Theatre in Review: The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time (Ethel Barrymore Theatre)

	Ian Barford, Alex Sharp. Photo: Joan Marcus

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time sets out to do what the theatre has no business doing, and does it brilliantly. Theatre is, by its very nature, omniscient; yes, many plays feature narrators with their own agendas, and of course we are always subject to the playwright's point of view. But only a few dramas -- Arthur Kopit's Wings is a rare example -- allow us to perceive the world in an entirely different way. But thanks to Simon Stephens' skillful adaptation of Mark Haddon's international bestseller, aided by Marianne Elliott's stunningly imaginative direction and the work of an unusually resourceful design team, we enter into the mind of an adolescent boy who struggles with autism.

The boy is Christopher, aged 15, who lives with Ed, his father, in the smallish English city of Swindon. The very first thing we see is a dog, run through with a pitchfork. The animal belonged to a neighbor, and Christopher, determined to exact justice, vows to find the killer.

This will prove to be a tall order, for Christopher functions in the world only with enormous, round-the-clock support. On the one hand, he is a math genius, capable of working out almost any calculation in his head. And he has a very precise memory; it is fair to say that he forgets nothing. But he also has an astonishingly literal mind; simple metaphors such as "apple of one's eye" leave him irritated and confused. He cannot bear certain colors, including yellow and brown, which is one reason for his highly limited diet. He cannot use toilets that have been used by others and cannot enter the homes of strangers. He sees omens in, for example, the number of red cars he passes while riding the bus to school. Anything related to complicated and/or contradictory emotions makes no sense to him. And he cannot be touched. If any of these rules are broken, he falls to the floor and howls like an animal.

The main achievement of Elliott's production is to create a theatrical language that can express Christopher's uniquely skewed view of the world. In Bunny Christie's set design, all three walls and the stage deck are made to look like the kind of graph paper on which one works out geometrical problems. These function as surfaces for Finn Ross' projections, which include Christopher's chalk drawings, calculations, maps of England, and an overhead view of the Willesden section of London. Embedded in the walls are LED units -- part of Paule Constable's lighting design -- which help to form schematics of Christopher's favorite constellations.

These design elements are deployed most imaginatively when Christopher wrestles with the outside world. When he reels from information that is too upsetting for him to process, the walls are covered with numbers flying around like asteroids. (He often calms himself by performing calculations.) When, running away from home, he finds himself in London's Paddington station, the visual environment keeps shifting in frightening fashion, with signs looming ominously overhead and Ian Dickinson's sound effects adding to the sensory overload. In one especially thrilling bit of staging, Christopher enters into a Tube station where his pet rat escapes; following him, the boy jumps onto the track, here represented as a trough full of sinister uplighting, with an additional lighting cue signaling an oncoming train.

Christopher is in this dangerous position because, in the course of his investigation -- which the frazzled Ed has expressly forbidden -- he strikes up an acquaintance with a neighboring widow, who reveals a stunning secret that exposes a profound lie at the heart of his family's existence. There are more shockers to come, hidden in a box of letters secreted in Ed's bedroom. The information is sufficiently earth-shattering to send Christopher on his risky adventure, acting independently for the first time in his life. This rash decision throws into jeopardy his long-held goal of taking the A Level exams, three years early, a project meant to prove that is more than just a clinical case.

The challenge of playing Christopher without falling into caricature is enormous, especially since one can work with only a few repetitive mannerisms. Alex Sharp manages to find remarkable emotional shadings in the boy's oddly halting way of speaking, as well as in his herky-jerky mannerisms and weirdly aloof manner. Sharp makes the most of the play's sideways method of revealing Christopher's feelings; for example, during the sequence when, overwhelmed with unwanted information about his parents, he focuses fiercely on building a toy village, complete with train. (That his rage is unexpressed makes it all the more palpable.) You also feel his terror when he is physically touched or made to undergo an unwanted experience. And he positively radiates with joy when given the opportunity to explain his favorite theorem, despite being cautioned that no one else is likely to find it nearly as interesting.

There is also exceptionally fine work from Ian Barford as Ed, who, at the end of his rope, unleashes his fury on Christopher and must struggle to win back his trust; Francesca Faridany as Siobhan, the gentle, acutely understanding teacher who also acts as narrator, reading from Christopher's account; Enid Graham as Christopher's mother, especially in a heartbreaking monologue baring her inability to care for her demanding son; Helen Carey as the widow who unwittingly shatters Christopher's world; and Mercedes Herrero and Richard Hollis as the dog's owners, each of whom has a destabilizing role to play in Christopher's existence.

In addition to the fine design work mentioned above, Constable's lighting constantly reshapes the space, creating pathways for Christopher to walk as he struggles to make sense of chaotic London. (One of the most striking moments features the boy inside a small block of light, growing increasingly tense as three adults, in darkness, furiously argue about his fate.) Christie's costume designs cover a broad range of characters and allow for rapid changes for those members of the ensemble who have as many as six different speaking roles. Dickinson's sound design also includes a variety of effective musical cues. (The sophisticated linkage of lighting, sound, and video is at times breathtaking.) Scenes of movement, choreographed by Scott Graham, of the group Frantic Assembly, and Steven Hoggett, featuring the ensemble, add to the sense of danger and chaos when Christopher finds himself in unfamiliar environments.

And even though The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is at times deeply moving -- a scene with Christopher and a living dog produced audible tears all around me -- there is no sentimentality about Christopher and his plight. It is clear that caring for him exacts a terrible price from those who love him. Yet when Siobhan gets teary over one of the boy's accomplishments, he merely glares at her in irritation. And in the play's final moments, he foresees his future, which may include university and a career as a scientist; he asserts that he can do anything. "Can't I?" he asks Siobhan. "Can't I?" Sadly, no answer is forthcoming; this is one mystery in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time that must remain unsolved.--David Barbour