Brutality of Fact

But even with a somewhat improved ending, revised by Reddin since the play’s 1994 premiere at the old Goodman studio (under the direction of the playwright’s biggest champion, the late Michael Maggio), the piece is unable to overcome Reddin’s signature smirky disdain for his characters long enough to create the kind of unease and tension the subject warrants. Most of his characters nurse their petty grievances and self-destructive addictions in equally numbing measure.

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Brutality of Fact traces the mutually recriminatory relationships between dotty Boston matriarch Val, her divorced and born-again daughter Jackie, and estranged middle daughter Maggie, a struggling semiemployed alcoholic. Jackie is locked in a bitter custody dispute with her ex, Harold, over their young daughter, Marlene, abetted by her creepy, unctuous attorney boyfriend (and fellow Jehovah’s Witness), Chris.

My biggest beef with this play, however, is that Reddin’s script fails to convey the nuances of religious belief. There are many deep and abiding reasons for people to turn to religion, and those reasons can provide lasting dramatic fodder (as even that old skeptic George Bernard Shaw proved in Saint Joan). But Jackie’s embrace of her faith seems random and rootless. She might just as easily have become a fanatic about Pilates or online trading or animal rights. Reddin sets up a zero-sum game between Jackie and Maggie that illustrates his limited view of female inner life: you can have faith, but it will make you uptight and nuts, or you can hide from harsh reality by drinking and screwing. Val is pissed off enough at the world to drive through store windows and smash antiquities at a historical society, but the cause for such rage remains a mystery, even to her. Only Corrine, a lesbian Maggie meets in a bar after fleeing an AA meeting, seems to come to any sort of peace with her life during the play (and Jennifer Pompa’s smart and rooted performance is a standout).