Review: The Marriage of Bette and Boo

It might look it from the start, but wedded bliss isn’t so much the case for the title characters of Christopher Durang’s play, The Marriage of Bette and Boo. In fact, while the play is an unabashed comedy, the marriage is anything but bliss.

The production’s physique is one of lighthearted comedic fare; a bright – primarily solid red – set, a cheerful pastel color scheme pervading the women’s costumes set against classic black and white on the men, and an altogether averagely merry wedding scene opens the play. But what follows is neither average nor merry, despite the fact that the indicative colors and overall sitcom feel stay put throughout.

Bette and Boo have, as the title suggests, just been married – we find out shortly after the ceremony that they have only known each other for a few months, and that for one of the pair, the relationship was largely a rebound fling. But, there is a sharp, often overlooked distinction between a “marriage” and a “wedding.” The play, narrated by Bette and Boo’s son Matthew (nicknamed Skippy after Bette’s favorite film) is comprised of thirty-three short scenes (over two acts). It meanders throughout roughly the next two decades – showing us not simply a wedding, but rather, a marriage – for all its ups, and (primarily) difficult downs.

The play reads somewhat like a 50’s sitcom – the way those old T.V. shows seem to wear constant cheesy smiles across their proverbial faces. It puts Bette, Boo and their respective immediate families under a microscope – their lives, actions and situations magnified so heavily that at times, it feels almost like watching a cartoon. The performances (save for Charles Socarides, as Matthew, who is often removed from the story) all fit the mold well. In particular, Victoria Clark is underused, but endearing nonetheless, Kate Jennings Grant embraces the necessity of walking the fine line between realism and saturated cartoon behavior with her performance as Bette, and Heather Burns (Miss Congeniality) is most loveable as Bette’s younger, naïve, nervous sister Emily. Socarides’ performance has the most sincerity about it, a luxury he is afforded by nature of his direct-address monologues to the audience. Their often wry and witty humor is a highlight of Durang’s script, with an earnest, perceptive perspective on family, love, life, and the way we respond to it all.

Bette and Boo has more to it than a cartoon-y portrayal of a quirky family, however. It peels away a layer of reality, pulling out the simple essence of what we’re really saying in those situations where we just say what’s expected of us by the rules of mannered behavior – or what we really see when we look at others, but try to be polite and accepting anyway. It mocks the impersonality of required formality, begging us to reconsider the absurdity of the way we treat others because we’re “supposed” to. For example, at a family funeral, the local priest says, quite simply, that the deceased was a good man and now he’s dead. And unfortunate a reality as that may be, isn’t that really all any average, casually involved, present-because-he’s-obligated priest is saying underneath the flowery language? A cynical outlook certainly, but a lot of the play’s humor comes from its blunt, honest accuracy.

While it is a comedy, however, The Marriage of Bette and Boo incorporates – albeit exaggerated versions for comic effect – some weighty issues: death, disease, failed relationships, quashed dreams. (And then there are the dead babies, but explaining those would spoil a bit too much.) It is a fine balance to strike, in successfully making such a sad story quite so funny – and Durang’s script does so with skill. But you might wonder if it should be so funny. The laughter from the audience isn’t uncomfortable, per se — but you might feel uncomfortable doing it.

Durang’s dark, twisted humor adeptly makes sadness funny, but with this kind of play, the emotional exchange is a two-way street. The other side of the coin, then, is of course whether Durang can equally well make the emotional content poignant. His characters are thinly laid, but purposefully so. They are flat by design for the sake of the aforementioned humor, not by fault of the writing; but they do create a flaw in the storytelling. Because of the painful situations the family faces, the play must turn from humor to heartache on a proverbial dime, and often it totters, struggling to make the turn sharply enough. Some of the more emotionally charged scenes are better than others; some could stand to be more effective. It’s difficult to tell whether the blame lies primarily within the writing or in Walter Bobbie’s direction, but it’s a shame that an otherwise well-crafted production doesn’t quite pack a punch the way it should.

By Deborah Blumenthal