Mitch Albom’s Tuesdays with Morrie

We meet Mitch Albom (Chris Domig) graduating from Brandeis University, spring 1979. On his way to say goodbye to highly lauded sociology professor/mentor Morrie Schwartz (Len Cariou), he describes having almost dropped out of the first class and ending up taking everything Morrie taught.  A Tuesday tutorial turned into a shared philosophy of life and a deep friendship. “I majored in Morrie.”

Albom’s parents wanted him to become a lawyer, but his heart was in jazz piano, an aspiration Morrie encouraged. The men hug. Mitch promises to keep in touch. The young man moves to New York, taking up residence with Uncle Mike who had taught him to play. When Mike dies at 42, Mitch is 21.  He goes off the rails, stops playing music, and returns to school -for journalism.

Moving to Detroit, Mitch spends the next 16 years working non-stop covering sports news. Besides writing a newspaper column, he appears regularly on radio and television. A generous paycheck allows him to purchase a house and cars. He’s also engaged to be married. Music magazines and correspondence from Brandeis are tossed aside unread. Absentmindedly surfing channels one night, he sees Morrie being interviewed by Ted Koppel on Nightline and learns that at 77, the once vital professor has ALS/Lou Gherig’s Disease.

ALS is a nervous system condition that affects nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord causing increasing loss of muscle control. There is no cure. “I had to decide – am I going to withdraw from the world or am I going to live,” Morrie tells Koppel. Realizing how much time has passed, Mitch goes to see Morrie. With a television appearance elsewhere that night, Mitch allots only two hours for the visit. “I look up and see a small, old man with a walker under a Japanese maple tree.”

Morrie is delighted. Mitch keeps an eye on his phone and refuses lunch. The professor asks about his mentee’s life and is offered Cliff notes on achievement and acquisition. It’s obvious that ambition has swallowed everything that was sensitive and true about his former student. “Are you at peace with yourself? Are you being as human as you can be?” Morrie asks… “Do you want to know how to die? That’s why people come – pause – I’ll suffocate.” Morrie is calm, Mitch terribly uncomfortable. He cuts short their time together, returning home, but the professor’s questions haunt him.

A month later, he returns, now a husband armed with more achievements. Morrie’s walker has been exchanged for a wheelchair. The professor talks – without self pity – about increasing dependence and crying more often. “Two visits in 17 years, to what do I owe the honor?” The line is delivered beautifully as more curious than admonishing. Mitch is drawn. He agrees to return, at Morrie’s suggestion, on Tuesday. “Every Tuesday?” “Yes. Till the end.” “You’re not good with sick people,” the professor reminds Mitch. “I’ll come.” And he does.

Each week Mitch arrives with a bag of food, a list of questions, and a tape recorder. He’s resolved that a book may help pay Morrie’s medical bills. (Doubleday accepted the pitch shortly before Morrie’s passing.) Imminent death made the older man more aware of life. In this, he finds it a gift. Having been, to Mitch’s recollection an agnostic, the invalid now surprisingly quotes Buddha – and W.H. Auden. “I’ve got news for you, my boy, you’re dying too,” Morrie says, eyebrows raised.

In fact, Mitch sometimes dreams of death. In a recent nightmare, he keels over at the typewriter, column half written. His editor “whips it from my hand…” Telling. The journalist first juggles then gives up some pivotal assignments to keep Tuesdays free. As his friend’s intermittent secretary, he can’t comprehend Morrie’s insisting on answering every letter. “I just want to make them feel better,” the professor says. “But you’ve hit the motherload of sympathy. Take advantage!” Mitch exclaims. Lessons are slow to seep in. Wide ranging conversation covers past, present, and future. Morrie once wrote to the young man. Mitch never received (opened) the letter. They almost met in Detroit.

Morrie is wise, kind, and smart enough to couch advice in examples rather than critique. He never loses his sense of humor. The men talk about forgiveness. Everyone faces the end in his own way, but thousands of people have found comfort and solace with this story.

Len Cariou’s acting chops remain sharp at 84. The actor inhabits Morrie with remarkable subtlety. Timing is impeccable; every thought considered. Patience and affection pervade. Small, sometimes unexpected smiles conjure wonderful moments. Physically it’s like watching a balloon slowly deflate. One might suggest that at this point in his life, Cariou has a handle on subject matter, but the veteran gives us Morrie, not Len.

Chris Domig presents an unwittingly stiff, defended personality. His gradual unknotting evolves and is well played – nothing before its time. When narrating, the actor braids in just enough emotion to be credible. The journalist is not an overtly sentimental man. Domig is not quite there during recollection/summation which should be more moving, but otherwise excellent. Cariou has been involved with Sea Dog since its inception. He and Domig bonded during this production’s two year genesis. It shows.

Director Erwin Maas deftly shepherds Len Cariou’s nuanced, less is more performance. Manifestation of Albom emerges warts and all giving us a sense of the younger man’s pronounced, emotional trajectory. Use of the piano to support Morrie is clever as is eschewing a bed for the tilted wheelchair. Introductory piano improvisation perhaps goes on a little longer than is needed for the audience to file in.

Acknowledged as a memory play, I understand the choice to turn the younger man away from Morrie when recollecting, but am troubled by the amount of time he spends facing us (unseeing) with his back to Cariou, even when addressing him. It unnecessarily takes us away from the relationship. A pivotal scene when the author’s (invisible wife) finally meets his mentor – well written, well manifest – feels less true without his eyes riveted on interaction.

The set and lighting are just enough; costume design by the multifaceted Guy de Lancey fits perfectly. Eamon Goodman’s sound design is skilled in a challenging space, though we do lose a little dialogue when piano and spoken word arrive simultaneously.

The space itself is a long narrow chapel with well tiered seats at one end, action happening towards us. It seems eminently appropriate to subject matter. Readings are offered downstairs in the crypt.

This is the first show staged in Sea Dog’s new home. The  company, established in 2016, has a worthy mission and is also worthy of a (tax deductible) donation.

Photos by Jeremy Varner

Sea Dog Theater presents
Mitch Albom’s Tuesdays With Morrie
By Jeffrey Hatcher and Mitch Ablom
Based on the 1997 book by Mitch Albom
Featuring Len Cariou and (Sea Dog’s Artistic Director) Chris Domig
Directed by Erwin Maas

Read Charlene Giannetti’s interview with Chris Domig

Video/Interview of Len Cariou and excerpts from the reading 
Filmed by Jeremy Varner and edited by Jay Heyman.

Tickets Sea Dog Theater
St. George’s Episcopal Church, located at 209 East 16 Street, between Third Avenue and Rutherford Place

UPCOMING READINGS:

April 27 – The Case for the Existence of God by Samuel Hunter May 25 – Fat Ham by James Ijames October 26 – Savage in Limbo by John P. Shanley November 23 – Thanksgiving Play by Larissa FastHorse