Burning Coal’s production of Harold Pinter’s 1993 play, Moonlight, pulses with an undercurrent of dysfunction that is as familiar as it is unnerving. Andy (Simon Kaplan) is dying, and not going gently into the night. His unflappable wife, Bel (Tamara Farias) endures his rants and also ruminates with him on their shared past. Their sons, Fred (John Jimerson) and Jake (Koa Pham), are both physically and emotionally distant. Their daughter, Bridget (Susanna Skaggs) has died, yet, her roaming, sometimes ethereal presence, links the world of Andy to that of his sons.
Two other characters add to this disjointedness: Maria (Jenn Suchanec), a former lover of both Andy and Bel, and Ralph (Mark Filiaci), her husband. Bel expresses an unrequited romantic interest in him while Andy vehemently denies a suggested encounter with Ralph along Balls Pond Road, known for a vibrant LGBTQ+ community in the 1970s and 1980s. The relationships among the four seems to have been fluid, suggesting that Andy has more sides than the mere civil servant he claims to be.
But what to make of these two distinct worlds – that of Andy’s bedroom up stage and the room shared by the two brothers down stage? Each setting is sparse and open, serving as a reminder of a world larger and more vast than its inhabitants who are struggling with life and death. Andy’s rants are full of casual cruelties directed at everyone around him, compliments rimmed in slights and digs. “What a wonderful woman you were,” Andy says to Bel. “You had such a great heart. You still have, of course. I can hear it from here. Banging away.” But Bel is resilient and maybe even resigned to this treatment.
While Andy and Bel trade barbed reminisces, Jake and Fred communicate as if in an improv sketch, creating scenarios that allude to their complicated relationship with their father that they seem unable to speak of directly. Pham and Jimerson masterfully execute these exchanges, bouncing and riffing off each other with a fluidity that belies the depth of pain beneath their seeming inertia. Indeed, Fred seems to not only be unable to leave the room he shares with his brother, he doesn’t want to leave his bed or bother to dress.
Riveting performances abound in this devastating 80 minute tale of a family that can’t re-connect, and maybe never really did. Kaplan’s Andy rages with anger at his impending death, longing to see his sons even as he describes them as “a sponging parasitical pair of ponces” living off the state. Severe headaches plague him, possibly causing his mental instability since he’s also calling for a daughter who seems to have died as a teen. Farias gives Bel a subtle strength that endures Andy but also conveys that she has not been worn down by him or circumstances. Her stiff upper lip only quivers when she’s unable to persuade her sons to visit their dying father.
In true Pinter fashion, this play is both intriguing and baffling. On the surface, the story seems direct but the dialogue wanders about, revealing and obfuscating at the same time. A path strewn with broken glass amidst round, smooth stones – lots of small cuts that cause some pain and blood, much like any life trail. Moonlight doesn’t offer a way out, only a meditation on death and dying, and that’s its devastating power.
Moonlight runs through December 17. For more information visit https://burningcoal.org/.
