Trouble in the heartland
‘A Lie of the Mind’ looks at the dark side of America

Landen Newton, playing Jake, tells his brother Frankie, played by Austin Hohnke, left, that he thinks he may have killed his wife in an opening scene from the dark play which is a commentary on dysfunction and the tragic ties that bind the American family./Photo by Harry Boyd

by Judith Reynolds

At the beginning of Sam Shepard’s play, “A Lie of the Mind,” Jake calls his brother Frankie in desperation. Jake thinks he’s killed his wife, Beth, in yet another fit of rage.

What begins in confusion spirals outward to engulf two families. In all of Shepard’s plays, his obsession with the American family is evident. “Lie,” which opened to strong New York reviews in 1985, followed a quartet of dark Shepard works: “Buried Child,” “Curse of the Starving Class,” “True West” and “”Fool for Love.” In each, the playwright squarely faced dysfunction, human damage and a predilection for violence as a way to solve problems.

At its core, “Lie” is a tale of domestic violence, but it ripples with other themes: love, jealousy, loyalty and the often tragic legacies that bind families together.

To say it’s a challenge for Durango High School actors to take on Shepard’s labyrinth is an understatement. Many a professional company has struggled with the playwright’s murky portraits of misguided parents and volatile children.

Director Mona Wood-Patterson has wisely trimmed the original four-hour script in half. For decades, critics have said this could be done without destroying the arc of the play. In addition, Technical Director Charles Ford has simplified another nightmare. Shepard’s complex multi-scene drama requires four separate sets plus two smaller acting spaces. Ford has taken advantage of the wide DHS stage and spread the scenes out to the maximum edges. Dividing the two family spheres, a memory space holds center stage, and Ford built a startling phone booth high on one wall for the opening call.

Each “set” is elaborately dressed to create Frankie’s Nevada apartment, Jake’s childhood bedroom in Oklahoma, Beth’s childhood home in Montana, and a California hospital room. Lighting design is crucial to limit distractions and bring each scene into focus. Wood-Patterson worked with student light crew head Gabi Souder to accomplish this not-easy task. The effective use of drop spots enhances the memory sequences, and a beautiful slow fade illuminates one of Beth’s most touching monologues.

Katie Gottlieb,left, plays the role of Lorraine, tawdry mother to Sally, played by Kelsey Dignum, in a scene from DHS’ production of “A Lie of the Mind.”/Photo by Harry Boyd

“Lie” is an ensemble work. Jake’s rage (a tumultuous Landon Newton) fuels the opening and drives through the center of the play. But it is Frankie (a concerned, caring and persistent Austin Hohnke) who sorts out the truth of his brother’s torment. We quickly learn that Jake didn’t kill Beth (a touchingly broken Jessica Jane Hagemeister). She, too, has a champion, her own brother Mike (a forceful, no-nonsense Devin Newbold).

One more sibling attachment exists between Jake and his sister Sally (portrayed with a lovely simplicity by Kelsey Dignum). She’s Frankie’s sane counterpart and plays a pivotal role as a bumper between Jake and his predatory mother, Lorraine (brought to life with a slick, lip sticked air of experience by Katie Gottlieb).

Beth’s parents are another kind of nightmare. Father Baylor (played with comic crust by Casey Baker) is a self-serving redneck. Mother Meg (an appropriately fussy Emily Miller) is a dutiful ranch wife who saves zingers for her exit lines.

As the naturalistic plot drives to a surprisingly symbolic ending, the play explores the lies we tell ourselves, our siblings, our parents and our mates. Shepard calls attention to our delusions, including by default, American exceptionalism. Sometimes the symbolism gets a little heavy handed – the various appearances of the flag, for example. By the time that happens, the playwright has shifted into mythic territory, and you just need to go with it. By the way, “Lie” is considered Shepard’s most optimistic play, and the ending is remarkably poetic.

This is a vision of America heavily glazed with irony. Last weekend, while the actors had a clear grasp of the material with all its quirks, turns and extremes, the audience seemed to have difficulty knowing where to laugh and where to squirm. There is black humor in the play, and these are strange, bizarre characters. I wondered if the audience expected a standard comedy. Shepard’s life-long look at the American family is anything but jolly.

When the play opened in New York, critic Mel Gussow linked Shepard to Tennessee Williams as “playwright-poets of the American heartland. I mean ‘heartland’ in two senses,” Gussow wrote, “both emotional and geographic. Shepard’s characters – prodigal sons and fathers, abandoned mothers and daughters – long to come back home and put things in order. Each is looking for ‘one good solid ally.’” •