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Past Reviews Off Broadway Reviews |
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Not that most of Augustin's characters see it that way, of course, at least not immediately. They tend to perceive their problems as something quite different. Carolyn (Deirdre O'Connell), a mother of multitudes, believes that God has completely abandoned the position he's long maintained at her side. Sula (Carra Patterson), a Haitian woman who arrived in Miami to bear her child on U.S. soil, is left dumbstruck when the baby proves incapable of crying. Joel (Maurice Jones), who manages the refuge-like apartment building in which Carolyn lives and Sula is soon to, cannot foresee what will happen when his father, who owns the building only because of a technicality, dies, and all the inhabitants are forced to vacate. The others, who include an ancient hospital patient named Manuel (Gilbert Cruz), the wise transvestite Vishal (Chris Myers), and Joel's business-minded cousin Madison (Crystal Lucas-Perry), are afraid of something about him or herself, usually not worth acknowledging openly. It's a given that by the end of the play's two-hour running time, the myriad secrets at play will be exposed, and these people will have to deal each other on the level. Though Augustin builds up to that convincingly throughout much of the show, it's not always obvious that he trusts himself more than his characters trust each other. Because Little Children Dream of God, for all the suspense and disquiet it generates, wants to be rooted at once in both the fantastical and the real—a contradiction Augustin is never able to satisfactorily resolve. As you may have guessed from the title, spiritualism (if not quite genuine religion), plays a central role, and the barely held-together fabric of Carolyn's life gradually rips apart as she feels God's presence evaporate from her life and that of those around her. This loss is echoed through the concerns of Sula as well, who's well versed in the vodou of her native land, and who must use it to confront the mysterious man (Carl Hendrick Louis) who lingers around the edges of both her nightmares and her waking hours. Augustin's forbidding writing conjures up plenty of oppressive shadows, and director Giovanna Sardelli lets them leak in just enough to keep you on your toes. (The haunting lighting, by Gina Scherr, is most instrumental here, though Andrew Boyce's ghetto-playground set and Jennifer Caprio's costumes make notable contributions as well.) But the magical effects associated with the play's events have trouble jelling with the hardscrabble existence into which these people are thrust. Because Augustin hasn't discovered (or communicated) the proper links—assuming they exist—between vodou, a nominal Christianity, and American capitalism in his universe, the three different realities are constantly jockeying for position, and gaining none to speak of. You don't get the sense, as you ought to, that unseen powers are vying for supremacy over these meager little lives, and the lack of that additional atmosphere flattens everything out more than Augustin's modest intentions can stand. He keeps his focus just fuzzy enough, too, that you don't always believe he's working toward an identifiable goal. Though Manuel and Vishal do have important plot functions, their stage time outstrips their usefulness, and neither is quite funny enough to suffice as the comic relief Augustin is aiming for. Manuel, in particular, occupies endless scenes in which he brays about his discomfort and makes life miserable for those who wander into his room by mistake (and hardly anyone comes in intentionally), and Cruz fails at giving Manuel's edge any depth, too. That's a shortcoming throughout, and one that only Jones fully overcomes. Layering optimism with world-weariness, he presents a Joel whose fears and hopes alike are well founded, and who as a result is the best poised to deal with the adversities before him. By letting themselves get lodged in one issue or another, his cast mates come across as much more one-dimensional. Patterson's Sula is tormented by dark spirits but disconnected from the rigors of everyday survival; O'Connell, per her usual, is terrific as a realist, but we don't really accept that her Carolyn has a relationship with God. One of Augustin's points is that bonding with anyone on that level is outright impossible; it's only down here that true friendships and romances form. Little Children Dream of God is effective at conveying this message when Augustin devotes himself to it, but too often he seems more interested in fashioning actual angels and demons than in letting us cower beneath those we create in our minds and hearts.
Little Children Dream of God
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