Of Mice and Men

John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men is one of the first classic books children read, and with good reason. It's metaphors are simple, the foreshadowing obvious, and the underlying sense of loyalty is incredibly appealing. It's also short, and I remember reading it as a kid and loving the hell out of it.

Steinbeck adapted his book into a play, changing nothing. It's been made into a movie twice, but the play has been revived on Broadway with the star power of James Franco as George, the much put-upon but unwavering caretaker of his dim friend Lenny, played by Chris O'Dowd. The two characters have entered the consciousness of American thought, as even if someone has never read or seen the story they may know about the big guy who wants to pet the rabbits.

Under the direction of Anna D. Shapiro (who also directed the mesmerizing August: Osage County), Of Mice and Men makes for a solid entertainment, touching on just the right notes of humor and pathos. Some teenage girls I saw, presumably there for Franco, were wiping away tears at the play's conclusion, and all the possible laugh lines were hit effectively. There are some interesting considerations brought by the play in this time period, notably its treatment of blacks and women.

George and Lenny are itinerant workers in California during the depression. They have had to flee the last job because Lenny, who has the intelligence of a toddler, loves to touch pretty and soft things, and one of those was a woman's dress. George sticks with him, though, and one of the work's eternal mysteries is why. He lies about a familial relationship, and there is even a joke about homosexuality, but he stays with him basically because it would be inhumane not to. For all the fretting he does about Lenny, he could no more leave him alone than he could stop breathing.

The two find a job on a ranch, but there's immediately trouble in the form of Curly (Alex Morf), the hot-tempered son of the boss. He picks fights as a matter of course, but what's worse, he has brought his new bride (Leighton Meester) to live among the men. She is a flirt, or, as George immediately sizes her up, "Jesus, what a tramp!" It doesn't take a genius to see that this will not have a good outcome.

As portrayed by Meester, Curly's wife (she is given no name) is the most interesting part of the play in 2014. Steinbeck gives her lip service--in the parlance of today, he is not interested in slut-shaming her. But there is an uncomfortable pall over the play, as her very presence is the catalyst of tragedy. In a way, it's the standard blaming of the victim in today's rape culture. Is she at fault for her own demise? Discuss amongst yourselves.

Aside from that, there is also the scene in the room of Crooks, the crippled black stable-hand. The n-word is used freely here, as it should be, for the time period would dictate it. Here Steinbeck is more enlightened, raising objections to segregation--Crooks can't go in the bunkhouse with the men--they think he stinks--but is angered by Lenny just wandering in. Of course Lenny, with the intellect of a child, doesn't know why Crooks is treated differently, one of the saving graces of his idiocy.

The creaks of the age of the play are apparent--the mercy killing of old Candy's dog, which will reappear in a different form by the end, and the rules about the showing of the gun are here, too. But the appeal of this story is in its elemental nature, the notion that humans are better when they are wanted and needed. George tells Lenny that they are different than other guys, because "I got you, and you got me."

As for the acting, Franco took some critical brickbats, but they are undeserved. He is firmly in control in a difficult role. In a way, he's like the straight man of a comedy act, Abbott to O'Dowd's Costello, the one that people dislike. As mean as he can be to Lenny, though, Franco is able to let us know that he never lacks for compassion for his friend. O'Dowd, his head nearly shaved like a mental patient's, doesn't strike me as a big man, but he is able to convince us of his strength. The role is a showier one than George's, and O'Dowd did get the Tony nomination.

Special credit should also be given to Jim Norton, who plays Candy. The scenes in which he reacts to the death of his dog, and to the death of his dream of the house with the chickens and the rabbits, is almost too painful to watch.