Some productions bear down on you with a fierce, unblinking eye. Others feel so lifeless, you find yourself wishing they’d blink, just once, to indicate that they haven’t totally expired. Theophilus North, the latest from Arena Stage, possesses flashes of the former category’s power but large doses of the latter’s docility. A jaunty tale of light angst, the play is adapted from the novel of the same name by Thornton Wilder.
The story begins in the year 1926, and our hero is Theophilus, a 30-year-old schoolteacher who quits his job and takes to the road to write his destiny across the great cities of the world. Instead, he spends the next few months doing odd jobs in Newport, R.I., a fate he resigns to easily. After all, it gives him the opportunity to live at the Y and spend his days tutoring young girls and talking dirty to the repressed young men of the New England aristocracy. Strange as his hobbies may be, Theophilus is so square he doesn’t even have an inkling of his own creepiness. He’s all sparkle and strut, always ready with a kind word or an extra tennis lesson.
Matthew Floyd Miller plays an enthusiastic Theophilus, fresh-faced and full of a zest that practically leaps from the top of his neatly parted hair. His lanky body language and earnest grin all but smack you in the face with the simple appeal of his charm. While not a testament to the nuance of his performance, it bespeaks a cohesion that makes him a passable lead.
Valerie Leonard is the true star of the show. She proves as much in her very first appearance, where she plays a used car. Between several graceful wheezes and a light, puttering shake, she gives an enthralling personification of a vehicle on its last legs. As she slumps over, defeated and is rolled to the mechanic, the play loses its most compelling character. Unfortunately, this takes place in the first 20 minutes. But she does return to portray a smorgasbord of Newport society women, and ranges from the sultry to the snooty with breathless ease.
Edward James Hyland gives several peripheral performances as various old men, a demographic that Theophilus is as adept at delighting with his chummy devotion as any other. Hyland is notable only for his demonstration that the name Theophilus is best uttered via a deep, bellowing rage, a task he takes to gladly.
The staging is simple but effective, and relies chiefly on the sparse arrangements of chairs which the actors navigate with convincing confidence. The set’s centerpiece is Theophilus’ bicycle, which spins awkwardly in the middle of the stage, awaiting its frequent opportunities to aid him in his more meditative moments. You may find yourself possessed by a strange urge to see the bicycle ridden up the ramp that winds around the back of the stage; alas, come the denouement, the velocipede remains stagebound.
Reflecting off of his universe are a rotating cast of parents, bar patrons, 14-year-old maidens and local bigwigs, most of whom drop in at one time or another for a panicked consultation before retreating into a calm, glowing appreciation of our protagonist. Theophilus makes good use of his talent for beating back the thunderheads, using the energy he sucks out of others to propel him towards his own minor epiphanies. Not the hardest-hitting stuff on the block, but for some it may prove a needed rest from the intensity of this semester’s on-campus offerings.
