Theatre in Review: An Enemy of the People (Manhattan Theatre Club/Samuel J. Friedman Theatre)

	Boyd Gaines and Richard Thomas. Photo: Joan Marcus

You can quite plausibly sum up the current Manhattan Theatre Club revival of An Enemy of the People as the Warner Brothers version.

If you're a vintage film fan, you'll instantly know what I mean. The typical Warner Brothers film of the 1930s was a ripped-from-the-tabloids tale, running no more than 75 minutes, and featuring a tempo somewhere between the clatter of typewriter keys and the rat-a-tat of a machine gun. Today, these films, B efforts ground out under factory conditions, look like models of the moviemaker's art. The plots might be silly, the acting might be variable, but they were never, ever dull.

At MTC, the people behind Enemy have taken a similar approach. Rebecca Lenkiewicz's adaptation -- accurately called "a new version" -- trims a good half-hour from the running time, thinning down certain roles and eliminating others altogether. (The leading character's two young sons have been banished offstage, to be yelled at through a window from time to time.) Doug Hughes' direction doesn't allow for a moment of wasted time. Even the turntable devised by John Lee Beatty moves with all due speed, taking us from a parlor to a newspaper office to a town meeting without slowing the drama's headlong rush.

And even though the production retains the play's 1880 time frame and southern Norway locale, it proves to be an all-too-appropriate comment on the current curdled state of our politics. Flip-flopping officials, bureaucratic snafus, statements that confuse rather than illuminate, ugly backroom deals, and Tea Party-style populism -- it's all there, brought to you by that canny inside-the-Beltway analyst, Henrik Ibsen.

Normally, I'm not a fan of this sort of textual fiddling, but given the many dire Ibsen productions I've seen over the past 30 years, I'm forced to wonder if the old boy doesn't need a little livening up here and there. The only successful New York revivals of his works that I can recall are the 1997 A Doll's House with Janet McTeer and Cate Blanchett's hugely controversial Hedda Gabler in 2006; it's worth noting that both productions took a turbocharged approach similar to Hughes' work here. (An expert in such matters once informed me that Andrew Upton, the adapter of Blanchett's Hedda, took huge liberties with the original text.) In any case, compared to most of Ibsen's works, An Enemy of the People is a good old-fashioned barn-burning melodrama, and, as such, is receptive to such techniques. (This is in contrast to a 90-minute version of Ghosts, presented at CSC about ten years ago, that was positively risible given the speed with which its plot twists were handed out.)

Even if you believe that classic texts should be handled with more care, Hughes' production is worth seeing for the faceoff of Boyd Gaines and Richard Thomas. Cast as brothers on the opposite side of a controversy that threatens to divide and destroy their beloved community, these two ultra-assured actors offer a fascinating study in contrasts. Gaines is Thomas Stockmann, the doctor who discovers that, thanks to errors of construction, the waters of the local spa are brimming with infectious agents. Thomas, an idealist and a bit of a fool, expects to be treated as a hero by his fellow citizens. In Gaines' portrayal, he is the biggest child in the house; the way he enters, removes his coat and shoes, greets his guests, and bounces on the couch tell you volumes about his self-satisfaction. (The scene where he begs a group of colleagues not to throw him a torchlight parade is a testament to Ibsen's all-seeing vision; Thomas may be a hero, but he's often far, far too pleased with himself.)

Later, when, thanks to the machinations of his brother, Thomas goes from prophet to pariah, the look of confusion in Gaines' eyes signals a profound hurt and a gnawing realization of the corruption surrounding him. When, having found his voice as a dissenter from the status quo, he begins to speak any number of inconvenient truths ("No society can grow if it feeds on truths that were in vogue in Biblical times"), he becomes a powerful orator, forcing his enemies to listen to him against their collective will. Gaines has always been one of the theatre's best utility men; here he delivers what is surely his finest performance yet.

In stark contrast, Richard Thomas, as Peter Stockmann, is a man of silken manners and priggish rules -- no hot food, and certainly no meat, after sundown, thank you, and absolutely no liquor at any time -- whose perfectly correct manner never hides for a second his thorough disapproval of the way Thomas lives. Appalled at his brother's findings, he sets out, politely, but firmly, to suppress them, using prudence as a weapon. ("At the present, there's nothing conclusive; it's still speculative," he says, sounding like every climate-change denier you've ever seen on the morning news.) The argument between them that follows bristles with unspoken resentments spanning many years; as it builds to a point of fury from which neither man can retreat, the look of distaste on Peter's face is remarkable. A lifetime bureaucrat who gets things done by coolly following the usual procedures, he cannot forgive being made to lose his temper. When Thomas, in a fit of pique, knocks his brother's hat off his head, Peter responds, shocked beyond words, "The hat is an official symbol!" "It is a hat," responds the fed up Thomas.

The rest of the cast is filled with wily pros who know how to make the most of their opportunities. Kathleen McNenny turns the rather pro forma role of Thomas' wife, Catherine, into something special; she's a constantly watchful presence who, losing her self-possession, furiously begs him not to surrender their newly prosperous way of life. John Procaccino, James Waterston, and Gerry Bamman are first-rate as, respectively, the most cynical, the most fatuous, and the most devious of Thomas' so-called supporters, each of whom has a personal agenda to advance. Maïté Alina is stalwart as Thomas' daughter, and Michael Siberry provides a distinctly creepy cameo as Catherine's foster father, a withered, rancorous old recluse who, out of hatred for the town's establishment, urges Thomas to publish his findings and later ensnares him in his financial manipulations.

Beatty's scenic approach -- a collection of semi-naturalistic sets nestled into a blonde wood environment -- suits the production well, and Catherine Zuber's elegant costumes add the necessary touch of period authenticity. At first, Ben Stanton's lighting seems rather odd -- there appears to be little difference between his night and day looks -- but he turns the climactic town meeting into an effectively noirish presentation dominated by growing shadows, and the final scene benefits from the cascade of morning sunlight forcing its way in through broken windows. David Van Tieghem's sound design is surprisingly dimensional, somehow managing to put the sound of murmuring voices in the center of the audience; he has also provided some pounding original music that adds to the driving pace.

Some have complained about the textual trims; others have insisted that the actors have been encouraged to run about and shout to an excessive degree. I beg to differ; this is a production that capitalizes on Ibsen's scalding conclusions -- most notably Thomas' observation that "the most dangerous public enemy is the majority, the liberal-minded majority" -- presenting them in a way that honors the conventions of the well-made play. The most shocking thing about An Enemy of the People is how much Ibsen's observations retain their original sting. See it before Election Day, and weep.-- David Barbour