Theatre in Review: The Daughter-in-Law (Mint Theatre Company/City Center Stage II)

	Tom Coiner and Amy Blackman. Photo: Maria Baranova

Looking for dramatic fireworks? There are plenty of explosions emanating from City Center Stage II these nights, as The Daughter-in-Law builds to its blistering climax. One rarely thinks of D. H. Lawrence as a playwright, for good reason; compared to his prodigious output of novels and short stories, his theatrical work was minimal and little-noted. The Daughter-in-Law, written in 1913, wasn't produced until 1967. Yet Lawrence knew how to arrange fiery confrontations that leave no one unscathed, and his insights are as unyielding and adamantine as the coal mined in the Northern England town where the play takes place. Martin Platt's production begins on a relatively quiet note but hang on for some real shockers, including at least one moment that sends gasps rippling through the audience.

The plot of The Daughter-in-Law turns on the decisions of two exceptionally complicated women. First up is Mrs. Gascoyne, an embittered widow who keeps her two sons in a viselike grip. "Marriage is like a mouse trap, for either man or woman -- you've soon come ter th' end o' th' cheese," she notes with a perverse satisfaction. (The play is written in a North Country dialect, which requires one to listen closely; it's worth it.) By way of illustration, her son Luther is newly married to Minnie, whose polished manners and taste for nice things, acquired while in service in Manchester, make her a local object of scorn. Dismissing Minnie as "hoity-toity," Mrs. Gascoyne adds, in a controlled fury, "Let her make him as good a wife as I made him a mother! Well -- we'll see! You'll see him repent the day." Then comes the news that Luther, in a moment of estrangement from Minnie, has impregnated another woman. Mrs. Gascoyne counsels Mrs. Purdy, the unfortunate young lady's mother, to approach Luther in Minnie's presence, adding, "Let her have it. It'll do her good."

These imprecations, and more, are delivered by Sandra Shipley with beady eyes and a lip-licking satisfaction at the suffering of others. Never overplaying Mrs. Gascoyne's blood-curdling qualities, Shipley creates a character who, despite her low station and unprepossessing appearance, is not to be crossed. But she is no mere gorgon: later, when Luther and Minnie's marriage appears to be in ruins, and ugly truths -- the sort that can't be taken back -- have been uttered, she sits at her kitchen table, surveying the wreckage and sadly noting, "For when a woman builds her life on men, either husband or sons, she builds on summat as sooner or later brings the house down crash on her head." Shipley is always a pleasure to encounter and this is her best role in years.

Mrs. Gascoyne meets her match in Amy Blackman's Minnie, as does Luther, a rough-hewn man-boy who bristles under his wife's domestic restrictions. Dinnertime is a series of skirmishes: Will Luther clean at least a few layers of coal dust off before sitting down? (No, but he will spread a newspaper on the sofa before sitting on it.) Will Minnie maneuver Luther into not eating until she takes her place at the table? (She aces that one.) There's flirtation in the air, with an underlying tension, and when Mrs. Purdy's dire news comes out, the fragile marriage is blown sky-high. Blackman approaches Tom Coiner's Luther like a puzzle in urgent need of solving, asking in wonderment "Did you never care for me?" Arriving at a grim conclusion, she counters his menacing manner with cruel words, saying, "I'd rather have married a tramp off the streets than you." She adds what, to Lawrence, might be the ultimate insult: "I don't believe you can have children."

As it happens, this is only the opening foray in a lengthier battle, the features of which include the fate of Minnie's nest egg, which may or may not be used to pay off Mrs. Purdy; Minnie's unexpected absence; a surprise art investment; and a family council that ends in a brutal act of destruction. As if this volatile mix of class, money, and sexual politics isn't enough to roil the characters, there's a miner's strike looming in the background, providing an additional threat of violence.

It's a tinderbox, and if Lawrence's construction may be a bit deliberate for some modern tastes, the payoff is stunning. Shipley, a prophetess of doom in a ratty wool shawl, and Blackman, swatting a man with a broken arm exactly where it hurts most, are formidable, but so is Coiner, whether falling off the sofa in sheer drunkenness or wiping away his family's financial security with a single savage gesture. Equally mordant contributions are made by Ciaran Bowling as the younger, even more immature Gascoyne son and Polly McKie as Mrs. Purdy, her face curling in disgust as she survey's Minnie's fine furnishings. ("Very nice an' natty," she says, in icy tones.)

The set designer, Bill Clarke, doesn't entirely master the three-sided playing space in City Center Stage II; the first scene, set in the Gascoynes' kitchen, unfolds at far stage left, leaving an awful lot of empty space; also, the actors must constantly change seats around the table to be seen when speaking. But the rest of the play unfolds in Minnie and Luther's home, which is just right; the upstage streetscape adds an appropriately grim note. Holly Poe Durbin's costumes provide Minnie with a style that stands out from the rest; her sleekly tailored gray overcoat is a knockout. Jeff Nellis' lighting includes a telling moment of Minnie, framed, pensively, in moonlight. Lindsay's Jones' original music and sound design includes the sound of pickaxes hitting coal.

If Lawrence brings Minnie and Luther at last to an honest moment of affection, the damage incurred along the way is considerable. Life is hard in a colliery town and even tenderness comes at a considerable cost. Many issues remain unresolved and there is unrest in the streets, but these troubled lovers have earned every scrap of joy that can get. --David Barbour