NEW YORK—When a particular undergrad student confronts her professor, the outcome is entirely unexpected—that is, when David Mamet creates the situation, as he does in “Oleanna,” written in 1992, but not produced on Broadway until this season.
A vulnerable young woman, Carol (Julia Stiles), visits her professor, John (Bill Pullman), in his office, seeking to clarify the course he is teaching. She is nearly distraught. She doesn’t understand the course, doesn’t understand what he is saying, doesn’t understand why the other students seem to understand, while she doesn’t.
She mustn’t fail the course, but feels she is failing. She begs for John’s help.
John, struck by her vulnerability, wants to help. But his telephone keeps ringing. He is in the throes of buying a house; there are crucial last-minute details that must be dealt with; he should be present to close the deal.
But he can’t be in two places at once. And this needy student is fighting for survival.
He puts off the various people who phone him, including his wife, the never-seen Grace.
But John feels he can handle everything: the student, his wife, the house.
And the house represents something important. It is tangible evidence that he is about to be granted tenure at the university. It is all going to happen for him—his most desired, his most intense dreams. His son will go to private school. His wife will be ecstatic. John will be forever secure in his professional life.
However, the repeated phone calls imply that John should take his personal needs a bit more seriously. Is he possibly jeopardizing his future?
Is he arrogant? Perhaps there is that. But more importantly, it comes out that he too had felt inadequate in the past. He too had felt stupid. He too had felt he was failing.
In short, he informs Carol, they are very much alike. She reminds him of himself.
Carol needn’t worry about her grade. He has the power to make everything all right for her.
Power.
Power is the operative word here. What is interesting is that the naïve-seeming Carol knows that better than does John.
The play is divided into three scenes, presented without interruption. As the situation progresses, the pair’s positions decidedly change.
Carol represents not only herself, but her Group. Political correctness is so important. Why doesn’t John see that? So why does John say and do such stupid things?
Their power play lasts but 80 minutes onstage. It never fails to be gripping.
Doug Hughes’s direction is impeccable, bringing out the subtleties in Mamet’s script and enabling both actors to shine. Julia Stiles’s Carol projects an innocence that masks a subtext that is almost sinister. But Carol is right. Isn’t she?
For actor Bill Pullman, the role of John is a tour de force. His mood changes, his unexpected new realizations, impel the character into unforeseen dimensions. Pullman’s handling of the repeated telephone calls is masterly.
Although John never changes his suit, costume designer Catherine Zuber has selected for Carol, for each of the three scenes, a different outfit, each drearier than the last. These outfits are fascinating in that they both mask and imply Carol’s underlying sexuality and intensity. They make Carol seem dangerous in her drabness.
Neil Patel’s comfortable set represents an appropriate office for a university professor, with the university’s outdoors briefly and tantalizingly displayed upstage during one of the scene changes. Donald Holder’s lighting must be given credit, as it is unobtrusive and right. A fight, directed by Rick Sordelet, though of short duration, is highly effective.
“Oleanna” offers a taut evening in the theater, keeping the audience on its intellectual and emotional toes. As an additional treat, talk-backs with theatrical and legal experts follow each performance.
Oleanna
The Golden Theatre
252 West 45th Street
Tickets: 212-239-6200
Running time: 1 hour, 20 minutes with no intermission
Closes: Open-ended
Diana Barth writes and publishes “New Millennium,” an arts newsletter. For information: diabarth@juno.com. She also contributes to TotalTheater.com.
