Cult of Love by Leslye Headland. Directed by Trip Cullman. Scenic design by John Lee Beatty. Costume design by Sophia Choi. Lighting design by Heather Gilbert. Sound design by Darron L. West. Hair and makeup design by Liz Printz. Fight and intimacy director Rick Sordelet. Music supervisor –Jacinth Greywoode. Vocal coach Gigi Buffington. Dramaturg Eleanor Skimin.
Cast: Molly Bernard, Roberta Colindrez, Barbie Ferreira, Rebecca Henderson, Christopher Lowell, Zachary Quinto, David Rasche, Christopher Sears, Mare Winningham, and Shailene Woodley. Krouse, Josh Lamon, Sarah Meahl, Ximone Rose, Sir Brock Warren, Bud Weber, Ryan Worsing, and Warren Yang.
Theater: Hayes Theater
Tickets: 2st.com

Zachary Quinto and Shailene Woodley Photo by Joan Marcus

As dysfunctional family plays go, Cult of Love is richly rewarding and enormously entertaining, thanks to an exceptionally fine ensemble of actors, Headland's spot-on dialog, and Trip Cullman's brilliant direction that make this one stand out from others of this ilk. It may be predictable in setting up an expectation of ever-intensifying bruising among the characters (there are ten in all, each of them beautifully delineated). But what distinguishes it is Headland's original take that emerges from her particular approach to the overarching motif of frayed family ties.

The play opens on Christmas Eve in the Connecticut farmhouse home of Bill and Ginny Dahl (David Rasche and Mare Winningham). The place is decorated from stem to stern for the holidays, looking like Macy's Santaland in John Lee Beatty's set design: a beautifully trimmed tree, wreaths, holiday lights, stockings hung by the fireplace, you name it. Bill is sitting at an upright piano, and the entire family (parents, grown children, and their significant others) who have gathered for the annual get-together are vociferously singing "The Cherry-Tree Carol." It's a Hallmark Card moment to be sure, though you may notice that one member of the gathering is sitting quietly by herself, the first sign of a crack in the foundation.

Still, a sense of harmony is palpable whenever everyone is singing and accompanying themselves on a wide range of musical instruments that seem to be lying around, waiting to be picked up for just such a purpose at various intervals throughout the evening. The Dahls seem to be the American version of the Trapp Family Singers. It's only when the singing stops that we begin to sense there is trouble in paradise.

The more we get to know this family, thoroughly reared in the diehard world of Christian evangelism, the more we understand there is no escape for the four grown Dahl children. They may have scattered to the winds to lead their adult lives, but coming home, even for a short holiday visit, is akin to approaching the "event horizon" of a black hole whose gravity sucks them all in. Or, as Ginny likes to say in her own chirpy way, "Once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen in Narnia."

The Cast Photo by Joan Marcus

As you might imagine, each of the Dahl offspring has a fair share of Headland's snappy lines, replete with resentment and dark humor, often quite funny, at least to us safely on the other side of the fourth wall. But we, as (thankfully) outsiders looking in, have our own representatives on stage in the additional guests that are blessed with having been welcomed into the "Twilight Zone" that is the Dahl family manse. There is Mark's wife Rachel, who converted from Judaism; it's been a decade, yet she still feels as if she is viewed as an outsider. There is Pippa; it is she who is sitting quietly while the others tear into their musical harmonies, trying to ignore an air of homophobia that Evie knows comes with the territory whenever she crosses the threshold. There is Loren (Barbie Ferreira), who, like Johnny, is a recovering addict (he is her sponsor), who bravely addresses any and all issues that bounce in her direction. And there is James (Christopher Lowell), a minister and husband of the possibly psychotic proselytizer and self-declared prophet Diana, whose rantings have cost him his congregation.

The 100-minute play (no intermission) is an exceptionally fine and richly performed ensemble work in which each of the characters stands out in full relief. But the real standout here is the incomparable Mare Winningham as the family matriarch. Her every facial expression, every line reading, is rife with layers of meaning. It is Ginny, with her seemingly cheery disposition and punch bowls of Manhattans who is the real black hole that is sucking them all back home, the commander of these command performances, sing-alongs, and requisite poses for family portraits. All roads lead to Ginny, who reveals all with this self-justified, self-delusional, quietly stated yet unforgettable remark: "I don't know how you can be angry at me. I've done nothing but love you. And that is all I was ever supposed to do." Can I hear an amen?