Stylish musical numbers with (from left) Yvonne Roen, Craig Anderson, Ann Marie Yoo and Len Rella pepper the story of Doctors Jane and Alexander. Photo by Arthur Cornelius.
Doctors Jane and Alexander wrestles with the idea of what it means to live in the shadow of a famous parent. Written, directed and produced by Edward Einhorn, the play focuses on the life of his mother, Jane Einhorn. She was the daughter of Alexander S. Wiener, a scientist who became famous (with Karl Landsteiner) for the discovery of the Rh factor in blood, critical knowledge for the success of transfusions.
Jane (Alyssa Simon) answers questions directly and tangentially after a stroke while being interviewed by her son, Edward Einhorn (Max Wolkowitz). Photo by Arthur Cornelius.
The play loosely weaves past and present memories with a wide gamut of characters drawn from both Einhorn’s mother’s and grandfather’s lives. As it opens, Jane (Alyssa Simon) is in a wheelchair after having suffered a stroke. Her memory is mostly clear, but sometimes talking is difficult for her. Simon is excellent as Jane and plays her with tenderness and patience. Einhorn has done a good job of capturing the difficult experience of watching a parent deteriorate and struggle to put their thoughts in order. Or, in this case, the challenge to Edward of putting them in order.
Edward (Max Wolkowitz, who is too detached in the leading role) reports to his brother David (Maxwell Zener) that he began writing the play so that he had something to talk about with his mother. After her stroke, he found it difficult to think of topics of conversation. In real life, Einhorn’s brother David said that he didn’t want to be interviewed for the play; however, as a character, he gets a lot to say about their mother’s situation. He scoffs at Edward’s explanation for interviewing Jane, and accuses Edward of not being authentic because he smooths over the pauses and tangents that affect her speech after the stroke. Edward’s defense is that he wants to make the dialogue in the play sound smoother for the sake of the audience.
David: I don’t find it hard to talk to Mom.
Edward: She can barely speak, sometimes.
David: She can speak. You just did a whole scene with her speaking.
Jaunty moments like this are peppered throughout the play, but the most fun comes in the musical interludes with Len Rella on piano and Ann Marie Yoo on violin (Yoo also plays Jane’s nurse and a 5-year-old in a flashback). There is also lightness in the campy scenes that reenact a part of family history, such as when Wiener (Rella) discovers the Rh factor and a gum-cracking reporter (Craig Anderson) shoots a series of questions at him. It’s done rapid-fire, using a thick Brooklyn accent.
Craig Anderson and Yvonne Roen. Photo by Arthur Cornelius.
The lighting (Federico Restrepo) and set design (Mike Mroch) are simple but effective in altering scenes to highlight the changes in the story line. Jane’s art hangs on the wall in separate panels, which adds a personal touch to the story. The art is in the style popular in the 1940s and ’50s: semi-cubist paired with sensual portraits. Jane and her father were of the generation and class where an educated person also received instruction in music and art appreciation.
Woven into the story is Jane’s trajectory as an aspiring academic, and later artist, who struggled with her own identity in the shadow of her famous father. She completed a Ph.D. in psychology and did experiments with children on the topic of friendship and honesty. Einhorn gives a glimpse of the persistent melancholy in her life. She suffered from mental health issues and, as a psychologist, diagnoses herself with “low self-esteem.” She explains: “That’s a big term they like to use nowadays. My father was so successful and, in comparison, I don’t feel like much. He was a big shot. I feel like a little shot.”
At the end, Jane tells Edward about a favorite childhood memory in which her father would throw her into bed like a sack of potatoes. Or tomatoes, depending on the day she retells the memory. But those moments seem far and few between, and there’s a sense that he was more authoritarian than nurturing. In reverie, Jane whispers: “You measured things in terms of accomplishments. And you felt I could accomplish a lot. But I wanted you to measure things in terms of love.”
Untitled Theater Company #61’s production of Doctors Jane and Alexander runs through Feb. 15 at HERE (145 Sixth Ave.). Evening performances are at 7 p.m. Wednesdays to Saturdays (except Feb. 12). There is a matinee at 2 p.m. on Feb. 15. Tickets are $25 and $30 for the final week and can be purchased by visiting here.org/shows.
