Theater Review: The Milk Train Doesn’t Stop Here Anymore

Too Bad a Great Play Doesn’t Stop Here Either
By Lauren Yarger
Any play starring Olympia Dukakis and directed by Michael Wilson is worth seeing, but does Roundabout Theatre Company’s Off-Broadway production have to be The Milk Train Doesn’t Stop Here Anymore?

Milk Train, one of Tennessee Williams’ later, and not so great works, does beg the question asked so often these past few seasons: with all the talent on and off stage, why are producers choosing such weak material? Dukakis, and Wilson, who has reams of Williams under his belt (he is the artistic director at Harford Stage where he has staged Milk Train and previously worked with most of the actors and creatives in this current production), could have been teamed with one of Williams’ better works -- or anyone else’s better work -- and given us a truly wonderful night at the theater.

Instead, we’re left instead, to journey to 1962 for the final days of Flora Goforth (Dukakis), in denial about her health and impending death (it’s just neuralgia, she coughs), and pressured by publishing deadlines to dictate “Facts and a Figure, “ a memoir about her life and her four husbands. Taking the almost 24/7 dictation, in person, off of tape recordings and over an intercom system (Flora can’t sleep because of the pain) is assistant Francis Black (Maggie Lacey, whose lines Wilson surprisingly allows to be too loud and awkward). She is known as Blackie, partially because it’s an easy nickname and partially, one must presume, because she’s so depressing. Forced to take the assistant’s position after the death of her husband, Blackie hates her job and wants out, but for some unknown reason, never packs her bags.

Instead, she becomes a go-between for Flora and an unexpected guest at the Italian Villa (created by designer Jeff Cowie with Flora’s bedroom looking like a sort of modern cave, with tons of skylights reflecting somber tones in the room while giving a glimpse of brighter days outside; lighting by Rui Rita). The visitor is Christopher Flanders (a capable Darren Pettie), a sort of end-of-the-line gigolo who shows up on the doorstep of old dying women. Known as the Angel of Death, he offers them some sex, companionship and care in their infirmity and they offer him free room and board and money.

Flora thinks a fling with the younger man, who reminds her of one of her husbands might just be the cure for her depression. After all, he looks so nice sleeping against the pink silk sheets and under a large suspended gold cupid pointing his arrow at the bed. She invites her gossipy, gay duke friend, known as Witch of Capri (a very funny Edward Hibbert), to dinner so she can get the scoop on him. Things get complicated, however, when Christopher begins to awaken romantic feelings in Blackie (for whom he might have some feelings himself). Even the Witch can’t deny his own attraction to the drifter who makes a living making glass mobiles when he’s not living off a dying rich woman. The consequences reach out and touch everyone like the reflections thrown by the mobile Christopher gives Flora. (The mobile, hung stage left, tinkles on cue throughout the play thanks to John Gromada’s original music and sound design).

So, we have a sad, lonely, angry Southern belle fighting against her fate, a gentleman caller who gives hope to a young woman and glass art work that assumes a persona of its own. Where have we seen these before? That would be “The Glass Menagerie,” Williams’ far superior work which did have a run Off-Broadway last year. Alas, this play suffers in comparison.

Dukakis certainly works hard and reaches down deep for some nice emotional moments. Williams just never develops Flora or any of the other characters enough for us to care what happens to them, however. They seem more tools for the playwright to sound off in a poetic way about something from time to time, but fail to create empathy for what they represent -- the masks we all wear throughout different stages of our lives. One theatergoer, on exiting the theater, commented to his companion, “They live in a world very different from ours.” And because they do, we can’t relate.

There are a few moments of humor which we can enjoy in the otherwise depressing tale: Dukakis has fun with a Japanese dance and wears some zany costumes designed by David C. Woolard. There isn’t enough to offset the depressing and bewildering feel of the story, however, proving once again that neither big names on stage (think Patti LuPone in Women on the Verge) nor a talented director (think David Cromer with When the Rain Stops Falling for recent examples) can turn a not-so-great play into a good one.

The Milk Train Doesn’t Stop Here Anymore runs at the Laura Pels Theatre at the Harold and Miriam Sternberg Center for the Arts, 111 West 46th Street, NYC through April 3. Call 212-719-1300 for tickets.

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Nudity
Sexual movement and dialogue
Homosexual activity
Language
God’s name taken in vain