‘Yonkers’ production confident, funny

Tom Titus

When you hear the words “memory play,” somehow the images that come

to mind are Tennessee Williams’ “The Glass Menagerie” or Eugene

O’Neill’s “Long Day’s Journey Into Night.” But Neil Simon has been

writing memory plays for more than 40 years now -- the only

difference being that his come with a built-in laugh track.

As Simon has matured, so have his works. The “Brighton Beach”

trilogy certainly contained much more meat than “Come Blow Your Horn”

or “The Odd Couple.” And with “Lost in Yonkers,” which won him the

Pulitzer Prize a decade ago, Simon more than likely reached his

creative peak.

There are, to be sure, a few laughs in “Yonkers,” now on stage at

the Newport Theater Arts Center. This is, after all, Neil Simon. But

most are of the nervous variety, triggered by uncomfortable

situations, not convenient punch lines, as Simon weaves a tale of

growing up the hard way in a close-knit Jewish community during World

War II.

Times being tough, a widower is forced to seek employment on the

road to settle a mounting debt, which means that his two young sons

must be placed, temporarily, with his mother -- and none of the

parties involved is overjoyed with the arrangement. Not the boys, for

whom the old lady looms like some grim, ominous, unforgiving specter,

and not for Grandma, who’s gotten used to her simple, uninterrupted

life, and who hasn’t seen the boys all that much socially in the

past.

Other family members figure in Simon’s scenario -- the boys’ aunt

Bella, whose mental elevator doesn’t quite reach the top floor; their

uncle Louie, a pistol-packing thug living one step ahead of the law,

and another aunt, Gert, who speaks in breathless wheezes.

All these colorful characters are amalgamated into a marvelous

production at Newport under the sensitive direction of Michael Ross.

This production of “Lost in Yonkers” is his 17th association with a

Neil Simon play. Suffice it to say, he knows the territory, and it

shows.

The boys -- 15-year-old Jay and 13-year-old Arty -- are the focal

points of the production, and are splendidly interpreted,

respectively, by Daniel Bonte and Graham Miller. Bonte’s character

already has developed a hard shell, while Miller’s is just forming,

and their reactions, especially young Miller’s, to the strange and

often creepy happenings around them are beautifully formed.

The performance of the evening, however, is rendered by Cheryl

Pellerin as the simple-minded Bella, uncomfortable as a child in her

30-year-old body, yet hesitant to strive on her own. Pellerin

delivers an aching portrayal of this conflicted character,

particularly during her “family talk” scene in which she tries,

haltingly, to flee the nest.

Veteran actress Joanne Underwood plays the cold, stolid Grandma,

who fled Nazi Germany and finds nothing in her new life even mildly

amusing. It’s a brilliant account, complete with a thick Germanic

accent, which Underwood sustains throughout, breaking character only

at the curtain call with a most welcome wide grin.

Walter DuRant is convincing as the concerned father, Eddie, who

strives via long-distance communication to give his sons proper

guidance. His brother, Louie, however, steals everything that’s not

nailed down, especially his scenes as a “bag man” for the mob with a

price on his head, while Lori White has a nice cameo as the wheezing

Gert.

Marty Eckmann’s brownish apartment setting, devoid of cheer during

these troubled times, fits perfectly with Simon’s story and

characters. Mitch Atkins’ restrained lighting effects and Ron Wyand’s

1940s music as a sound design also enhance the overall production.

“Lost in Yonkers” ranks among the more memorable offerings from a

playwright whose scrapbooks are bulging with hit comedies and

occasional dramas. In his world, families who suffer together, either

in comedic or dramatic form, tend to stay together. The Newport

production is rich in both forms.

* TOM TITUS reviews local theater for the Daily Pilot. His reviews

appear Fridays.