Theatre in Review: Sweet and Sad (Anspacher Theatre/The Public Theater)

	Maryann Plunkett, J. Smith-Cameron (standing), Shuler Hensley, Jon DeVries, and Laila Robins. Photo: Joan Marcus

Sweet and Sad begins with the off-stage strains of liturgical music; later, bells will toll the melody of "Onward, Christian Soldiers." Both are lovely, but they can't compete with the eloquent verbal chamber music of Richard Nelson's dialogue. A sequel to last season's That Hopey Changey Thing, Sweet and Sad is meant to be an up-to-the-minute report on the state of the American electorate, or, at least, that part of it located in the Northeast, which has always subscribed to classic liberal values. But what one takes away from the experience at the Anspacher is Nelson's supple, subtly rendered portrait of well-educated, well-intentioned boomers who are beginning to see how much their lives have been shaped by loss.

Since getting together on the day of the 2010 election, the members of the Apple family, of Rhinebeck and Manhattan, have seen a number of changes. Marian's marriage has failed, following a terrible tragedy not to be named here, and she has moved in with her sister, Barbara. Together, they care for their uncle, Benjamin, a retired actor whose mind is going. (It's not clear what Marian and Barbara, who are both schoolteachers, do with Benjamin during the day, given his occasional tendency to wander off and get lost.) Richard, brother to Marian and Barbara, has thrown over his job in the state attorney general's office for a lucrative position on Wall Street. Jane, the youngest sibling, is still looking for someone to publish her book on American manners; she has broken up, and been reunited, with Tim, an actor who is facing a big decision regarding his career.

The occasion this time is the tenth anniversary of the events of 9/11, and the group portrait that emerges more fully blends the personal and political than did That Hopey Changey Thing. As always, Nelson's ear for the way siblings talk to each other -- real love mixed with devastatingly cool appraisals -- is faultless. (At the buffet table, Marian says, "This is vegetarian, Jane, or are you done with that?", her voice delivering the withering, if unspoken, criticism to unmistakable effect.) Nelson is equally clear about the bargains each of them strikes in order to get along. "You shouldn't joke about your wife like that," Barbara remonstrates with Richard. "You shouldn't be laughing," he replies.

Even more notable is the way the ensemble, under Nelson's sharp-eyed direction, turns every moment into a tiny, crystalline revelation. It's there in the guarded, almost hostile look when J. Smith Cameron's Jane, in response to a sibling's query, insists that her adult son is doing fine. It's there when Laila Robins, as Marian, her nerves stretched tautly as piano wire, offers an animal cry of distress when Richard tries to mix into her messy divorce. And it's there in the multiple waves of worry, frustration, and anger that ripple across Maryann Plunkett's face as Barbara tries to protect Marian from the rest of the family.

There are many other quietly spellbinding moments as well -- including Shuler Hensley's Tim, presenting a vividly real ghost story about the Belasco Theatre, and Jon DeVries, as Benjamin, rousing himself from his private darkness to offer an acute and moving reading of Walt Whitman's "The Wound Dresser."

All of this is in service to a fully rounded depiction of a generation of men and women who once had everything to hope for -- for themselves and the world -- and now are stunned to find themselves living in an age of diminished expectations. Teachers, artists, civil servants, they are left behind in an America devoted entirely to the pursuit of cash and empty status. At the same time, the author's argument is refreshingly complex: Richard's job change continues to be the cause of much caustic comment, but he in turn has no use for the pieties of reflexive, uncritical liberalism -- most notably in a speech that startlingly compares the eerie similarities of voting patterns in New York City and Northern Texas.

And, by setting the action on September 11 of this year, Nelson dares to wonder if there isn't a trace of self-satisfaction in our annual mourning, if we haven't substituted the rituals of grief for honest reflection. Jay O. Sanders -- excellent, as always -- neatly captures, Richard's sudden stab of weariness over the entire business, his voice breaking with sadness as he asks, "Haven't we done enough? Can't we stop now?"

In addition to the cast, Sweet and Sad reunites the design team from That Hopey Changey Thing to provide the right production values for this script, including Susan Hilferty's simple set and character-appropriate clothes, Jennifer Tipton's unfussy lighting, and a sound design, by Scott Lehrer and Will Pickens, that discreetly supplies a multitude of effects.

It all adds up to an evening that is emotionally gripping and remarkably clear-eyed about the way we live now. Apparently, Nelson intends these Apple family plays -- there's another on the way -- as journalism, throwaway works written to speak to the present. But, as time capsules of this fraught moment in history, they may be far more enduring than he suspects.--David Barbour