Blind optimism is put to the test in The Way West, a quirky but poignant story that reminds us of the downside of the American Dream and the methods we use to cope with the American reality. Reminiscing on manifest destiny and the Great Western Migration, writer Mona Mansour extrapolates the misfortunes of a mother and her two daughters to our nation’s history of boom-and-bust and our current economic plight. In an almost slapstick sequence of horrific events, Mansour reminds us of the fragility of our perceived success, and the futility of our attempts to hide our shortcomings.
Mansour’s dialogue and characters are so relatable that the audience feels almost awkward, as if we are watching our own family acted out on stage. But there is an element of whimsy and over-theatrics to the show that turns an otherwise dark story into, quite literally, a lighthearted sing-along. Any overly serious moments are quickly balanced out by snappy, off-key jingles performed by Mom with daughters on backup vocals and guitar. And when Mom dims the lights to tell stories of the journey west, her oblivious references to incredibly morbid events manage to turn dark tales into hilarious monologue, and provide a true glimpse into the perspective of her otherwise guarded character.
Deirdre O’Connell portrays Mom’s conflict insightfully, putting on a defiant bravado and delivering her punch lines with ease, while always reminding the audience of the inner vulnerability she desperately tries to hide. We know this woman, if not as our own mother then as an aunt, former teacher, or neighbor. We, like her daughter Manda (Zoe Perry), want to shake her to her senses and force her to take control of her life – even as we struggle with our own – while Mom wants only to continue down the trail and hope she’s one of the survivors.
Kevin Depinet’s set design and Martha Lavey’s artistic direction deserve specific mention for their honest portrayal of the stereotypical suburban home. Showcasing mismatched, worn, and tasteless furniture, bulky kitchen cabinets, and a collection of boxes that would make a modest hoarder jealous, we know the inside of Mom’s house almost as well as we know Mom. In fact, more than one audience member mentioned that the set looked like “their mom’s” house, and the set’s slow deterioration throughout the show contributes to the same dark whimsy of Mansour’s dialogue.
It is ultimately left to the audience to decide whether Mom is the victim of her westward stories or the lucky survivor. Simultaneously, we realize that we must make the same decision for ourselves. As Mom says, it’s impolite to discuss our problems. But perhaps Mansour can convince us to shed Mom’s façade, and honestly acknowledge when our problems exist.
The Way West is running on Steppenwolf’s Downstairs Theater (1650 N. Halsted St) through June 8, 2014.
