Amy Herzog’s play Mary Jane demands that we slow down, take in the drama of the day-to-day. Opening with Mary Jane--the movie star Rachel McAdams as Everywoman--in the kitchen of her Queens apartment with the super, Ruthie (Brenda Wehle) clearing a stubborn pipe. Their conversation, the stuff of existence starts with the body, how trauma is stored in our cells. The familiar banalities that affirm life also make existence tedious. Mary Jane has removed the child protective bars from her windows as baby Alex, known only by the beeps of his life support. will not be wandering anywhere near a dangerous opening. So, this no-no follows the caring logic of a devoted mother. Ruthie, bending the rules, has to pretend not to notice.
As Mary Jane moves toward the bedroom to check on her son, sometimes a little easy-going skip to the door is reminiscent of McAdams’ character in WEDDING CRASHERS. The swagger of her MEAN GIRLS Regina George is far away. As Mary Jane in a Broadway debut, McAdams breathes through the difficulties of caring for an ill child, politely thanking everyone for their help. Even Kat (Lily Santiago), the music therapist who comes to the hospital when Alex lands in emergency pediatric care. Too little too late, Kat sings “The lion sleeps tonight,” and Mary Jane loses it till the song becomes “Bluebird, bluebird, through my window.” Triggers are kept at bay.
You get used to the rhythms of this all-woman production directed by Anne Kauffman. All actors do double duty --except for McAdams who is onstage for all of its 90 minutes. A Buddhist priest, Tenkei (Brenda Wehle again) ministers to Mary Jane, who answers “?” to the hospital’s question about faith. Slipping on white scrubs over her jeans, Mary Jane listens. A spotlight illuminates her.
All of this is personal: Herzog and Broadway director Sam Gold (who’ve collaborated on the current production of “An Enemy of the People” just up the street) lost their eldest daughter — born in 2012 with a rare muscular disorder, nemaline myopathy — last July at the age of 11. Knowing this makes “Mary Jane” even more profound.
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