In Marvin's Room, there are these two sisters, you see: Bessie is a fortyish spinster sharing a house with two elderly relatives, one of them bedridden after suffering a stroke 20 years earlier, the other mobile only through the grace of cyborg science. In stark contrast to this selfless nurturer devoted to the welfare of others is younger sibling Lee, who long ago fled the homestead to marry a romantic wastrel proving as deficient in parenting skills as his empathy-impaired wife. Bessie's contracting leukemia mandates three generations reuniting—but who will take care of her?
If you've never faced this kind of crisis personally, don't try to imagine your response. Medical progress and an aging baby-boomer demographic portend an increasing segment of our nation's population living with infirmities—numbers soon exceeding the available nurses needed to provide the attention they will require. Given the filial diaspora engendered by exhortations to individual independence fostered in the 1960s and '70s, Scott McPherson's optimistic portrait of a clan coming to the aid of its ailing kin nowadays seems—though perhaps not altogether fairy-tale fantastical—a trifle idealistic, nonetheless. This doesn't mean that McPherson's inept and/or unwilling tribe embraces its challenges eagerly—least of all the afflicted Bessie herself, whose reluctance to relinquish her managerial status makes for domestic upheaval no less problematic as the hesitation of her potential caregivers to assume responsibility for a bevy of adult dependents. Plays dealing with these uncomfortable themes often take the easy road of amplifying the pathos of the situation or, alternatively, mining the icky minutiae of failing body functions for sitcom-slapstick giggles. Under the expert guidance of Sandy Shinner (dramaturg for the premiere production in 1990), however, a cast led by Shattered Globe founding members Linda Reiter and Rebecca Jordan deliver unhurried, text-based performances illuminating the human spirit dwelling even in the infantilized Marvin, whom we see only in shadow behind a screen, but who waves his arms and grunts in delight at the simple magic of a blinking flashlight.
Autobiography inevitably fades over time. Playgoers in 2015 do not concern themselves with whether Aristophanes wrote Lysistrata to impress a girl or Aphra Behn quarreled with her husband before penning The Rover. We may recall McPherson composing the play that would become his legacy while battling his own AIDS symptoms and those of his life partner, who would soon succumb to that then-fatal disease. However, audiences centuries hence will see only a warm-hearted parable of confronting mortality with courage, serenity and—yes, humor—surrounded by the unconditional love of loyal companions.
