Three of the planet's most examined scribes of all time—a trio of Victorian spinsters, in fact, who are credited with some of the most passionate literature ever written—are resurrected in the meticulous Chicago production of "Bronte" from illustrious playwright Polly Teale.
Teale explores the simply celibate life in which storied sisters Charlotte, Emily and Anne mostly only have themselves, their pens and their unbridled imaginations. She asks the question: Was it their chastity that unleashed so much repressed titillation or was such eroticism merely a fiery choice for absorbing prose?
Moreover, why, well over a century later, do their words still haunt our minds? In her decision to return to the beginning with "Bronte," Teale says we are fascinated by these maidens because they "broke the mold against all odds" and yet "they were made by it," too.
Having to publish in pseudonym because only men at that time were permitted the right to write, the sisters benefited from the help of their self-educated father, Teals posits. While they were certainly spurred by their brother's tumultuous personal life, too, it was their father who resiliently swore by the transformative power of literature and art.
In the Chicago realization of this storied mammoth, director James Bohnen transforms the Victory Gardens Greenhouse Theater into the Bronte parsonage in Haworth, West Yorkshire, circa 1845.
The cast clearly co-exists in harmony without a weak link and with authentic conviction. That said, Linda Gillum plays the decisive oddity as she is the sisters' manifestation in written form who alternates from a feather-obsessed worrywart to an erotic canine.
With a 15-minute intermission, the performance's top-drawer staying power helps you disregard its relatively lengthy time commitment. As a notice to the red-ink department, though, the grandeur of the subject matter sometimes lends to excessive gabbing that can dash out one ear just as swift as it scurried in the other.
Carrie A. Coon does a wonderful job as the second-eldest Emily, who died after a fleeting blaze of genius as realized in Wuthering Heights. It was her sole novel.
Susan Shunk plays the eldest, Charlotte (best known for famous British novel Jane Eyre), and Rachel Sondag rounds out the trio as the youngest, Anne, whose history has been overshadowed in favor of her more fęted sisters. Sondag typifies Anne's more sharp, realistic and ironic writing style, a stark contrast to the romanticism exemplified by Charlotte and Emily.
Patrick Clear as Patrick Bronte, the father who changed the family's last name from Brunty to Bronte, masterfully oscillates from a temporary blind man to various other characters through the devices of dialect and mind/body renovation.
Gregory Anderson as the brother, Branwell, delves deeply into the mind of a man who was regarded by the family as its most talented member. Plagued by insurmountable expectations, though, he was driven to binge drinking. Only one scene in this production, though, reflects on the addiction that led to his death.
The story of these five Brontes stands the test of time, revealing itself to be a tale worth telling in both print and on the stage. This Chicago production of the family's legend would sell even the Brontes themselves on the sweeping meaning of their message.
Reviewed by Centerstage!
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