Mother of The Maid
What does one do when a teenage daughter admits to holy visitations from a Saint? Though God fearing, Isabelle Arc (Glenn Close) tolerantly listens to Joan (Grace Van Patten), jollies her along, and assumes she’s been daydreaming. (Description of Saint Catherine’s manifestation is terrific.) “I’ve been called!” insists Joan. “You wanna be a nun?!” Isabelle asks, surprised, but hopeful. Nope. The innocent farm girl is meant to lead an army driving the English out of France. Uh huh.
Much to her mother’s chagrin, Joan is beaten by her father, Jacques (a solid Dermot Crowley), mocked by her brother, Pierre (Andrew Hovelson, effectively obtuse/ annoying), and chained to a bed. Father Gilbert (Daniel Pearce) then arrives with a letter from his bishop affirming belief that she is, in fact, “the Maid referred to in prophecy,” one who will save the country. “Come off it!” Pierre cracks. While a vaguely Appalachian accent works to indicate rural farmers, the piece is filled with modern colloquialisms I find jolting.
Dermot Crowley and Glenn Close
Isabelle is swayed by the “fancy people” who believe in Joan. Jacques calls her gullible. “She’ll just go along and keep the troops cheerful,” the priest assures them, finally declaring the Arcs don’t have a choice. As you might imagine, her appalled parents assume that her accompanying the army will mean whoredom/rape. It’s academic as a guard detail is already on its way to take Joan to Dauphin Charles VII. Pierre goes along to keep an eye on the determined girl.
Playwright Jane Anderson offers a credible and appealing saga of Isabelle Arc’s experience with Joan’s martyrdom. This is a mother to whom anyone can relate. At perhaps the height of her powers, having just garnered Oscar buzz for a film role as The Wife, also written by Anderson, Glenn Close strips down to raw emotional truth.
The actress is palpably protective. Childlike wonder at the unfamiliarly opulent castle – she marvels at mead in a glass, and treatment there – she’s abashed and embarrassed, is refreshing and credible. She even gets a little tipsy. “Look at me, I’m the mother of The Maid!” As the character is swept along with a current against which she’s helpless, Close inhabits confusion, fear, rage and finally, Medea-like agony.
Grace Van Patten and Andrew Hovelson
Jacques’s perspective is that of a practical man forced into a world in which he feels uncomfortable or doesn’t believe, while Pierre is understandably opportunistic. We also observe Joan being used as a political pawn by both the French and the British. If there’d been photo ops and Twitter, she would have overwhelmed news on both sides. Sound familiar?
A master class on construction, the play organically puts us in Isabelle’s purview wherever we find ourselves. Sometimes she narrates in the third person, at others, steps into action. The Maid doesn’t seem hidden so much as otherwise occupied. Grace Van Patten is a remarkable Joan. She exudes innocence, sincerity, and defiant will. Even the subtleties of not wanting the role assigned her and at the end, feeling abandoned, are apparent. A young performer to watch.
As Lady of the Court, Kelley Curran does a lovely job of being gracious/solicitous, sympathetic, and then disquieted.
Matthew Penn’s Direction is entirely natural, melodramatic situations depicted on a human scale. Pacing is deft, scene transitions fluid. Three benches are adroitly used so that every part of the audience gets direct view, yet no move appears forced. Isabelle and Joan’s relationship is viscerally empathetic.
John Lee Beatty, known for residential sets into which one could happily move, here gives us dramatic, imaginative, morphing atmosphere from rustic farm to castle, cinematic church, and prison.
Lap Chi Chu’s evocative Lighting and Sound Design by Alexander Sovronsky/Joanna Lynn Staub and Sovronsky’s Original Music contribute mightily to effect.
Costume Design by Jane Greenwood is wonderful, from rough-hewn to Joan’s armor.
Photos by Joan Marcus
Top:Grace Van Patten and Glenn Close
Mother of The Maid by Jane Anderson
Directed by Matthew Penn
Through December 23, 2018
The Public Theater
425 Lafayette Street
