I’d be tempted to call this a perfect production were it not for the haunting Leonard Cohen quote, “There’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” In 90 minutes, playwright Donald Margulies unpeels the history of a marriage which might be what lies beneath the painting “American Gothic.”
Late in life, contemporary farmer George (Reed Birney) and his seemingly stoic wife Em (Lisa Emery) spend an evening in a bucolic Kentucky field to watch a lunar eclipse. (Phases of the moon are identified like chapter heads.) He’s alone and sobbing when lights come up. It’s painful and startling.
Having refused to join him, Em nonetheless shows up packing blankets and cocoa. He’s drinking bourbon. George quickly wipes away tears. His leave-me-be tone runs through explanation of the heavens like a fault line. This is a man in his element. “How long has it been since you stopped and appreciated where you are?” he asks, close to accusing. She’s a woman long ripped from hers, a city girl who followed love and stuck with him, feeling she had little to offer.
Innately anxious, Em was worried something might happen to her husband alone. George assures her that he knows when and how they’re both going to die. (A later description is credible.) “Look at us, almost done… I feel like I’m losing my mind…forgetting things, words…where I am…” It’s as if he’s talking to himself. Em is doggedly reassuring. She won’t allow for the possibility of losing ballast.
If only he still had the telescope stolen and pawned by their adopted, then drug addicted son. The boy died in his thirties. She’s never forgiven herself for not doing more. In fact, Em lives with a heart cracked open. George is just angry. She accuses him of mourning a succession of dogs buried where they sit more than his son. He doesn’t dispute it. Recrimination and regret ride tandem.
“We messed up something awful – people did. All that promise and opportunity, but the bad guys won the battle. We’re too old you and I. We’re not gonna see things turn around if that’s even possible,” George muses. He admits to crying in secret. We observe unmooring. Em tries to take his hand only to be swatted away. “I’m the best friend you ever had,” she quietly says. “Yes, you are,” he responds in kind.
The play is filled with silence and stillness, every bit of it apt. Director Kate Whoriskey employs tremendous finesse. That space is never empty. Despite evident tenacity, Em projects the burgeoning panic of a cornered animal. Lisa Emery imbues the character’s sorrow with dignity. Love is as palpable as lack of succor; tension manifest as a baseline. Air seems to physically hurt her. A younger version bares hope on two legs.
While his wife pauses, George sometimes freezes. Disquieted listening is mixed with possible aphasia. We hold our collective breath. Reed Birney’s focused presence is laconic and powerfully grounded. Tears are all the more affecting. Unsparing words land without personal malice – not an easy mode to express. The actor moves like a man who’s lived a physically taxing life, yet in the last scene sheds 60 years for agility and ingenuousness. An eloquent portrayal.
There isn’t an unnatural gesture. The piece feels voyeuristic. Whoriskey offers variety of composition in limited space from stretching ones legs to compulsive distance, concordant with dialogue. Pacing is impeccable. Acting is a master class.
Despite acrimony, Em and George are bound. Over the course of the evening, we see how much. The couple talk haltingly about their son, the dogs, their youth, overshadowing fears, and the eclipse. Donald Margulies writes sympathetically, but without undue allowance. His characters are who they are. Much will resonate with older audience in particular.
Walt Spangler’s wildflower clearing replete with rusting farm implement, S. Katy Tucker’s distant tree and changing sky projections, Amith Chandrashaker’s marvelous lighting, and Sinan Refik Zafar’s country creature sounds devise location and passing time – the artists’ vision in graceful sync.
Photos by Joan Marcus
Lunar Eclipse by Donald Margulies
Directed by Kate Whoriskey
Through June 22, 2025
Second Stage
At The Pershing Square Signature Center
480 West 42nd Street
