Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time Works Brilliantly on Stage

THE CURIOUS INCIDENT OF THE DOG IN THE NIGHT-TIME

Adapted and directed by Simon Stephens

National Theatre Live

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 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being touched or having his routines altered, has few social graces, is unable to master most mundane tasks, and is so withdrawn that he makes Mr.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

What if the Rapture came and All the Wrong People Left?

LEFTOVERS (2011)

Tom Perrotta

St. Martin’s 978-031235034

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What if the Rapture occurred, but it was nothing at all like the End-of-Times evangelical Christians—called dispensationalists, if you care—said it would be? What if millions of people suddenly disappeared but there was no discernible rhyme, reason, or pattern? What if way more children, reprobates, animists, Buddhists, Muslims, Jews, non-devout Christians, and everyday sinners disappeared than Born-Again fundamentalists? How would the world react? This is the intriguing question novelist Tom Perrotta poses in Leftovers, a book clearly aimed at the smug certainty of Tim LaHaye and Apocalypse-worshipping devotees of his Left Behind novels. (Perrotta also had the good fortune to have this book hit the shelves when Christian radio loose cannon Howard Camping predicted the world would end on May 21, 2011.)

Much like cartoonist Matt Groening (The Simpsons), Perrotta chooses a white-bread suburbia to play out the drama of the post-disappearance world. His Springfield is called Mapleton, a place that feels like one of those fixated on 50s-style family values ‘burbs in the Bible Belt (think Greater Atlanta). As one might expect, what was dubbed the Sudden Departure caused range of responses in Mapleton. The Rev. Matt Jamison is among those men of the cloth who insisted that the event was not The Rapture. His unique proof of that assertion is to become a one-man smut-and-truth exposé squad who reveals the affairs, substance abuse, and general unworthiness of those who vanished, which he duly broadcasts to Mapletonians. Learning that her husband was a philanderer is not helpful to Nora, an attractive young woman who lost her spouse and two children to the Sudden Departure and is so depressed that she spends her days watching the Spongebob Squarepants reruns she once shared with her offspring. Even those families left intact are confused. Perrotta focuses on the Garveys. Paterfamilias Kevin has just been elected mayor of his shocked town, while his wife, Laurie, becomes unglued and joins the Guilty Remnants, one of the many cults that emerged. The Garveys’ son, Tom, is also in a cult—one run by Holy Wayne, a former UPS driver with a harem of young Asian women. Too young …  as it turns out. When Wayne is carted off to jail for pedophilia, Tom loses most of his faith, though he accepts the task of ushering one of Wayne’s wives to a safe house as she is alleged to be bearing a son who will be the new messiah. Daughter Jill chooses a live-for-today route; she befriends bad girl Aimee, who moves in with the Garveys about the time Laurie moves out, and assists Jill’s transformation from honor student to angry low-life.

The book is provocative and, as one might expect, has been widely denounced by those who believe in The Rapture. The Guilty Remnants are especially controversial, as their level of fanaticism suggests all manner of unsavory things about those who live beyond reason. The GR—as they refer to themselves—dress in white, take vows of silence, and make it their mission to become worthy of being raptured by shaming the rest of Mapleton. Their presence is generally heralded by their smell; they chain-smoke, a thoroughly modern mortification of the flesh that’s easier to accommodate as cigarettes are more attainable than hair shirts.  Many of their mannerisms reminded me of the Ellen Jamesians in John Irving’s The World According to Garp.

Perrotta also dares to ask what would happen if years passed with no more disappearances and no explanation for the ones that did occur. Is it possible to move on? Can, for example, Kevin and Nora ease their individual sorrows in each other’s company? This is the sort of question Kevin Brockmeier raised in a different context in his own The Illumination, though he handled it better than Perrotta. I reveal nothing by telling you that many readers will be unsatisfied by how Perrotta’s novel ends. Don’t let that deter you; Leftovers is the kind of book that sparks spirited and needed debates over the presumptions of faith, public morality, private guilt, and collective healing. Sometimes the book’s ideas outclass its style and plot, but there’s nothing wrong with that.  --Rob Weir

A Primer of Andrew Greig Works:

Greig's first novel and a personal favorite.

Electric Brae: A Modern Romance (1992): is one of my favorite novels. It is set on Orkney and is a gritty tale of friendship, romance, betrayal, danger, mountain climbing, and loss that centers on the friendship and tribulations of a disgruntled oil rig worker, Jimmy, and his best friend, Graham. Like the optical illusion after which the book is titled, its protagonists seek to find deeper truths beneath surface appearances. Unforgettable characters, honest dialogue, and poetic imagery make for a stunning first novel.

The Return of John McNab (1996) is a remake of John Buchan’s 1925 novel. It’s a romp in which three mates try their hand at poaching from local aristocrats. A grand lark, or a commentary on social privilege? Both, actually, and much more. When the hardnosed, hard-drinking, hard-loving Kirsty Fowler breaks up the old-boys’ network, the heather begins to fly.

When They Lay Bare (1999) is Greig’s most complex book. It’s set on an estate in the “debatable lands” region along the Scottish Borders and reworks themes from classic Scottish folksongs. Is the mysterious young woman who’s squatting in an estate cottage with her antique raven plates seeking quiet, love, or revenge? Or is she a ghost? [Caution: Some background reading on folk tales referenced in the novel is a prerequisite for thorough understanding.]

That Summer (2000) shows up in some bookstores under its original title, The Clouds Above. Set in England during the Blitz, it’s a story of living life to its fullest for as long as it lasts, which wasn’t very long for most RAF pilots in the early days of World War II. Among other things it’s a Zen war romance.

In Another Light (2004) is a sprawling tour de force based on events that happened to Greig’s father. A son discovers that his recently departed father—known for his stolid reason—harbored a passion-driven secret. The book rockets back and forth between Penang and Sumatra in the 1930s, and modern-day Orkney and London. This book won major literature prizes and deserved them!

Romanno Bridge (2006): The John McNab crew regroups for a new adventure that takes them to various parts of Scotland, England, and Norway to solve the riddle of the Stone of Scone. It’s ike a Dan Brown thriller with much better prose! Readers should definitely read The Return of John McNab first.

Greig’s poetry is also highly recommended. Individual volumes are hard to find in North America, but This Life, This Life (2006) is available. It contains selections from eight collections that appeared between 1973 and 2006. Greig’s poetry varies from book-length metaphorical poems to terse and deeply personal verse. This Life will point you in the direction of which you prefer.

Greig’s mountaineering books are also hard to locate in North America (and are pricey when available). If you can find it, however, Summit Fever—his account of his first climbing expedition—is a thrilling read that predates Jon Krakhauer’s Into Thin Air by a decade. Greig’s Preferred Lies: A Journey into the Heart of Scottish Golf (2007) sometimes shows up in used shops.

PS--You might want to underline Scots terms and get their definitions from Website such as A Glossary of Scots Terms.