The Screwtape Letters, in a touring revival at the Lansburgh Theatre, is a polished, imaginative rendering of a tedious, self-righteous play. The acting and production values in this two-hander are excellent, but the script is a smug harangue.
The play is adapted by Max McLean and Jeffrey Fiske from C.S. Lewis’s much-beloved epistolary novel, a Christian apologia offering spiritual guidance in clever reverse. The letters are written by His Abysmal Sublimity Screwtape, an emissary of the Devil who counsels Screwtape’s unseen nephew Wormwood, a junior tempter, in Wormwood’s fledgling assignment on earth.
Wormwood’s mission is to draw a young man referred to as the Patient toward the infernal depths. At Wormwood’s disposal are such time-honored human distractions and addictions as sex, love, war, gluttony, and pride. Working against them is the Enemy, God, who has, Screwtape grimly acknowledges, an undeniable flair for the occasional clarifying moment and the cleansing blast of purity and love. Why the Enemy so cherishes these “hairless bipeds” is mysterious to Screwtape and his colleagues, who value them solely for nourishment, since demons feed on lost human souls.
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The Letters first appeared in serial form in an Anglican newspaper in 1941. Additional variations on the theme, including an after-dinner speech by Screwtape at the Tempters’ Training College, came later, and that toast is used as a scene setter for this staging.
Parceled out as newspaper columns, the letters, with their bold, ingenious premise, and their narrative nuances, must have felt, to resolute but terrified wartime British readers, like an amusing, morale-boosting, spiritually uplifting wind. But condensed, these many decades later, into a concentrated 80-minute stage piece directed by McLean, they feel like a self-satisfied, somewhat assaultive extended sermon, even if it is an inside-out, upside-down one.
McLean’s Fellowship for Performing Arts first adapted Screwtape in 2006 and the show last visited D.C. about a decade ago. The Fellowship’s objective is “to engage and entertain its patrons by telling stories from a Christian worldview that can capture the imagination of a diverse audience.” And at its core, this Screwtape is a talky, updated medieval morality play with vices magnified and virtues dim, distant, and elusive. Its instructive intent vies with its artistry, tainting the experience with more than a trivially patronizing essence.
A shame, that, because it’s as well done as it could be. Brent Harris is a dynamic, slithery Screwtape, and his endurance, in the only normal speaking role (more on that in a moment), is remarkable. But even he can’t duck the repetitiveness of the story’s mechanics, and some mannerisms that come across as sort of cute early on, like the popping sound he gives the “P” in his name when he signs his letters, soon become grating.
Screwtape’s sidekick and amanuensis, Toadpipe, played Tuesday night by Anna Reichert (the role alternates to Tamala Bakkensen), is a delight. Reichert reacts to her master’s oration with a fine gibberish Demonese and graceful, uproarious changeling gestures and choreography. In a form-fitting, ribbony, hooded suit by costume designer Michael Bevins, she is mascot, gimp, and pet rolled into one.
Cameron Anderson’s sly set features a raked, angular stage and off-kilter furnishings; a skinny, screwy black ladder leading to a mailbox that sends fiery missives up to earth; and a ghoulish catacombs background of skulls and bones. Jesse Klug’s lighting and John Gromada’s music and sound design bring vibrant accents and stark, stormy mood shifts.
But the journey, however spruced up, is predictable in outcome and admonition. That makes for an attention-grabbing Sunday homily, but there can be no fundamental drama to its drama.
Fellowship for Performing Arts presents C.S. Lewis’s The Screwtape letters. Adapted for the stage by Max McLean and Jeffrey Fiske. Featuring Brent Harris, Tamala Bakkensen, and Anna Reichert. Scenic design: Cameron Anderson. Costume design: Michael Bevins. Lighting Design: Jesse Klug. Original music and sound design: John Gromada. Executive producer: Ken Denison. Director: Max McLean. At the Lansburgh Theatre of the Shakespeare Theatre Company. Reviewed by Alexander C. Kafka.
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