Review: The Janeiad at Alley Theatre

In September 2001, New Jersey-born and Harvard-educated Jane Friedlander-Winters is a married woman and a mother of two living in Brooklyn. On the morning of the September 11 terrorist attacks, she sees off her husband of almost a decade, Gabe, for the last time.

He never comes home, nor is anything of Gabe ever found. Jane remains in the house she and Gabe shared in a sort of brownstone-bound limbo, keeping busy but ultimately waiting for Gabe to come home with the encouragement of Penelope. Yes, that Penelope. The wife of Odysseus, who waited 20 years for her husband to return in Homer’s The Odyssey – Jane’s book club reading – tells Jane, “He’ll come back if you wait for him.” If Jane is prudent and faithful, Penelope says, Jane will be rewarded.

“I don’t want to wait,” replies Jane.

“I know, but you will anyway,” says Penelope, and Jane does. Through years, and visits by a collection of characters, Jane waits until one day, 20 years later, a mysterious beggar appears at her door.

The Janeiad , written by playwright Anna Ziegler and now in its world premiere run at Alley Theatre , was born via commission. First, a woman widowed on September 11, who wanted to see a story where her husband came home 20 years later for just one night, approached a theater; the theater then reached out to Ziegler. Houstonians got their first glimpse of the play last year when the Alley brought it in to be workshopped during their All New Festival, which we’ve come to count on for its uncanny ability to suss out the best of the best in terms of new works. Ziegler’s script showed its promise, as just one year later, it returns to the Alley for its fully realized world premiere. That promise, of course, is clear.

The Janeiad boasts the cleverest of conceits, an ingenious pairing of modern grief and ancient Greek mythology that expertly offers a fresh understanding of an oft-read classic. It’s a thoughtful what-if that allows Ziegler to draw out the ways in which myths and symbols can arise and are maintained and puncture logic-shaped holes into them. The script is littered with incisive observations astutely stated, such as when Penelope and Jane discuss the gods’ tendency to forsake women and a musing on “the bills” we expect to pay. “Aren’t we all between a wedding and a funeral?” another character memorably asks.

Director Rob Melrose could not have staged the show any better, nor could he have pulled stronger performances out of the actors. But, that said, though elegant at many turns, Ziegler’s lofty dialogue is also the production’s self-imposed wound. Overly crafted and unfortunately distancing, the dialogue too many times creates a cooling effect, one that certain moments that should be emotionally hard-hitting cannot overcome (something that disproportionately affects David Matranga’s character). I couldn’t help but think that the tenor of the dialogue was reminiscent in too many places to the floor of Michael Locher’s evocative set.

Locher devised a home in beautiful ruins, fragmented and evoking the play’s ancient Greek roots. It also sits upon a marble-like floor, suggesting the cold sterility of a museum, the idea that – at least partially – one is meant to experience and to think, but not necessarily to feel. Kathy Ruvuna’s soundscape and Thom Weaver’s lighting designs (despite being overall cool) do add some much-needed warmth to several of the scenes, and one particular choice by Weaver, to intensify the lighting to blinding proportions, was particularly affecting. Victoria Beauray Sagady’s projections also assisted in the form of the window backdrops, though most noticeable was the dates marking the passage of time projected onto the fireplace’s header.

Now, after all of that, did tears fill my eyes when two characters embraced toward the latter half of the show? Yes. Yes, they did. Because we are on a journey with Jane, from the moment Jenn Harris settles on the stage before the show even officially starts, sitting in a compellingly designed green chair and reading quietly as audience members filtered in to find their seats and rushed out to take last-minute bathroom breaks. Jane can be aloof, with a tendency toward foot-in-mouth syndrome, but she is also brimming with emotion, insecurity overwhelming her in abundance. Harris’s journey as Jane, stuck though Jane is, unable to move through Kübler-Ross’s stages, is poignant, layered, and completely recognizable.

Opposite Harris, Miriam A. Laube is asked to wear many hats, not just Penelope’s. She is Jane’s sister and mother, a rabbi, a fellow mom, and more. Costume designer Helen Huang helpfully covers Penelope’s lovely white, ancient Greece-inspired pantsuit with a blue button-up here and a jean jacket there, but it’s Laube’s characterizations that sell each: The high, airy voice she puts on as Nell, Tyler’s mom. The perfectly measured head tilt as therapist Laura. The nonstop poking around as the broker coming to look at Jane’s house.

Laube moves from one character to the next skillfully, though Penelope is by far the most compelling, a seemingly benevolent guide with more going on than meets the eye. I would argue one of the play's stand-out moments, both due to content and Laube’s masterful delivery, is a brief moment of near rage that finds Penelope proclaiming that she is Jane’s “north star” and declaring she would call Jane whatever she wanted. It’s an early hint of the depth we will get to see within deceptively familiar character.

In this way, The Janeiad is most successful. Though at times Ziegler seems to hold the emotion of the piece at arm’s length, it is weighty and resonant in how she reimagines and considers myth, grief, and resilience. Together with strong performances and visuals, Jane’s journey offers a moment of catharsis that feels necessary, and frankly could benefit anyone.

Performances will continue at 7:30 p.m. Tuesdays through Thursdays, 8 p.m. Fridays, 2 and 8 p.m. Saturdays, and 2 and 7 p.m. Sundays, through November 3 at Alley Theatre, 615 Texas. For more information, call 713-220-5700 or visit alleytheatre.org . $58-$80.