How the trio answers those banal questions as hostages of a Shiite militia group in Beirut entails personal courage, the search for meaning, individual intelligence, wit and love, and it forms the substance of one of the most stimulating new American plays. The fact that Frank McGuinness's story is based on actual events makes it that much more involving.
Chained to the floor in a basement cloaked in semi-darkness, an American doctor, an Irish journalist and a British professor endure years of intense suffering and degrading filth, never knowing when freedom--or death--will come. We are told of beatings that the men suffer, but we never see them. Though the men are seldom manhandled, McGuinness makes it clear that pain comes in many forms and that boredom is hell, indeed.
All the three have to occupy their minds is a Bible, a copy of the Koran and each other. Deprived of such ordinary pleasures as color, fresh air and natural sounds, the three men are constantly in danger of losing heart and, finally, sanity. They also tend to grow sick of each other's company and to take out their anguish on the guy on the next pallet. Preserving their companionship and compassion becomes a tremendous challenge.
The American doctor, a black man with a history of overcoming adversity, keeps his body in shape and his mind sharp. Adam has a passion for life and a profoundly spiritual nature--and his life, therefore, is most in danger. Journalist Edward's vast Irish wit and alternately cynical and hopeful intelligence stir up most of the conflict here, as well as most of the laughter. The old professor, Michael, is a kindly old pedant with the soul of a poet. The stories he relates from English epics and mythology inspire as they entertain. Each of the characters has something strong and beautiful to contribute to the others, and even the men's weaknesses provide them an opportunity to nurture and refresh each other.
McGuinness's prisoners regale each other with bawdy stories and rousing songs, make up movies together and write letters (aloud, without benefit of paper) home to their loved ones. They read to each other, seethe with indignation, burn with desire for home, despise their captors and rail against their childish cruelties. But in the end, each knows himself and loves the others.
Director Anthony Powell had two big problems: how to make a play about boredom exciting and how to make three figures chained to the floor in a gray room visually interesting. Bill Curley's excellent set solves some of the visual issues. Large shards of "glass" hang over the prisoners as a constant visual threat. The stage is surrounded by a steel moat with a metal staircase that swings up and down with a grating clang. And the stage in the Space Theater revolves, providing views of claustrophobic men without creating claustrophobia in the viewer. Nice trick.
And to Powell's credit, he gives us two hours and forty minutes of theater in which there is truly never a dull moment. The actors' physical movement is highly restricted as they do pushups, lie down, crawl and reach toward each other in their own tight spaces. All the action here has to emanate from their words, emotions and intellects, and the performances are fabulous.
Harvy Blanks creates an aura of dignity and anguish as Adam--an object of admiration and love, he helps the others survive. Tim DeKay as the caustic Irish hero is a delight from first to last--funny, sensitive and smart. The tiers of his suffering are so palpable you get lost in them. And Tony Church's Michael seems so fragile at first--and so powerful at last.
McGuinness's characters perfectly embody his viewpoint, a kind of transcendent spirituality reflected in the innate spirit these men manifest. He has given us three unforgettable human beings who, despite their weakness and fear, cling to those worthy qualities that are the best comfort in misery.
