‘Rabbit Hole’ director brings characters to life

I hesitate to provide a plot synopsis for "Rabbit Hole," because its story of a couple dealing with the loss of a child sounds like a downer. But Las Vegas Little Theatre's production of David Lindsay-Abaire's Pulitzer Prize-winning 2006 drama is an exhilarating experience.

The author understands the humor in tragedy, and director Walter Niejadlik and his professional-level cast serve his observations well. The evening is rich in moments of self-recognition, where you are surprised to find yourself saying, "I've felt that way, too."

Becca (Penni Mendez) and Howie (Mark Brunton) are trying to go about their lives eight months after the accidental death of their 4-year old. Becca seems to need to rid the house of any memory of the boy. And she has physically rejected her husband. Howie appears much better adjusted, until we begin to recognize his own obsessions.

The family members -- including Becca's uncentered sister Izzy (Ela Rose) and her ever-chattering, opinionated mother Nat (Barbara King) -- are loving, but they make the mistake of judging how precisely a person should handle grief. A high-school senior (Matt Jordan) intrudes on the couple, almost demanding a conversation, and it winds up he has a connection to the child's death. Every character is battling unwarranted guilt, and each seems unable to forgive the other.

Niejadlik brings these characters to genuine life, so that we feel we are eavesdropping on very private conversations. Mendez communicates the wife's internal conflicts. She's aggressive and mean, and yet you feel she's so brittle that the gentlest hug would break her.

Brunton is a strong, authoritative masculine figure as the husband, so that when he finally begins to weep, begging his wife that something has to change, we are devastated by the extent of his powerlessness.

King gets us laughing at the mother's eccentricities, but she's equally compelling in her quiet moments, when we see what really drives her.

Jordan brings a remarkable improvisatory feel to his student character. He sounds as if he's making up his lines on the spot.

Designer Ron Lindblom's house interior feels like a lived-in home, the sort of place where an absent child would be missed.

But this isn't really a play about a dead child. It's a hard-hitting, sensitive observation of how unique we all are; how, despite our fears, we're capable of growing through just about anything.

Anthony Del Valle can be reached at DelValle@aol.com. You can write him c/o Las Vegas Review-Journal, P.O. Box 70, Las Vegas, NV 89125.