At the end of The Road To Mecca, the man sitting next to me applauded wildly and shouted “Bravo!” He’d been asleep for most of the first act, and a good portion of the second.
This is the problem with the play. There are cheer worthy performances, and some great lines; but it’s very often mind-numbingly boring.
The setting is South Africa in the year 1974, deep into the apartheid which officially began in 1948, and didn’t end until 1994. There is an air of repression omnipresent. Miss Helen (Rosemary Harris) lives in the isolated village of New Bethesda, in a desolate region known as The Karoo. She has written a desperate letter to her much younger friend, the schoolteacher Elsa Barlow (Carla Gugino). She’s being pressured to move out of her home by the members of her church, who are led by Pastor Marius Byleveld (Jim Dale).
Elsa has driven all day from Capetown, an 800 mile journey that included giving a ride to a poor black woman with a baby. With much stage business, including washing, tea drinking, and dealing with her clothing, she confronts Helen about her situation. Elsa and Helen talk a lot, and that pretty much sums up Act I.
Act II begins with Marius explaining to Helen why she should move into the Church’s old age home. Inevitably, the pastor and the schoolteacher clash, each convinced and convincing that motives are pure. Then, finally, comes the big payoff of the evening. Rosemary Harris cuts loose, and explains the artistic vision around which she has centered her house and her life. With one word—Darkness—she sums up her fears about the encroaching future, and she draws all of us, with our own trepidations, into her terror. The ending of the play delivers a couple of author-assumed bombshells, one unlikely, the other seemingly tacked on to clarify motivation.
The performances are superb, with Harris undeniably brilliant. Much has been made of her age (84), and her tremendous stamina. To this praise, I would add that she’s a superb listener, and totally at ease onstage. Whenever I see someone light a match during a performance, I shudder. There’s nearly always a mishap, shaking hands transforming the mundane action into an ordeal. No match would so much as dare flicker on Harris. Since this is the Broadway premiere of the play, presented in 1988 Off Broadway, the production is eligible for the Tony Awards. I’d say that all debate for Best Actress is now unnecessary.
Gugino is not only lovely to look at, but her mellifluous voice has the notes of a fine cello solo. That she can go toe to toe with Harris speaks for itself.
Jim Dale brings a beneficial touch of warmth and humor to what might otherwise be a totally unsympathetic role. As is the case with anyone absolutely sure he is right, whether in terms of religion or politics, he must follow the only path he knows.
The Afrikaans accent is difficult to sustain. Based on the language of the original Dutch settlers of South Africa, it’s full of rolling r’s, unique vowel pronunciations, and a rhythm closer to German than to English. (To hear how it’s done, check out Matt Damon in Invictus). Nevertheless, the fact that these accents come and go in this production is puzzling. Director Gordon Edelstein’s staging is meticulous, but his attention to the sound of the actors seems haphazard.
Likewise, I find the set design, by Michael Yeargan, strangely spare. Helen’s house has been the result of many hours of labor and design. And yet, we see a selective wash of color, a few sparkles here and there, and a small clutter of tchotchkes. I get the sense that this is a rather minimalist interpretation. Truth be told, those of us who’ve filled our house with treasures have far more stuff on display.
There’s great debate as to whether or not Helen’s title Road to Mecca should actually be shown. I vote yes; the fact that Elsa extolls it, and Helen vividly describes it, is not enough to convince the audience that the aged woman is indeed a great artist. (Incidentally, it’s something of a modern day howler that a female “nearly seventy” was considered a crone!) The technology is surely there. Why not end the show with a projection of the wise men and camels which stride across the lawn, heading for the East? Maybe, as Helen hopes, the townspeople might follow.
While we’re at it, imagination or not, the best that villagers from South Africa might do heading East is to hit Australia. I guess “North to Mecca” just doesn’t have the same ring.
Why do we not find out the real story behind the fire in Helen’s house? Why didn’t Elsa go fifteen minutes out of her way to drive the African woman closer to her village? Why did author Athol Fugard, now 80, name his African “Patience,” when his anti-apartheid plays so clearly show that he was anything but patient for his country to come into the light?
The Road to Mecca raises important questions that deserve discussion. What is the true spirit of Christianity, and does it allow for diversion from the accepted path? When can and should a friend intervene in someone else’s life and decisions? And the question my companion and I discussed on our car trip after the show: what makes a house precious? If I had to leave my home, would I spend the rest of my life grieving for the nest I’ve so carefully and lovingly created?
The Road to Mecca is not a perfect play by any means, but for theater lovers, the performance given by Rosemary Harris is absolutely worth the price of admission. Her incandescence onstage is the best illumination possible to keep away the dark.
Photos by Joan Marcus
The Road To Mecca
Roundabout Theatre Company
American Airlines Theatre
227 West 42nd Street.
Through March 4, 2011
Michall Jeffers is an accomplished Cultural Journalist. She writes extensively, both in print and online. Her eponymous cable TV show is syndicated throughout the tri-state area, and features celebrity interviews, reviews, and commentary. She is a voting member of Drama Desk, Outer Critics Circle, American Theatre Critics Association, and International Association of Theatre Critics.
