Playwright: adapted by Frank Galati from the novel by E.L. Doctorow. At: Steppenwolf Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted St. Tickets: 312-335-1650; www.steppenwolf.org; $20-$78. Runs through: June 10
For decades, the formula for historical novels was to recount the great events of the past through the eyes of an observer on the fringes of the action. E.L. Doctorow's conceit is to reverse the telescope, instead focusing on the humble witnesses, with the documented facts of the era under scrutiny serving simply as background for their progressan approach demanding that otherwise-unremarkable personalities be immediately engaging, sparking in us a desire to share in their painfully short-sighted universe. The Steppenwolf Theater mainstage is a large room, however, and Frank Galati is a director given to sweeping landscapes.
So whether the victory in this adaptation goes to the myopic or the panoramic dependsas in actual warchiefly on where the individual spectator is seated. Audiences near the stage are likely to become involved in the adventures of our displaced protagonistsrefugee plantation-mistresses Emily and Mattie, battlefield drifters Arly and Will, emancipated slave Pearl (whose light complexion makes for unforeseen opportunities)while those in the back rows enjoy the spectacle of booming artillery fire, bloody hospital tables, foot-soldiers emerging from our very midst to charge onstage, and officers in dress uniforms replete with shiny sabers and gold braid. At the center of the chaos (and the downstage quadrant of the stage picture) is the fire-eyed General William Tecumseh Sherman, the only character whom we never imagine being called by any but his full name.
These widely disparate vantages, unfortunately, cannot help but cancel each other out. Seen at a distance, 26 actors playing 33 roles tend to be distinguishable more by their costumes than their faces, mandating frequent repetition of names to apprise us of the personnel currently on parade. By contrast, lighting-based technical effectsthe locating titles projected atop the proscenium arch, for example, or the flash of exploding shellsall but disappear at close range.
This latest entry in a season of mega-productions features an assembly of decorated thespians, led by Harry Groener as the leader of the most brutal military campaign ever fought on U.S. soil, and if many of the supporting players are dwarfed by the breadth of their material, their tale nevertheless reminds us that the "do," in the not-to-reason-why-but-to-do-or-die homily, means unquestioning destruction"us" remorselessly slaughtering "them" and letting the historians (and novelists) argue the rest.