WARM, WISE,
AND FUNNY
OVER THE
RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS
Directed by Janet Mitchko; written by Joe
DiPietro; set design by Stan Spilecki; lighting design by Jamie Grant;
costume design by B. Christine McDowell
With: Brian Louis Hoffman, Michael Dell’Orto, Andrea Gallo, Bill Van Horn,
Carole Schweid, and Sarah Koestner
At the Public Theatre in Lewiston, Maine
From May 2 to May 11, 2008
Reviewed by Laurie Meunier Graves
Despite the blackflies and its slow
appearance, spring in Maine is always very welcome. After a long period of
snow followed by an indeterminate period of slush and gray, the bright green
grass and the tender fringe of new growth on the trees is more than worth
the wait. Spring, it seems, also brings good things to the Public Theatre in
Lewiston, Maine. Last year, there was the absolutely delightful Enchanted
April. This year, with Over the River and Through the Woods, the
Public Theatre has produced another winner. Quite simply, the production is
excellent. The play has a crackling script, a wonderful feel for its
characters, and an unpredictable ending. It also has some pointed
observations to make about culture, the generation gap, and inevitable
changes, both good and sad, that life brings. As if that weren’t enough,
Over the River is also very funny.
Nick (Brian Louis Hoffman), a dutiful
grandson, has stayed behind in New Jersey when his parents have fled to
Florida and his sister to California. He has a good job in media
advertising, but there is something else that keeps him in New Jersey.
Namely, his maternal and paternal grandparents—respectively Frank (Michael
Dell’Orto) and Aida (Andrea Gallo), and Nunzio (Bill Van Horn) and Emma
(Carol Schweid), who live close by to each other and are all Italian
American. Every Sunday, he has dinner with them, where we are given to
believe that they fuss over him and nag him while he tries to wriggle free
from what clearly must feel like a suffocating hold of too much food and
unwanted advice.
One evening, Nick stops by Frank and Aida’s
house, and they are joined by Emma and Nunzio. Nick has important news, but
before he even has a chance to tell them what it is, they cannily deduce
it’s news they don’t want to hear, and they do all that they can to prevent
him from revealing it. Aida, who lives to cook and feed people, interrupts
with food. The other three just plain interrupt, and the back-and-forth
volleys of conversation are handled with terrific timing by all the actors
involved. Finally, Nick does get to share his news: He’s gotten a job
promotion that will take him to Seattle, which is in the “Washington that’s
not nearby.” Needless to say, the grandparents are not happy; they want him
to stay in New Jersey, not far from them, right where he belongs.
The rest of Through the River
ostensibly revolves around Nick’s Seattle decision—should he stay or
go?—with the grandparents scheming to keep him in New Jersey. But the play
is much more than just a comic piece about family ties that might be a
little too tight. Through dialogue and narration, each of the characters
reveals portions of their lives, of their fears, hopes, and disappointments,
which in turn add nuance that brings the play well past the usual
stereotypes too often found in plays that focus on family and the importance
of connection. As Nick’s Grandmother, Emma, philosophically observes, things
are different now, not necessarily better or worse, but different.
Yes, they are. When Nick’s grandparents were
young, providing a stable home, with some material comforts, was of the
utmost importance. Nunzio worked in a factory for years, tightening screws
all day long, to furnish a good life for his family. Frank, a carpenter,
left Italy at fourteen to come alone to America. He did this unwillingly,
forced by his father, and the trauma of this separation from family and home
has stayed with him into old age. It’s no surprise that he’s drawn to Aida,
a shy, unnoticed girl from a big family. He senses that she will take care
of him, which she certainly does with an astonishing, unflagging energy. And
he has taken care of her. A carpenter by trade, he has built her a
comfortable house, just as he promised he would. Who could ask for anything
more?
Well, the children and the grandchildren.
Starting from a more secure place than the grandparents ever could have
imagined for themselves, the children and grandchildren have the luxury of
asking for more; of moving when it pleases them, rather than because they
have to; of wanting jobs that are interesting and fulfilling rather than
ones that just pay the bills; and of not immediately getting married as soon
as they are old enough.
These differences in times and circumstances
are so great that the generations almost seem alien to each other, and the
divide is especially wide between grandparents and grandchild. The
grandparents literally don’t understand what Nick does for work—it just
isn’t in their frame of reference—and Nick sees his grandparents in “black
and white,” without shading or color.
Through the course of the play, Nick does gain
enlightenment, but like most illumination, it comes with a certain amount of
trauma and discomfort. Grandmother Emma decides that the thing to keep Nick
in New Jersey is to introduce him to Caitlin (Sarah Koestner), a pretty girl
she met at the grocery store. Unbeknownst to Nick, Caitlin is invited to one
of the Sunday dinners, where the grandparents seem to conspire to say every
politically incorrect thing that pops into their uncensored thoughts.
Excruciatingly embarrassed, Nick squirms through the meal, just waiting for
the next bon mot to come from the mouths of his grandparents, and
come they do. Those of us with ethnic families will know exactly what he’s
going through. By the end of the meal, it might not be fair to say that Nick
would like to kill his grandparents, but you get the feeling he wouldn’t
mind if they would somehow suddenly vanish for a few hours. As it is, the
whole evening ends on such an unpleasant note that Nick has a panic attack
and is rushed to the hospital, where he is advised to take it easy and get
plenty of rest for the next few days.
And where does he rest? At Aida and Frank’s
house, of course, but ironically, this enforced stay with his doting
grandparents helps him, for the first time, to see them with a bit of color,
to imagine them as young adults, full of yearning and passion. With this
understanding comes a softening, which in turn brings patience and
affection, not in an unearned, cheesy way but instead in an accepting,
clear-eyed way that encompasses sadness, joy, and the inevitable losses that
life brings. Best of all, Joe DiPietro, the playwright, does not appear to
take sides with either Nick or his grandparents. Instead, he seems to
approach both points of view with generosity and with the understanding that
we are a product of our times. If Nick had been born in his grandparents’
era, he would have behaved very much as they did. And vice versa. At times,
the grandparents are selfish, but so is Nick. After all, regardless of the
generation, we all tend to want things to go our way, and for those we care
about to approve of our decisions.
The Public Theatre’s superb cast added more
sparkle to an already sparkling play. Brian Louis Hoffman, as the grandson,
Nick, brought exactly the right combination of youthful impatience, humor,
and exasperated affection to his role. His change of attitude, when it came,
was completely believable. Michael Dell’Orto’s Frank had a dry, ironic humor
that made him appealing as well as funny, a humor that had survived some
hard times. No wonder Aida fell for him. Bill Van Horn’s Nunzio’s was bluff
and loud but goodhearted; and Carole Schweid’s Emma, Nunzio’s wife, had the
wit and sarcasm reminiscent of the actresses in screwball comedies.
Together, they were quite the team. Sarah Koestner, as Caitlin, was graceful
and very appealing. (Grandmother Emma had a good eye.) But special notice
must go to Andrea Gallo, who played the food-obsessed Aida. Gallo, even
though she is a younger actor, portrayed Aida with such stiff precision and
with such a combination of passive aggressiveness that she was completely
believable. It was a memorable, even remarkable, performance.
And a memorable play. If I had the time, I
would go see it again. 
