IS SHE OR ISN’T SHE?
DID SHE OR DIDN’T SHE?
PROOF
Directed by Michael Rafkin; written by David Auburn
With: Sarah Hudnut, John D. McNally, Jon Bernthal, Leslie Kalarchian
At Portland Stage Company in Portland, Maine
From October 28 to November 23, 2003
Reviewed by Laurie Meunier Graves
Literature and drama are littered with parents who ask too much of their
children. From the bloodthirsty Agamemnon to the demanding King Lear to the
hysterical Mrs. Bennett, the examples run the gamut from tragic to foolish.
Demanding parents are an enduring reality that, alas, seems to transcend
culture and era. In real life as in art, the damage these parents inflict is
all too real. Some children survive it and some don’t, but none emerge
unaffected.
With mixed results, the play Proof examines the relationship between
a demanding father and his two daughters. For extra spice and interest,
insanity, math, and genius are thrown into the mix. What emerges is by turns
funny and infuriating, engaging yet oddly shallow. I have seen this play
twice, and both times I have found that I cannot like it. However, both
times it generated a lively discussion between my husband and me. Proof
is certainly a mixed bag, worth seeing yet flawed.
At this point, I would like to make it clear that Portland Stage Company has
done a fine job with their production of Proof. The acting, the set,
and direction are all excellent (more on these things later). Rather, it is
the plot and the script with which I have trouble. Because of this, I will
be discussing the story line in extensive detail. Readers who have not seen
Proof might want to see the play before reading this review.
The play opens on the back porch of a run-down house in Chicago. Indeed, it
is on this porch that the entire action of the play takes place. Catherine
(Sarah Hudnet) is celebrating her twenty-fifth birthday. Her father Robert
(John D. McNally) has bought her a bottle of champagne, and he watches while
she drinks. From this scene, we learn four crucial things: Catherine is in a
depression; she knew what a prime number was before she could read; Robert
suffers from mental illness; and he has been dead for a week. Naturally,
Catherine wonders if she is following in her father’s footsteps. After all,
daughters don’t usually have conversations with dead fathers.
Upstairs in the ramshackle house, in Robert’s study, his former student, Hal
(Jon Bernthal), is looking through notebooks in the hope that he might find
some startling example of mathematical genius. For despite Robert’s mental
illness, he was a genius. Unfortunately, by the time he was twenty-five
(Catherine’s age), Robert had done everything he was going to do in the
world of mathematics. He may have flared early, but he burned out fast.
This, we are given to understand, is the way things are with mathematicians,
and by the time they are thirty, there is nothing left for them but
teaching, drinking, and drugs. And, perhaps, insanity.
After Catherine’s imaginary conversation with her father, Hal comes to the
back porch, and the two engage in a verbal sparring match. Catherine thinks
going through the notebooks is a waste of time. Sacrificing her own life,
Catherine took care of her father through his last illness and maintains he
wrote nothing but gibberish. Hal refuses to believe that such a fine mind
would shut down completely and doesn’t think Catherine is up to going
through the notebooks. After all, she never even finished undergraduate
work. Hal attempts to steal one of Robert’s notebooks. Catherine swears a
lot.
Not for one minute do we doubt where this encounter will eventually lead,
even though Hal and Catherine barely know each other. Into bed they will
tumble, and in Scene 3, this is exactly what happens. This predictability
unfortunately winds its way through the entire play. There is not one
surprise in Proof, and rather than feeling inevitable, the action
instead feels forced. The dialogue and the quick scenes only add to the
problem, marching the characters too briskly through the plot instead of
gradually revealing their hopes, fears, and personalities. Character
development has been sacrificed to plot, and the play suffers for it.
Onward goes the play. Claire (Leslie Kalarchian), Catherine’s domineering
and controlling sister, comes home for her father’s funeral, and more sparks
fly as the two sisters fight and lay guilt trips on each other. Where was
Claire when Robert and Catherine needed her? Why, in New York, living in a
crummy apartment and working fourteen hours a day to support the shiftless
pair. Catherine, of course, will have none of this. The nasty, mercurial
side of her personality comes to the front, and we see how condescending she
is to her older sister. Claire may be independent, capable and the
breadwinner of the family, but gosh darn it, Catherine is smarter, and she
makes sure that Claire never forgets this. We begin to realize that while we
might feel sorry for Catherine, we really don’t like her very much.
And what is the ultimate proof of Catherine’s startling intellect? Why a
mathematical proof, of course, locked in the desk drawer of her father’s
study. (If this sounds completely Freudian, it’s because it is.) After a
night of phenomenal sex, Catherine gives Hal the key to the drawer. A more
precious gift she could not have given him. But does he believe the proof is
hers? He does not. He believes it is her father’s proof, and so does Claire.
Even though Catherine has known Hal for only a few days, she is completely
devastated by his response. She takes to her bed for a week, forcing Claire
to miss her flight and take time off from work.
Poor Catherine! David Auburn has really stacked the deck against her. Not
only is she unlikable, but she is also weak. If Catherine had been involved
with Hal longer, say, even for six months, we might have been more
sympathetic with her response to his doubt. As it is, he has slept with her
once and has known her for a very short time. What does he really know about
her? Not much. How could he? Because of this, her reaction seems out of
proportion. When in the end, Hal does come to believe her, and Catherine is
lifted from her funk, our suspicions are confirmed: she is way too dependent
on men. Her father has ruined her.
This is a valid plot. Plenty of women, after all, are too dependent on men.
But that doesn’t mean we have to like it. Despite the predictability of the
story, we hope for something better for Catherine, that she will realize her
self-worth, learn to curb her nasty tongue, and become a mathematician. And,
I must admit this reviewer wished Catherine could do it without the aid of a
man.
However, Proof is not that kind of play. It is content to skim
through the plot and settle for a pat ending. Considering the emotional
firestorm to which Catherine has subjected the audience, her redemption
(through Hal) feels unearned.
Given the limitations of plot and script, the cast does a fine job. Like
Helen Hunt and Emma Thompson, Sarah Hudnut (Catherine) has been blessed with
looks that can be plain or attractive, and this will serve her well as an
actress. Because of this, she can either be the lead or land juicier roles
as a character actress. In Proof, Ms. Hudnut is by turns plain and
attractive, awkward and poised, depending on her mood. She does an admirable
job of going from ecstatically happy to shrewishly miserable, from being a
loving daughter to a hateful sister.
John D. McNally plays the devouring, unstable father and manages to make him
at least somewhat sympathetic. Even though we never really see his genius,
Mr. McNally shows how Robert is keenly intelligent and loving, yet unwilling
to let of go of his daughter.
Leslie Kalarchian does a suitably brisk job of portraying the capable,
domineering, and put-upon Claire. Ms. Kalarchian’s Claire is a woman of
action and energy who has put distance between herself and her family but of
course cannot escape them. Claire tries too hard and at times behaves like a
tyrant, but by the end of the play, the audience can see that she possesses
a strength and a self-awareness that is lacking in Catherine. My only
complaint with Ms. Kalarchian is that she has a little too much sparkle to
play the over-earnest Claire. Most of the time, this sparkle is suppressed,
but it occasionally bubbles through, making Claire so adorable that it’s a
wonder Hal isn’t attracted to her rather than Catherine.
Jon Bernthal, as Hal, is everything he should be. With his long dark curls,
he is an engaging mathematician and the type of professor students would
have a crush on. It’s not hard to see why Catherine falls for him, even if
that fall is a little too sudden. As appealing as Hal is, he can also be
conniving, and Mr. Bernthal makes this believable.
So there you have it. In the end, Proof is a play that doesn’t quite
work, but the fine cast at Portland Stage Company makes it worthwhile.
