Theatre in Review: Red Dog Howls (New York Theatre Workshop)

	Florencia Lozano and Alredo Narciso. Photo: Joan Marcus.

Red Dog Howls climaxes with a speech so horrifying that a deathly silence prevails at New York Theatre Workshop. (At the performance I attended, the only sound came from the woman in my row who sobbed uncontrollably throughout it.) Kathleen Chalfant is Rose Alfratian, an elderly survivor of the Armenian genocide, who, for reasons of her own, finally chooses to bear witness to her youthful encounter with a gang of vicious Turkish soldiers. The details of the event won't be revealed here, but they involve a breathtaking act of savagery, an evil so absolute that it has stained Rose's life for seven decades. Chalfant's delivery of the speech -- her posture erect, her voice clinically precise, her eyes staring into an abyss only she can see -- guarantees that no one will be able to look away, no matter what.

If the rest of Red Dog Howls were on the same level it would be one of the most remarkable plays of the year. Sadly, the rest of Alexander Dinelaris' script is a flat and awkwardly assembled affair, a flawed setting for a dark jewel. Michael Kiriakos, a young novelist of Greek descent, is making preparations for the funeral of his beloved father when he discovers a strange legacy -- a box of nine letters, all but one of them unopened, accompanied by instructions that they be burned. Taking note of the return address, he tracks their author down in her Washington Heights apartment. The letters were written by Rose, who informs him that he isn't Greek at all; he is Armenian, she is his grandmother, and the man he knew as his grandfather was not a blood relation.

After that, Michael is a daily visitor to Rose's apartment, where she fills him with Armenian food while parceling out family secrets slowly and deliberately. These scenes are filled with odd hints of magical realism. Rose is 91, but looks 30 years younger -- the year is 1987 -- and she is strong enough to beat Michael in an arm-wrestling match. Rose's cooking -- plus a gym regimen -- has a transformative effect on Michael's health and vitality. Also, Rose has a preternatural knowledge of Michael's home life and the health of his pregnant wife, Gabriella.

It turns out that Rose is building up Michael's stamina for her big confession, which is followed by a desperate request that, she says, will break the curse upon the family. (She is, apparently, referring to the fact that both Michael's father and grandfather were deserted by their wives; it's also true that things are not looking so good for Michael and Gabriella.) That the finale comes off as clanky and melodramatic has to do with the fact that Red Dog Howls is a monologue in search of a fully realized play. As written, Michael is little more than a vessel to receive information from Rose. Aside from the most minimal details -- he was close to his father and has difficulty opening up to Gabriella -- we know practically nothing about him. His revelatory encounters with Rose should be deeply destabilizing, causing him to question his past and family relationships, but instead we get blandly affirmative comments. ("And as soon as I entered that apartment and the colors and smells assaulted my senses, I was home.") Too often, Dinelaris prefers to tell rather than show: Michael, reading up on the Armenian genocide, describes his shock at the appalling violence and inhumanity, but his speech is a statement of fact rather than a vividly realized account of his mounting horror. It is followed by an embarrassingly mundane scene in which Gabriella is furious because he stayed late at the library and their dinner is cold. Gabriella, by the way, is an early nominee for the most thankless role of the year. She's like the wife in a bad Hollywood action movie, complaining that Michael never has any time for her; worse, she is made to spend the last third of the play in a hospital bed upstage, in semi-darkness.

Under Ken Rus Schmoll's generally well-paced direction, the performances are as good as the script allows. Chalfant's Rose is a tower of stoicism and a compelling figure of mystery who commands the stage in every scene; she even has a number of bluntly amusing moments. (She misconstrues a comment by Michael, who, by way of explanation, says, "It was a joke." "Was it funny?" she asks, earning a laugh that also tells you something about her character.) If the script fails to indicate in any way how she has lived her life in the intervening years, it's not her fault. As Michael, Alfredo Narciso is as good as anyone has a right to expect, taking us into his confidence and suggesting how shaken he is by Rose's revelations. Florencia Lozano deserves extra compensation for doing as well as she does with the dreary role of Gabriella; let's hope New York Theatre Workshop rewards her with a part that is worthy of her skill.

Marsha Ginsberg's set design makes intriguing use of the breadth and depth of the NYTW stage, creating two very different homes with only simple arrangements of furniture and different wall treatments. It has one major drawback, however; when the action shifts to a hospital, a lengthy, in-the-dark scene change is required, which interrupts the production's otherwise seamless flow. Tyler Micoleau's lighting is a fine example of how, working inside a narrow palette of white and color-temperature looks, a designer can create a broad series of looks and moods. David C. Woolard's costumes and Jane Shaw's sound design are both fine.

While Red Dog Howls is a work of obvious sincerity, its problematic execution leaves the unfortunate impression that historical materials of the highest importance are being treated in exploitative manner. This subject requires only the most skillful treatment; Red Dog Howls, despite moments of undeniable power, in the end won't do.--David Barbour