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That could also easily be the theme of Ode to Joy itself, which wastes no time in plunging you into the darkness that will require a full two hours to dissipate. Though the painter Adele (Kathryn Erbe) invokes this look into her difficult past by saying "This is the story of how the pain goes away," we first must wallow in it. We do this by way of a flashback to the night at a bar she met Bill (Arliss Howard), who at that point was still struggling to come to terms with the death-by-suicide of his pregnant wife six years prior. Yes, the two hit it off right away, bonding over the inattentive bartender and their mutual love for wire-haired dachshunds, and made plans to marry before the night was through. That's the impetuous way these two rolled, and of course we'll discover eventually the problems that caused. But first we see how that meeting echoed an earlier, more turbulent time, as we zip back eight more years to the day Adele met Mala (Roxanna Hope), a pharmaceutical executive who ends up liking Adele more than the paintings she came to her apartment to buy. That they were able to bond at all given Mala's specific opinions of the work ("This isn't for a slaughterhouse. This isn't for frightening refugees from crossing the border"), which reflected Adele's internal turmoil more than the overstuffed society she claimed, would have been remarkable if not for their first date, which found Mala collapsing in the restaurant. Adele never left her side at the hospital and then just never left—though Mala eventually left her, ending up on the wrong (if necessary) side of a "choose your addictions or choose me" ultimatum.
Not that Lucas, who has also directed, keeps things quite that straightforward. It's a long time before we learn exactly what's going on, which gives Lucas plenty of time to explore the potent reasons behind it all. The interweaving of matters personal, artistic, spiritual (the question of who Jesus was and what he actually taught is central), and philosophical (Kierkegaard's perspective on irony is debated frequently) makes it impossible to compartmentalize any of these people, and forces you to view them from their insides out, something that becomes both terrifying and fascinating as all three of Adele's worlds crumble simultaneously. Anger, anxiousness, and confusion bleed through nearly every line of the play, which is understandable as it was derived by Lucas's own experiences with addiction and divorce (per a recent New York Times interview), and that can make it suffocating—in ways both good and bad—as its various strands unravel. In both his writing and his emotionally bare staging on Andrew Boyce's imposing studio set, Lucas probes deep without ever losing sight of the infinite possibilities of life that keep the light at the end of the tunnel burning bright. But the uncompromising nature of this play means that unlike earlier Lucas offerings, such as Reckless or Prelude to a Kiss, maintaining a proper tone is crucial, and there Lucas does not always succeed. Complementing a devastating final confrontation between Adele and Bill, there's their "meet cute," which finds them slipping and sliding about on the floor as though this were pure slapstick. And though many of the scenes between Adele and Mala are wrenching, the hospital pillow talk that unites them is peppered with shadow play and quick cuts of time that threaten to brand this as the vaudeville it's so obviously not. The actors are superb, however, and keep an even keel during the rockier moments. Erbe's Adele is tortured, yes, but also quirky enough that you can't question either her perseverance or what attracts others to her; Erbe is as forceful playing the reluctant drunk as she is the recovering repentant who's given no choice but live with the outcomes she's brought on herself. Howard's sharp-edged, businesslike Bill is just soft enough to be enduring, but not so much so that he can't believably detonate in the ways the later scenes require. And Hope beautifully telegraphs, through Mala's all-consuming intelligence, both the heights and the limits of her affections for Adele. That kind of emotional uncertainty is what makes Ode to Joy work: It thrives on the ways we either take control of our lives or let them eat us alive. There are no heroes or easy answers here, but, as the title suggests, there is the possibility of exaltation: of learning how to pull from an oppressive and unpredictable universe the state of being that lets you exist within in it on your own terms rather than someone else's. By embracing that so nakedly—whether shadowy, sunny, or more likely both—Lucas scores with this play a notable, memorable success.
Ode to Joy
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