Stage Sure

Does he have any sympathy for this lost soul? “Yes, of course. But I have difficulty accepting his arrogance and his unwillingness to face the truth of what he’s done. When I read Saul Wachtler’s prologue to his book about prison life, I was astonished at how much he blames everything on his bi-polar disorder and the thousands of uppers and downers that he was taking at the time. Yes, he apologizes, but it’s always about something else, never him. That’s the part that I found useful. In my mind when Garvey is listening to these accusations, he’s merely reflecting on what this strange person did under the influence of medications. It doesn’t really connect with who he is.”

For Nussbaum, Garvey’s detachment from his self is curiously not contemporary: “One of the most uncomfortable sides about modern life is how obsessively we examine our insights into our condition. We contemplate our navels so much. But in his refusal to have any sense of what he did and why he did it, Garvey is a lovely throwback. Bruce has written such a difficult acting role, replete with all these levels of complexity. It’s just a matter of saying the words to make the point.”

But the part has pitfalls: “Early in the rehearsals I made the man much more entertaining than he should have been. Anna Shapiro told me that you simply have to tell the facts and let them speak for themselves: ‘Just remember that Garvey considers himself superior in intellect and achievement to everyone around him.’ It was valuable advice and, moreover, it was a pleasure to work with a young person and not feel a multi-generation gap. I went by her feelings about what the play is about.”

So how lonely is this ex-judge? “Very. Like the Unabomber, he has this rigid self-view that has permitted no outside influences to alter his processes. You’ve got to play him as strictly as he’s written. Over the years I’ve learned not to intellectualize a part but to trust it through instinct. As Mamet argues, just say the words. Bruce Norris has written a powerful play, all the more so because he’s comparatively young.”

Is Garvey’s fall as tragic as, say, that of Oedipus? “I think so. It conforms to all the definitions of a great man falling into an abyss. Even he must have recognized the difference between where he started and where he fell to. At one point he says that it troubles him that his colleagues are treating the stalking like a pornographic cartoon but that’s the extent of his regret.” Like Oedipus, Garvey achieves a kind of final dignity, argues Nussbaum: “The ending of the play, where he decides in effect to restage his fantasy, is in a weird way life-affirming. He’s saying that maybe it really was a magnificent gesture.”

But for most audience members the gesture is just one more act of hubris. This is no easier to see than to perform it. “I’m astonished at the audience reaction. Some people wish for an intermission because it is so difficult to take it all in one sitting.”