members playing multiple roles. Standouts included Adam Ortega as Howie Newsom, Calder Meis’s earnest Joe Crowell, and Wai Yim’s troubled Simon Stimson. With respect to Baker, those familiar with the rehearsal process reported that Zimmerman consistently encouraged Baker’s intense and forced portrayal of Emily Gibbs, asking her to be less subtle and more outwardly emotional. Baker previously has delivered several nuanced performances at the Cleveland Play House, so the fact that Zimmerman pushed for this specific interpretation (akin to Donahue’s Stage Manager) explains the origin of the odd choice.When Zimmerman received the MacArthur Foundation fellowship in 1998, her work was praised for creating “a distinctive style that blends strong visual images, sensual movement, music, and poetry to create a new theatrical vocabulary.” With Our Town, it is as if Zimmerman struggled to blend her aesthetics with the concepts inherent within Wilder’s play. Her production of Our Town lacked poetry and minimized the humanity through her dictates concerning the leading performances. However, the imagery created by Zimmerman on the Allen stage was masterful and breathtaking. Much of the blocking for the majority of the play was effective and predictable: Emily and George on ladders, cemetery residents in a series of chairs facing forward, pantomimed gardens, and so on. Nevertheless, the most impactful moments of the show were the nontextual moments that preceded each act and the final image of the show. After Donahue nodded to the booth at the top of the third act, the lights again descended further, resting a mere ten feet above the actors’ heads (fig. 3). The impression was one of confinement, of limited existence, as if the descending pipes represented our limited existence on the planet or perhaps the diminishing amount of time that we have to comprehend our purpose. This concept of physical limitation seemed contrary to the Stage Manager’s declaration about the eternal quality in all humans (which was emphasized with Donahue’s slow and pointed delivery—not a musing, but a statement of certainty). Regardless, the visual effect was striking and begged for interpretation, which Wilder would have appreciated.The most emotional moment of the production came at the close. Thanks to his charming and engaging performance, Byron Johnson’s slow procession downstage and eventual collapse at Emily’s feet in the graveyard was powerful. The absence of a strong connection between Emily and George (they were mostly seen debating, given Baker’s intense delivery) did not hinder this impactful depiction of loss and heartbreak. He lay on the ground at her feet, curled in a fetal position while a downward special provided a tight spotlight on the duo. Emily made her final declarations, stood up, and departed the bright circle, and the Stage Manager soon delivered his last lines. Before exiting stage left, he nodded once more, and the whirring sound returned. The massive number of lights ascended and rose out of sight, but Johnson remained on the stage, surrounded by darkness and still hurting. While it is possible to debate the statement being made by Zimmerman (Are we all so isolated in our emotions? Is our understanding of the world/eternal? Is our pain and suffering the defining experience for our mortal world?), the stark, closing visual effect provided an emotional impact that proved to be a rarity in the production. Zimmerman’s staging was beautiful and profound; however, much of the beauty came from Wilder’s concept for the play. For the moments in the play where Zimmerman needed to utilize the dialogue to create emotional connections—between characters or with the audience—the production failed to provide any new insights or interpretations and, in several instances, overplayed the emotionalism of the character/scene that betrayed the simplicity and beauty of Wilder’s play. Zimmerman’s theatrics would have been stunning in any production, but, sadly, the innovation and engagement did not compensate for the confusing character interpretations that hindered the brilliant beauty of Wilder’s text.