Maybe it’s the mellowing that comes with age, maybe it’s the humaneness of Anton Chekhov rubbing off on him, or maybe it’s just the worldview that seemed right for this particular play. Whatever got into Christopher Durang in writing his latest comedy, Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike, it’s a wonderful tonic that has allowed him to create what may be the most joyful and satisfying work of his career. Sure, for years, Durang has left us dazzled with transgressive gags and dark undercurrents in everything from Sister Mary Ignatius Explains it All for You to the disturbing satire of Sex and Longing. But I never recall exiting a Durang play feeling so buoyant and open-hearted as I did upon experiencing VaSaMaS,which recently transferred from its premiere at New Jersey’s McCarter Theater and off-Broadway staging at Lincoln Center’s Mitzi Newhouse to a limited run at Broadway’s John Golden Theater.
Knowledge of Uncle Vanya is not a requirement to follow and enjoy the familial tangles on view in Durang’s play. In fact, the show’s weakest, most obvious jokes trade on tropes from Chekhov’s canon, as when sister Sonia gripes, “I’m a turkey!” (as opposed, we are to infer, to a rather more elegant seabird). So leave your translated anthologies at the door and instead settle in with siblings Vanya and Sonia (David Hyde Pierce and Kristine Nielsen), who share the house their parents bequeathed them but whose bills are paid by their sister, Masha (longstanding Durangian, Sigourney Weaver), a successful film actress.
The premise is that Masha’s in town for a swellegant local party where she can show off her latest boytoy, Spike (Billy Magnussen). The crisis – predicted by the family’s psychic maid (Shalita Grant) – is that Masha, now aging and not getting the roles she used to, wants to sell the home, thus evicting her siblings who have nothing else in their lives but this charming house and its grounds.
Much of the comedy in act one stems from Masha’s incredible ego – one that is lessened not one iota by her being self-aware of it – with zaniness added by Spike, whose ridiculously buff body is a sightgag unto itself. (Billy Magnussen’s efforts at filling this already funny character with energetic goofiness should not be underestimated come award-nomination time.)
Act two, however, is where the true comic gold lies. This is not one of those comedies that hinge on tragedy until a happy ending reverses fate in the last five minutes. Durang gives us long, wonderful stretches to revel in Vanya and Sonia finding measures of joy, the former in an unexpected phone call that is both hilarious and touching (look for this monologue, which Nielsen plays exquisitely, to be a staple of acting classes for years to come), and the latter in a rant about nostalgia that reminds us why Hyde Pierce is a treasure of the modern stage.
Chekhov’s plays often caution against society’s encroachment upon nature. A hundred years later, look no further for proof of global warming than Christopher Durang; his latest is suffused with a glow that’s almost nuclear in its capability to melt. And shine.
