Playwright Lanford Wilson, author of such esteemed works as Burn This, The Hot L Baltimore, The Rimers of Eldritch, and Talley’s Folly, is a poet of the modern American social landscape. While his plays explore broad, timeless themes such as decay and loss, they often focus quite specifically on America’s subtly complex class system. Book of Days, exploring moral degeneracy in different strata of a small town, is no exception. Though the play has echoes of Greek tragedy - proud, successful town patriarch suffers a fall, Cassandra-like heroine tries to awaken others to the truth - and even features a sort of chorus, it’s as American as an Ozark spring, opening with a recitation of the small joys of Dublin, Mo, a town of “"dogwood trees, redbud, dairy farms... grass so green it hurts your eyes."

But as in the works of another poet of the American soul, filmmaker David Lynch, there are hidden dark secrets in this town. The night a tornado roars through Dublin, someone dies under suspicious circumstances, and it falls to a strong-willed young woman to uncover the rottenness in Dublin’s heart.

Less a sleuth than a moral bulldog, the woman compelled to uncover her town’s secrets is Ruth Hoch (Laura Depta). Ruth’s bravery is further reflected in another endeavor the character undertakes at the same time - playing Joan of Arc in a community production of Saint Joan. Depta has the most important thing required for the role of Ruth - heart - and has such conviction and internalized confidence in herself as Joan that she convinces the audience, too. In a crucial (and difficult) audition scene, though, her character never really shows the acting chops that are supposed to floor the play’s director and have the whole town raving about her performace as Joan, but she nonetheless succeeds on sheer sincerity and charm.

Fiery Tonya Shuffler is another fine performer as LouAnn, the long-suffering wife of James Bates, the money-grubbing, politically ambitious scion of the wealthy Bates family, who were made rich by the town’s cheese plant. Shuffler is shrill when excited, but she has a fierceness and emotional volatility that work beautifully in her role as the wronged LouAnn.

Others shine in this sterling cast. Polly Adkins provides salty comic relief as ex-hippie Martha Hoch. Charlotte theatre regular Jerry Colbert is perfect as the slightly oily big-shot director in town to helm Saint Joan - Colbert, a real pro, never disappoints. Carver Johns is a refreshing discovery - he’s an absolute delight, perfect in the role of the spineless bumpkin, Earl Hill. A moment when Hill turns to the congregation and flashes a childlike grin, as he prepares to be baptized, is priceless. Greg McGrath (Ruth’s earthy husband, Len Hoch) and Alan Nelson (James Bates, LouAnn’s imperfect spouse) have some of the best onstage chemistry I’ve seen lately as dueling moral opposites - their best scenes vibrate with a contempt so thick you can all but see it hanging in the air between them like smoke.

Jim Greenwood (Dublin patriarch Walt Bates) lacks the swagger and power we expect from Walt in his role as Dublin royalty, and Bobby Tyson as Reverend Groves is convincing with Groves’ glib erudition, not so convincing with the secrets the reverend hides. The cast comes together as a confident ensemble, turning out impressively snappy and difficult choral work, reciting, Under Milk Wood-like, what’s happening in Dublin as the seasons change and the mood of the play grows darker.

The set is a showstopper - fluted Greek columns, one broken, under a crumbling cornice. Paint stippling gives an effective distressed effect, adding age and grandeur to an already magnificent set. The stage has several levels, and the actors move small, lightweight, mini-columns as modular set pieces whose configurations become, in turn, a kitchen, a church, a woods. It’s an ambitious and interesting set choice, and it works, making a bold thematic statement that doesn’t overpower the play.

Director Dennis Delamar places his actors skillfully - most stay onstage as choral observers, quietly reacting in character as both chorus and townspeople to the main action that rarely involves more than a few of the cast. The many attractive tableaus show Delamar’s mature sense of composition and balance. The characters’ constant interaction creates a claustrophobic intimacy that works beautifully at making the audience feel like flies buzzing from wall to wall, witnessing the inner workings of a small town. Len and Ruth, particularly, share an onstage affection that’s realistic and convincing, largely due to their comfortable, believable physicality.

The show is technically sure as well. Sound cues are well-run - phones ring clearly and right on time, and when a tornado passes through town, heralding evil, its destructive, murderous presence is effectively conveyed through light and sound. Light cues delineate scene changes swiftly and successfully, helping maintain a brisk-but-unhurried pace that is a quiet hallmark of professionalism.

What flaws there are lie mainly with the play - the plot of Book of Days doesn’t always convince, and I don’t find it to be one of Wilson’s best works. Ruth’s moral quest is completely believable, but the obvious clue that inspires her search beggars credibility. I can’t decide if the sheriff’s incompetence is symbolic of the town’s blindness or just a really dumb plot point. It’s also questionable whether modern American women would withstand the level of sexism these female characters experience without showing (and feeling) much more anger and disgust than Wilson lets them evince.

Towards the end, the play gains dramatic steam but loses plausibility, becoming such a vituperative attack on moral corruption that some of its targets lose all humanity. This is tract, not drama, simplistic and dull. To preserve dramatic integrity, the humanity of the targets must be preserved. But my beefs are with Wilson, not with the Actor’s Theatre, who’ve done a fine job. If Arthur Miller-style moral rants or Spoon River Anthology/Our Town-style valentines to American life are your cup of tea, or if you simply want to see an exceptional ensemble of local talent, Book of Days won’t disappoint.

Jennifer Saylor, April 5, 2002