Williamson’s play is unfailingly faithful to its source material while being downright breezy in comparison to the 466-page brick that is Brontë’s novel (that’s 466 pages in my 1993 Barnes & Noble hardcover though, of course, copies may vary). The tightness of the script, a delightfully successful distillation of Jane Eyre to its mostly romantic and occasionally spooky core, is a slap of wrongness to the face of anyone who thinks a work of 19th-century Victorian-era literature wouldn’t make for non-stop action or appease a 21st-century attention span. Director Eleanor Holdridge helms the pleasingly dynamic production with ease. Special credit, too, to Williamson, as well as Holdridge and a superbly talented cast, for mining possibly every moment of humor from the story for our viewing pleasure.
Melissa Molano plays our heroine with delicate care and a firm hand, handling every Janian line with an endearing honesty and earnest sincerity. Though Jane begins the story with no family or friends, the audience serves as something of a surrogate companion, as Jane monologues to the audience. Not only does it stay true to the intimacy of the novel’s first-person narration, it allows Molano’s Jane to become a dear friend almost immediately. It is, however, during the explosion of emotion in the second act, Jane’s moonlight mutiny, that Molano most has the audience in the palm of her hand.
Jane Eyre is a romance, and Molano’s chemistry with Chris Hutchison’s gruff Mr. Rochester is captivating. Hutchison manages to deliver each of Mr. Rochester’s blunt and smart-ass comments with a charm that allows you to appreciate their developing relationship without pause.
Aside from Molano and Hutchison, every actor plays two or more roles, slipping in and out of them with chameleon-like ease: There’s Susan Koozin, who goes from kindly housekeeper to attic-bound madwoman with a zombie-like countenance, and the childlike turn Ana Miramontes takes playing two couldn’t-be-more-different young ladies, the excitable Adèle and the beleaguered young Jane. Melissa Pritchett’s dour Grace Poole, which contrasts with the seemingly well-meaning but stifled Bessie.
Then there’s Joy Yvonne Jones, who earns laughs as the shade-throwing Blanche Ingram just as easily as she does with a single “uh uh” uttered as servant Leah. Todd Waite stealing focus, albeit briefly, as John, Colonel Dent and Mr. Wood, and Gabriel Regojo’s rigid St. John Rivers, though he stands out even more as Jane’s bratty cousin John Reed.
Finally, nothing says both Gothic and an English countryside setting like a stormy night – complete with the sound of pelting rain, blinding white flashes of lightning and loud cracks of thunder – which is exactly what audiences walk into when they take their seats in the Hubbard Theatre. The stage is mostly bare, shrouded in shadows with a single, flickering oil lamp set on a desk, but scenic designer John Coyne quickly proves its dexterity. Valérie Thérèse Bart’s serviceable costumes, Alberto Segarra’s moody lighting and Melanie Chen Cole’s rich sound designs, which range from string heavy instrumentals that set the (metaphorical) stage to one particular cacophonous moment that elicits very real chills.
The point, dear reader, is that Williamson and the Alley have mounted a Jane Eyre production that is very nearly perfect, so much so that you won’t need the threat of failing English class to stay awake through it. Instead, the show comes and goes in a most pleasing blink of an eye, something anyone can appreciate, but especially anyone who’s sat down by desire or coercion to read the 466-page book. (Natalie de la Garza)
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