Theatre in Review: Proof (Booth Theatre)

	Ayo Edebiri. Photo. Matthew Murphy

We've had so many star vehicles, especially revivals of familiar works, go awry in recent seasons, but here's one that blessedly exudes a sense of competence. David Auburn's drama -- a smash hit logging 917 performances in the days when straight plays still enjoyed long runs -- has always been an odd duck, not quite a psychological thriller yet falling short as a penetrating family drama. But Proof is also a deluxe vehicle for the right leading lady and, with sensitive handling, its sharp dialogue and twisty plot can make for an entertaining evening. So it is with Thomas Kail's smooth staging, which marks the Broadway (and, as far as one can tell, theatrical) debut of Ayo Edebiri.

Edebiri is Catherine, a gifted, possibly brilliant, young woman, maneuvered by life into a dead end of depression. A quiet, contained sort, accomplished at withholding, she spars nimbly with a trio of interlopers who want to get out of her decaying Chicago house and on track toward some sort of fruitful future: her father, Robert, who urges her to celebrate her birthday with friends; her bossy, concerned sister, Claire, with plans to spirit her away to a fresh life in New York City; and Hal, a graduate student, who, having harbored a crush for years, would like a date, and have access to Robert's papers. Employing the flat, Midwestern delivery, no doubt perfected for the series The Bear, Edebiri sees to it that Catherine nimbly fends off these would-be well-wishers. Every word carries a load of subtext: Don't get excited. Don't expect much. Don't get ahead of yourself.

At first glance, it is almost the setup for a romantic comedy, but Auburn quickly adds darker complications. Robert, a mathematician who once rewrote the rules of his profession with his groundbreaking findings, is dead, his final years spent mired in mental illness; he lives on only in Catherine's imagination. Claire, painfully aware that Catherine was for too long holed up with Robert, nursing him in increasingly squalid circumstances, wants to seize control of Catherine's life, cheerily (and dishonestly) denying that she fears for her sister's mental health. And Hal, who has been going through Robert's largely nonsensical later writings, looking for any undiscovered gems, discovers a proof so original that it is certain to cause a global sensation. But who wrote it?

Edebiri, who comfortably remains at center stage for most of the play's running time, makes Catherine intriguingly evasive yet utterly implacable, a mystery for others to solve if they can. She deftly skirts the subtle nudging of Don Cheadle's Robert, who freely admits to being a phantom yet can't stop handing out advice. (The play gives little insight into Robert's madness, but Cheadle neatly handles a lengthy speech, during a flashback, that begins as a casual conversation with Catherine and Hal and ends with us nervously wondering if he is headed for a breakdown.) Notably, Edebiri holds her own opposite Kara Young, a world-class scene stealer, as Claire, a take-charge type, both genuinely worried about and a tad jealous of Catherine. (Kail provides amusing bits of business -- Claire "casually" waving her engagement ring in Catherine's face, and, later, angling for a spot on a couch next to her unaccommodating sister -- that speak volumes about their rivalry). Catherine's possibly romantic relationship with Hal carries overtones of The Aspern Papers, especially after the proof is discovered, and Jin Ha smartly keeps us guessing about his character's intentions, especially after he is caught in a lie.

So assured, on a line-by-line basis, is Auburn's writing, and so accomplished is the cast and direction that you might not notice until after the final curtain that Proof could stand a good peer review. The play's superficial treatment of mental illness, especially Robert's dramatically convenient period of lucidity, is entirely in the service of the plot. Claire's unilateral decision to sell the family house out from under Catherine makes little sense: Did Robert cut Catherine out of his will? For all her cutting intelligence, Catherine, who has an interrupted college career, no work experience, and no income, ought to be thinking hard about where her next meal is coming from.

Also, a lengthy passage discussing the eighteenth-century French autodidact Sophie Germain, who stunned the all-male mathematician world with her genius, is meant to draw a parallel with Catherine. But Germain read and studied widely for years; the script is silent on Catherine's education, which shows no evidence of Germain's intensive application. Then again, Proof isn't really a play about math; Hal could discover nuclear secrets or the perfect recipe for quiche among Robert's writings, and the effect would be the same.

Still, when staged with actors playing it for real, Proof is surprisingly absorbing. Edebiri is especially touching in Act II, when Catherine, disbelieved by both Claire and Hal, finds herself suddenly, frighteningly alone. Kail stages an amusing and illuminating bit with Hal, seated between Catherine and Robert, following their barbed exchanges like a tennis fan at an especially lively match. Young adds piquant notes of sorrow when Claire quietly admits, "I probably inherited about one-one thousandth of my father's ability. It's enough. Catherine got more, I'm not sure how much." The last part of that comment leaves open the possibility that Catherine might be as dazzling and doomed as their father.

The production benefits from Teresa L. Williams' set, featuring the exterior of Catherine's house, which, when backlit by Amanda Zieve, reveals the staircase inside. The structure is lined in LED tape, facilitating a series of striking looks during scenic transitions. Dede Ayite's costumes reveal much about the characters: Note Catherine's baggy sweaters and pants versus Claire's sleek, all-black looks. (Also, take note of Catherine's transformed appearance when forced into a dress for Robert's funeral.) The sound design, by Justin Ellington and Connor Wang, provides a multitude of subtly rendered ambient effects -- traffic noises, a rock band, party voices, birdsong -- as well as discreet amplification for the actors and Kris Bowers' original incidental music.

Whatever its weaknesses, Proof towers over most of the maladroit star vehicles Broadway has seen recently. If not a first-rate play, it remains surprisingly stageworthy. And there's something memorable about the sight of Edebiri, huddled against the cold, haunted by the past, and unable to imagine a way forward. She's a fortress, waiting to be scaled. --David Barbour