Promotional material for "Harvey" unfailingly reminds us that Mary Chase's play about a man and his imaginary rabbit won the 1945 Pulitzer for drama, besting "A Glass Menagerie."
Tennessee Williams might roll over in his grave, but a case can be made that the Pulitzer jurors plumbed the deeper aspirations of this comedy of errors and found in Elwood P. Dowd an everyman whose story struck a universal chord. Chase proposed a protagonist who checked out of the clenched-fist rat race and sought comfort with a companion who counseled kindness and ease. Dowd's childlike naiveté feels timeless and necessary in the world's current chaos.
That saving grace does not get the full expression it should in Libby Appel's noisy production of "Harvey" that opened Friday on the Guthrie's thrust stage. Appel and her cast relish the broad comedy and caricatures, the dopey side trips and the false romances that reveal this dusty play as an often tiresome and dotty farce.
In the universe of this production, actor David Kelly's Dowd becomes one more of the knockabout pieces of dramatic furniture. He is a sly operator full of gawky charm and confidence, aware that he is smart enough to have tamed society's anxiety. Kelly is likable, for sure, as a raconteur, a cutie, an eager party guy.
This is a defensible interpretation, but what makes "Harvey" worth watching is the whimsical, light portrait of an innocent savant who is not so much smart as he is wise and guileless. Dowd is a strange and rare bird who has stumbled into something marvelous and, shedding ego and awareness, he offers himself to those who need his gift. Several moments are written specifically to illustrate these selfless and humane qualities, though they are not fully observed amid the mayhem.
Chase's dramatic premise has Veta Louise Simmons (Sally Wingert) choosing to commit her brother, Dowd, to a sanatorium to cure him of the delusion that he can see a six-foot invisible rabbit. Mistakes are made in the sanatorium commitment process, confusion results and the hijinks unspool from there.
Wingert, along with Steve Hendrickson as the psychiatrist, Dr. William Chumley, manage well to ground their big, comic performances within the reality of this chaotic universe. Sun Mee Chomet, on the other hand, in the thankless role of Veta's daughter Myrtle Mae Simmons, becomes an antic collection of gestures and poses. Ashley Rose Montondo injects some spirit into the role of a sanatorium nurse, but Ryan Shams, as a doctor and Montondo's partner in a superfluous flirtation, is lifeless.
As to the staging, it's understandable why the Guthrie would want the capacity of its largest room for a well-known title, and Friday's audience was buying most of the hilarity. However, immediately upon entering the theater, it struck us that William Bloodgood's set would make more sense on a proscenium. There are occasions when I can only imagine that folks on the side were missing a lot, with their distinctly different view than those of us fortunate to be looking head on. Xavier Pierce's lighting design has its "spotlight" moment — one that does, gladly, find the play's whimsy. To say more would crush that nice trick.
As a spoofy lark, perhaps the Guthrie's "Harvey" will fill the bill. The staging, though, feels like a missed opportunity to glimpse a unique character and marvel at his simplicity.
graydon.royce@star tribune.com • 612-673-7299 • Twitter: @graydonroyce
