Theatre in Review: The Fall to Earth (InProximity Theatre Company/59E59)The best thing about The Fall to Earth is the chance to catch up with Deborah Hedwall, an actress who doesn't turn up all that often. The loss is ours; she's responsible for two of the more unforgettable performances of my theatregoing life, as the devastatingly clear-eyed ex-lover of a famous painter in the original production of Donald Margulies' Sight Unseen, and as a desperate private-duty nurse in Paul Zindel's Amulets Against the Dragon Forces. I even have vivid memories of her in workshops at the Eugene O'Neill National Playwrights Conference in 1984; ask me what else I remember from that year. More recently, however -- really for the last two decades -- we haven't seen Hedwall much, largely because she's been busy in television and regional theatre, and running the M.F.A. acting program at Rutgers. The Fall to Earth, therefore, at least provides us with a refresher course in her remarkably natural way with dialogue, her astonishing ability to switch emotions in mid-sentence, and the nearly invisible trick she has of making herself the white-hot center of attention, when the script demands. The role Hedwall plays in The Fall to Earth draws so heavily on these skills that you have to wonder if Joel Drake Johnson, the playwright, wrote it with her in mind. She is cast as Fay, a middle-aged, motor-mouthed nut job, who checks into a motel somewhere in the West with Rachel, her long-suffering daughter. For the first ten minutes or so, you'd think she was on a holiday, as bounces on the bed, admires the local scenery, and plans to order room service. (She also indulges in some weirdly childish behavior, rummaging through Rachel's underwear and sniffing her bra.) There's definitely something off about her -- she acts as if she hasn't ever been in a motel room before, exploring such details as a pair of communicating doors with remarkable naivete. Johnson is pretty adept at establishing tension between mother and daughter. Rachel's discovery that the room contains only one bed sets off a small power struggle -- should they change rooms or not? -- that speaks volumes about her discomfort with Fay. He's also good at driving their conversation into dead ends that make clear how many topics are verboten between them. And he has a nice way with seemingly minor bits of business -- especially a small kerfuffle over photos of Rachel's son -- that reveal major family fault lines. But when it comes to the main event, The Fall to Earth falters. This is no holiday: Fay and Rachel have arrived to identify and claim the body of Kenny, the family's prodigal son, who has died under somewhat murky circumstances. We now see that Fay's odd, obstreperous behavior and wild mood swings are the products of grief, and the play becomes a series of carefully timed revelations -- about homosexuality, abuse, mental impairment -- that don't add up to a coherent picture of the family's history. A pair of encounters with the overly empathetic local policewoman assigned to Kenny's case pushes the action toward the kind of quirky comedy of heartbreak for which Beth Henley once earned so much acclaim. But Johnson pitches everything -- both comedy and drama -- at such a high level of intensity that nothing coheres. The Fall to Earth is, by turns, raucous, melodramatic, and maudlin. The director, Joe Brancato, seemingly doesn't try to calibrate the script's hairpin turns in mood, gambling that so many sudden dramatic outbursts in the middle of comedy -- and vice-versa -- will prove compelling. Hedwall doubles down on Fay's volatility, unleashing such a torrent of contradictory emotions that it's something of a relief when she is dispatched off stage for a few minutes. It's a nervy performance, and it displays all of her considerable technique, but, in the end, the character never makes much sense. Jolie Curtsinger's Rachel is a detailed study in steadily mounting exasperation, more effective when she's biting her tongue than when she's trying to match her mother shout for shout. As Terry, the overly empathetic policewoman, Amelia Campbell seems much too aware she is on hand to provide comic relief. The rest of the production is more serviceable than inspired. James J. Fenton's scenic design moves neatly from the motel room to the police station and back, but the black walls seem like an odd choice, and, in a play in which everyone keeps talking about the scenery, it's surprising that the upstage window opens onto a black void. Todd Wren's lighting, Patricia Doherty's costumes, and Sean Hagerty's sound design are all okay. In the end, The Fall to Earth is just another dreary dysfunctional family play, the sort of thing that seems to roll off the assembly line every 15 minutes in the American theatre. But at least it proves that Deborah Hedwall is alive and well and ready to work; can't somebody find her the role she deserves?--David Barbour 
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