NEW YORK – The gasps of pleasure that accompanied the stage entrance of Dan Stevens in The Heiress on press night indicated a large contingent of Downton Abbey fans in the audience. And the actor is a savvy casting choice in a part that requires beguiling charm and sufficient sincerity to keep us wondering about his character’s motives. But the good news doesn’t extend to the actress in the title role of this plush Broadway revival. An underpowered Jessica Chastain, hampered by questionable directorial choices, dilutes the emotional impact of this nonetheless compelling melodrama.
Adapted by Ruth & Augustus Goetz from Henry James’ novel Washington Square, the 1947 play won a Tony Award for Cherry Jones in the celebrated 1995 revival, and an Oscar for Olivia de Havilland in William Wyler’s 1949 screen version.
Making her Broadway debut, Chastain is not a natural fit for Catherine, the socially awkward, plain-Jane daughter of wealthy widowed medic Dr. Austin Sloper (David Strathairn) in mid-19th century New York. In her prolific burst of film work over the past two years, the lovely Juilliard-trained actress has impressed with her poise and delicacy, balancing fragility with quiet inner fortitude. But playing against type is less a problem in Chastain’s frustrating performance here than inconsistency of characterization.
As Morris Townsend, the cash-strapped gentleman whose ardent interest in Catherine causes her to blossom in a dizzying two-week courtship, Stevens is ideal. While Dr. Sloper pegs him as a gold-digging wastrel and is determined to open his daughter’s eyes to that view, Stevens brings such unsullied earnestness to the role that we want to believe in his honest intentions, just as he appears to want the same. Morris is so bewitched by the material comforts of the Slopers’ swanky home on fashionable Washington Square that he seems as much a victim of his desires as the architect of any calculated scheme.
Strathairn is also superb as Dr. Sloper, who takes his behavioral cues from his clinical profession. The insensitivity with which he treats his daughter makes it a challenge to find a glimmer of sympathy in this joyless man – as starchy and severe as his tall hat and topcoat. But Strathairn deftly reveals the pathos of the doctor, who has never been able to forgive Catherine for the death of his beloved wife in childbirth. It’s his tragedy as much as Catherine’s that his chilliness has caused her to grow up into the exact opposite of her vivacious mother.
Ivey, as always, is a consummate pro. Without any undue scene-stealing, she is a constant delight to watch. Her good-hearted Lavinia is a giggling, frivolous woman, slightly dim and a shameless flirt; even her widow’s weeds are covered in silly flounces and ruffles. But her girlish swooning over the romance in the air between Catherine and Morris masks a touching vein of melancholy. “Life can be very long for a woman alone,” she warns her niece.
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