THE CURIOUS INCIDENT OF THE DOG IN
THE NIGHT-TIME
Adapted and directed by Simon Stephens
National Theatre Live
* * * *
When I heard that the National Theatre of London had done a stage
adaptation of Mark Haddon’s acclaimed novel The
Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, my first thought was “How?”
Luckily my second instinct was to check it out. Glad I did—it’s a small
masterpiece the likes of which will make North American audiences jealous of the
creativity that can be accomplished when government subsidizes the arts. (Imagine such a thing!) Anyone living
within driving distance of a movie theater that broadcasts NT productions
should make a beeline for this one.
If you’ve read
the novel, you will certainly share my kneejerk skepticism over turning it into
a play. Its central character is Christopher, a 15-year-old high functioning
autistic student. He’s imaginative, a math savant, capable of intense
concentration, and is (literally) incapable of falsehood. He’s also terrified
of being touched or having his routines altered, has few social graces, is
unable to master most mundane tasks, and is so withdrawn that he makes Mr.
Spock seem like Mr. Rogers. We first meet Christopher—played with utter
brilliance by Luke Treadway–bending over the body of a pitchforked dog, which
he is falsely accused of having killed. And we witness his first emotional
meltdown when he assaults the policeman who lays hands on him. That trauma out
of the way, we proceed to learn about Christopher, his well-meaning but ineffectual
father (Paul Ritter), his missing mother (Nicola Walker), and his special needs
teacher, Siobhan (Niamh Cusack). I’ll say no more except to say that when
Christopher becomes obsessed with solving the dog’s murder, it takes him and
the audience on a journey fraught with peril, revelation, drama, and
reconciliation.
Haddon’s novel
was told almost entirely from Christopher’s (skewed) point of view, so the
first stage hurdle is how to represent a mind whose logic runs on a completely
different course than most. How, indeed, does one physically show something as abstract
as human thought? Stephens and producer Marianne Elliott accomplish this with a
set that’s where minimalism meets high tech. The play takes place in a theater
in the round upon a bare stage that’s something akin to a mash between a
chalkboard, an electrical grid, and an iPad. It can be drawn upon or projected
onto, and subsurface lights and diodes are activated by computers to build what
can be described as light-based semiotic signs. Need to show a subway train?
Activate two vertical lines and set them in motion. A neighborhood street? A series of squares connected by
lighted corridors along which actors dash will do the trick. When Christopher’s
mind overloads, lights flash, and holographic letters tumble randomly from the
ceiling like snowy gibberish.
Clever staging
will take one only so far, though, and it’s the acting that makes those lights
sparkle. Treadway is astonishing, both physically and in his range of emotions.
He can go from withdrawn to a semi-psychotic tiger and back with the brush of
fingertips. He also strikes the perfect balance between being lovable and
exasperating. Kudos also to Ritter, who convincingly portrays a working-class
bloke with simple tastes who wants to do well for a son who is equal parts
genius and volcano, but hasn’t a clue on how to manage his own emotions, let
alone Christopher’s. Niamh Cusack—the
younger sister of Sinéad—is also superb as Siobhan, a teacher with the patience
of a saint, but the cleverness to plant ideas in Christopher’s mind in
non-threatening ways. All I’ll say is this: stay until the very end, after the credits.
Loved the book
and loved they play even more. It reminds us that theater done well, with
superb actors and visionary directors, casts magical spells that TV and movies
often fail to convey. The tendency of the latter would be to convert
Christopher’s story to biography, which isn’t the best frame for a boy who
lives in his imagination. Simon Stephens invites us inside Christopher’s
chaotic mind and we are richer for the experience. —Rob Weir
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