By Daniel Reskin
By Hans Morgenstern
By George Martinez
By Pablo Chacon Alvarez
By Ciara LaVelle
By New Times Staff
By Rich Robinson
By Hannah Sentenac
It's not every day that a play about death resuscitates the English language. The word wit as a noun has all but vanished from the English language only to be replaced by the shallower derivative, the adjective witty -- a witty joke, a witty game show host, a witty comment at a cocktail party. Wit has not always meant humor. At one time the word encompassed both ingenuity and judgment. Aristotle distinguished wit as the inventive or imaginative faculty and in particular the ability to see similarity in disparities. Wit, then, is at the heart of paradox, the unfathomable union of radical contradictions.
It is this complex understanding of language that distinguishes Margaret Edson's Pulitzer Prize-winning play Wit,the story of Dr. Vivian Bearing (Barbara Sloan), a professor of seventeenth-century literature whose well-ordered world is shattered when she discovers that she is in the last stages of advanced metastatic ovarian cancer. New Theatre's new, fully renovated, and significantly larger space on Laguna Street in Coral Gables is as welcoming as it is intimate, and artistic director Rafael de Acha has christened the theater's new home with a wonderful piece of drama.
The harsh contradictions that form this play's foundation transform it from a heart-wrenching drama to a mind-bending philosophical journey. The audience is propelled further and further into a world of contradictions crueler by turns. As a literary scholar specializing in the holy sonnets of metaphysical poet John Donne, Bearing has spent her life cloaked in the world of language and scholarship only to find herself stripped down to a thin hospital gown and a bright red baseball cap that covers her bald head. Bearing has agreed to eight months of aggressive and experimental treatment headed by two researchers: doctors Harvey Kelekian (Wayne E. Robinson, Jr.) and Jason Posner (Paul Wong), who also is a former student of Bearing. As Western medicine meets poetry, the audience becomes increasingly aware that Bearing's life has more value at the molecular level than at the human one, as she sardonically declares, "What we've come to think of as me has become just a specimen jar." Once a distinguished scholar, she is now valued for her intake of fluids and output of feces. In one disturbing scene, de Acha illustrates this reduced state by having Sloan get out of bed and walk around while the medical staff huddles around her bed examining, poking, prodding, and hypothesizing. This visual display is a haunting reminder of modern medicine's objectification of her body and her dissociation from it.
Wit essentially is a one-woman show, an interchange between a dying woman and the audience. The intellectually dense and dramatic material demands nothing less than a virtuoso performance, and Sloan delivers this consistently throughout the play's nonstop, 90-minute running time. This role gives Sloan, a regular face in the South Florida theater scene, the opportunity to pull out all the stops, revealing an intensity and stamina that her roles in previous New Theatre productions such as Far Eastand The Book of Ruth didn't allow.
Wit's dramatic structure unfolds around a series of flashbacks, which Bearing narrates, speaking directly to the audience. In these episodes we review her life. As a student she chose the library stacks over companionship, and as a professor she was exigent and unsympathetic toward her students. Sometimes she refers to a crucial moment in her past: "Now through a series of flashbacks, you will see how the professor denied her students what she now seeks." The danger in these flashbacks is that they could easily become sentimental retreats, but de Acha presents them evenly, without turning them into moralistic digressions.
Besides giving dimension to Bearing's character, Wit's shifting dramatic perspective is an excellent vehicle for the play's rich use of humor and irony. "I used to be the one who did all the talking. Now I'm the poem. It's much easier; I just sit here and look cancerous," Bearing explains to the audience. The role of being both narrator and protagonist creates a surprising amount of humor in a text that is fundamentally serious, exemplified in Bearing's penchant for pontificating even when she is bedridden and being rolled around. It's as if her voice is engaged in a dialogue with the audience whereas her body is undergoing cancer treatment.
One of the most notable aspects of Sloan's performance is her use of voice. She paces herself, showing more restraint than drama in her delivery. A skillful soliloquist, she works brilliantly with spaces of silence, transforming them into labyrinths and, yes, torture chambers where we as an audience are forced to hang on her every word. Sometimes her voice fills the entire stage and becomes a more potent tool than the image of her failing body.
Playwright Edson's acumen and organic use of Donne's poetry is impressive from beginning to end, and de Acha directs Wit from the point of view of someone who appreciates exquisite language. He carefully tempers the level of the protagonist's intensity, letting the clever language and Sloan's own ingenuity sink in. It is as much a play about the life of the mind as it is a play about death, and this is the best way to get the most out of a primarily conceptual text that grapples with abstract questions.