Review - The Roads to Home

I'm sure I've mentioned before how much I enjoy experiencing a Horton Foote play.  A former co-worker once described Foote's work as "watching paint dry."  That's a sad description of work that is so rich and full of universal truth, yet specific details that can sparkle across an evening.  I felt sorry for my former co-worker, not only because he completely missed the essence and power of a Horton Foote play, but also because that meant I wouldn't be able to be as happy and animated when talking about the play with him. Oh well. Thankfully, I now have you to talk about my happiness with!  :)

Last week, I went to the Cherry Lane Theater to see the Primary Stages production of The Roads to Home, a revival of a piece that was originally done in 1982.  Three short playlets based around the same characters, The Roads to Home is another gentle, truthful, funny, touching piece about family, memories, regret and home. I enjoyed the evening a great deal, as did most of the audience (at least it seemed that way to me).  Of course, my seat neighbor had to be the exception.  More on her later...

Once again, in these three plays, we see lives lived and consequences of decisions made long ago.  Again, not much 'happens,' but we learn so much about these characters, about life, about ourselves, that it seems as if everything happens in the two hours we spend in Houston. There are character revelations that just land on you like pixie dust, and other lines that make you gently gasp. Unlike other Foote plays, the action takes place in Houston and then in Austin, but the fictional town of Harrison looms large over everything. Just because we're not there doesn't mean it's not a main character in the story. Two of the main characters are from Harrison and long to remember it, and one character has heard so much about it over the years, she's yearning to see it. Once she does, she then also has regret.

But also unlike other Foote plays, this one also dabbles in a little screwball comedy, at least in one scene, and in the last scene, instead of the stark realism I'm accustomed to, we're never really sure what is happening.  There's a off-balance quality about the last scene that made even me feel even more rueful than usual.  I liked the uncertainty.

photo credit: James Leynse

Hallie Foote is masterful as Mabel, the gentle soul with steel in her bones.  She's totally in the moment, yet she lives with one foot in the past. She both accepts her present and rails against it at the same time, in a familiar, whimsical, eccentric, Horton Foote-character kind of way. I just loved her - watching the way she moved about her kitchen, you got a sense of the life she leads and the unique quality inherent inside a women who might normally be overlooked. And her indignation at her friends being treated badly was real and adorable. Harriet Harris was also her usual terrifically funny self, with an extra layer of pathos that was quite touching.  Rebecca Brooksher had the most difficult role, of a young woman losing touch with reality, but I thought she found the right level of otherworldliness and down-home charm. She knows something is happening to her and feels badly about it, but she just can't help herself. The gentlemen were less defined, but still well-performed.  I do love how Horton Foote wrote such amazingly realistic women, who are idiosyncratic and three-dimensional, and oh-so-relatable.

So, obviously, as is my wont, I really loved The Roads to Home. I loved the world depicted, I loved living with these characters and feeling their joy and pain. Some of my seat neighbors did not.  The gal next to me just bended forward and put her head in her lap. At one point, she got out her phone to look at.  I hoped she wouldn't return for the second act, but she did.  After a few minutes, she just folded into her lap again.  Sigh. The gal in front of me, who had an argument with her date about Flannery O'Connor before the show started, was a huge authority on Horton Foote and his plays.  She found this one wanting. I found her annoying, as was her date, who proclaimed that his water bottle of Pellegrino wasn't actually Pellegrino. The theater seemed to be rationing programs, which didn't sit well with much of the crowd.  But it was good to see a full house (mostly) enjoy a delightful evening, basking in the warmth and intimacy of Foote's world.  Thank you, Primary Stages, and please keep the revivals coming...