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For all of its bells and whistles, Simon Stephens' The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time evolves into something quite simple: a mother, a father, and their autistic son who are all trying to be better. I've seen the show three times in less than three years, first on Broadway, then on in its national tour, and now in its current incarnation at Hadley Theater on the Queens University campus. Each time, I've found new details to unpack, new facets of character to consider. Of course, the Actor's Theatre of Charlotte version breaks the mold set by Marianne Elliott, who directed this adaptation of Mark Haddon's novel on Broadway and on tour. In his stage direction and scenic design, Chip Decker takes his cues from Elliott and her scenic designer, Bunny Christie, but it's obvious that Decker and the three actors he has cast as the Boone family have their own ideas.
Christopher Boone is the inward 15-year-old with autism who savors his solitude and freaks if anyone touches him, including Mum and Dad. He's fairly oblivious, inexperienced, and clueless about human relationships, so the marital dynamics between his parents are totally unexplored territory. Yet Christopher functions on such a high mental level, an Asperger savant syndrome level, that he regards his special ed classmates as stupid and is highly confident that he can pass his A-level math tests years before "normal" schoolkids are allowed to take them. With Chester Shepherd taking on this role in his own clenched, volatile, and vulnerable way, I saw more clearly why the prospect of postponing these tests was such an unthinkable catastrophe for him. Not only does Christopher notice everything that well-adjusted people allow to slip past them, he can also recall details with the same precision, like every item he extracted from his pockets on the night he was arrested and questioned at the Swindon police station. So it figures that Christopher would plan his future with the same persnicketiness, and that a single displaced detail – like postponing the date when he would pass his maths – would throw him into a spasmodic fit of panic.
Or so it seems with Shepherd emphasizing Christopher's hair-trigger sensitivities. We see him at the beginning of his epic journey, huddled over his neighbor Mrs. Shears' dog, Wellington, who lies there lifeless, skewered by a pitchfork. Christopher is obviously a prime suspect for Mrs. Shears, so she calls the police. Uncomfortable around other humans, Christopher doesn't react well when a policeman arrives to interrogate him. Dad must come down to the station, after Christopher is arrested for assaulting the cop, to explain his son's condition – a not-so-subtle indictment of police enlightenment. Twice shaken by the evening's experiences, Christopher resolves to solve the mystery of who killed Wellington. That beastly affair doesn't seem to concern the police, perhaps the second count in Haddon's indictment.
As Christopher well understands, solving the Wellington mystery will force him to engage with other people, especially neighbors whom he has previously shunned. This aversion isn't readily quashed, cramping the investigation when Christopher decides to question the warm and eccentric Mrs. Alexander. When the hospitable lady invites him into her apartment, Christopher refuses, and when Mrs. Alexander offers to bring him orangeade and cookies – after a somewhat protracted negotiation – he flees before she can return with the goodies, fearing that she is calling the police on him, the way neighbor ladies seem to do. Christopher seems most at ease with the person who understands him best – his teacher, Siobhan. She encourages him to pursue this project and to chronicle the investigation in a book. But she has the good sense to yield to Dad when he forbids Christopher to continue with his investigation and his narrative. With some adorable hair-splitting, Christopher thinks he's circumventing Dad's directive as he persists in his probe, getting key info when he meets up with Mrs. Alexander for a second time.
Maybe the niftiest turn of the plot is how Dad ironically entraps himself. By confiscating Christopher's handwritten book-in-progress, Ed Boone ultimately ensures that his son will not only discover the truth about Wellington but also the truth he's been hiding about Christopher's mom, Judy. This section of the plot is bookended by two prodigious meltdowns from Shepherd, the second one stunning enough to remind me of Othello's fit. Shepherd delivers Christopher's comical difficulties as vividly as his poignant ones in a performance that rivals his leading role in Hand to God a year ago, but Decker and his design team magnify this performance by working to help us see the action from the perspective of an autistic teen. At the beginning, Decker's sound design assaults us with loud noises, simulating the sensory overload that is the everyday norm for Christopher. There are similar assaults in Hallie Gray's lighting design glaring in our faces – and flashing red alarms across the upstage walls when Christopher is tensing up or melting down. We often hear a doglike whimper from Shepherd when he is stressed.
About the only shortfall in Decker's scenic concept, which opens up Christie's more enclosed design, is the erosion it inflicts on Jon Ecklund's projection designs. They just don't pop as wondrously as they did at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre in New York or at Belk Theater when the tour stopped here in February 2017. We don't get quite the same amplification when poor Christopher navigates the London Underground or cityscape as he searches for Mum's flat, and the wow factor when Christopher rhapsodizes on our vast universe is muted. But there was plenty of wattage from Shepherd to compensate, and Becca Worthington gave us more energy on opening night as Judy Boone than I saw on Broadway or at the Belk, describing the good times and the bad times before she abandoned her family. By the time she recalled the meltdown at a shopping mall that precipitated her departure, I didn't require a replay. Afterwards, Worthington gave more of an emphasis on doing better as a mother so it was never overshadowed by her outrage at Ed's deceptions and misdeeds.
Rob Addison was less wiry and more avuncular than previous Eds that I'd seen, which struck me as good things before and after he was found out. I think first-timers will see Dad's prohibition of Christopher's probe as less strict and arbitrary than my first and second impressions were on Broadway and on tour – and that his pleas for forgiveness are sincere and heartfelt. A less cuddly approach to the role is certainly defensible, but I was deeply pleased with Addison's take. Decker brought Megan Montgomery downstage as Siobhan more often than I remembered, giving Christopher's teacher slightly more texture than I had seen previously. The brambles in her accent also demonstrated that Montgomery's years at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland hadn't been wasted.
An ensemble of six flutters around the four core characters, moving spare scenery pieces around, unobtrusively setting up an electric train set, acting as street and subway crowds, levitating Christopher, and filling multiple minor roles. Tracie Frank and Jeremy DeCarlos stood out as the long-separated Shearses, each abrasive to Christopher in his or her own way. With her nervous gestures and blue-tinted pigtails, Shawnna Pledger's fussy account of Mrs. Alexander safely transcended that of a generic eccentric. A similar children's book simplicity hovered over Donovan Harper's rendition of the arresting Policeman in the opening scene, yet Tom Scott was able to sprinkle some comical discomfort on Reverend Peters when confronted with the question of where heaven is.
Only Lisa Hatt was deprived of a name, portraying a Punk Girl, and a Lady in Street among her various cameos. Decker may have felt sorry for all of Hatt's unnamed contributions, perhaps allowing her to choose her own number. She was listed in the Actor's Theatre playbill as No. 40, a radical break from the Broadway and touring company playbills, which listed that role as No. 37. This production certainly paid attention to details! We even had the delight of Stephens' Pythagorean postscript, which Shepherd dispatched with a full two minutes remaining on the projected digital clock. It was part of a comical meta layer that the playwright sprinkled across Christopher's dialogues with Siobhan, reminding us that he had adapted Haddon's novel for the stage. Very successfully, I should add.
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time continues through Saturday, October 27. For more details on this production, please view the sidebar.