I Saw "The Sign": Ruminations on Goodman Theatre's "The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Window"

Hopefully Ace of Base and their 90s pop hit won’t be stuck in your head for too long. But I truly have seen “The Sign” – “The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window” specifically. Lorraine Hansberry’s last major work to make it to Broadway before she succumbed to pancreatic cancer at 34 has been plucked from relative obscurity and mounted at the Goodman Theatre (marking only the third production by a major playhouse). It is clear the Goodman team capitalizes on the fact this artistic offering has been so rarely staged to flex their creative muscles and take an imaginative approach to the Chicago-bred writer’s story of life, love and catastrophic loss against the background of a New York City and society undergoing transition during the latter part of last century.

One of the ways this is most evident is in the craftsmanship of the production’s scenic design. One of the most outstanding aspects of this Goodman production is the elaborate labyrinth of scaffolding erected to evoke both  Greenwich Village and a young beatnik couple’s lives developing during the early 1960s. Broadway-proven scenic designer Kevin Depinet does not disappoint as his half “West Side Story,” half  Christopher Nolan’s “Inception” creation of steel magnificence contributes captivating backdrop to the narrative of political, marital and emotional turmoil during the peak of the Gen X counterculture. Aside from the scenery, Justin Townsend’s lighting and Mikhail Fiskel’s sound engineering both demonstrate themselves as truly inspired. From the grim, foreboding illumination when Iris’ suicidal prostitute sister Gloria comes calling, to the grimy sunlight of Lower Manhattan dawn streaming through protagonist Sid’s window during the tragic final scene, the lighting is consistently incandescent. Laser-precision on the sounds of the crowd outside at Wally O’Hara’s political rally heard when the Brusteins’ apartment window raises during the scene centering around the demonstration, as well as the stereophonically sensational folk jazz Gloria emits from the record player, evidence the sound design as utterly on cue.

Another notable aspect of this “Sidney Brustein” envisioning is director Anne Kauffman’s commitment to timeliness and timelessness in the telling of Hansberry’s tale of free-spirited frustration. The Brusteins’ bright, boho-chic home with Tenerife Sea-blue walls (also well-constructed by Depinet) exhibits itself as much a 60s hipster NYC abode as a Wicker Park flat the envy of Airbnb circa 2016. Alison Simple’s costuming is modern vintage elegance, as everything from Iris’ pedal pushers to Sid’s unkempt dress shirts are both period and vogue, and support this conveyance of a sense of the narrative's continued aptness and ability to transcend time and culture the directing aspires to. Kauffman is unwaveringly faithful to her modern classicism-driven conception of this drama, from the clothing choices to the applaudable interior and exterior design of Brustein's world that simultaneously invokes nostalgia and latter-day charm. As a result, the director ensures a portrayal as relevant to the fight for civil rights and against the corrupt political machine of “City that Never Sleeps” in the mid-20^th century as it is to contemporary society’s political unrest and “Black Lives Matter” movement.

 In all honesty, the acting constitutes the only part of the show found less than impressive. Considering the Goodman's prestige, the ensemble’s performances are perceived as somewhat trite. Although brilliant moments exist (such as when Chris Stack as Sidney delivers adeptly to the audience’s delight juicy punch lines like the “I’m assimilated” retort to pretentious older sister-in-law Mavis’ sardonic, anti-Semitic-flavored comment about how she believed Jews were supposed to oppose alcohol consumption), the luster of these moments (as with any shiny thing) is brief and reflects the rustiness of all surrounding it. The character of wife Iris, as Hansberry wrote it, is an actress whose best thespian efforts, to paraphrase, consisted of her dancing and being mute. To great dismay, this production’s cast appears to be plagued by the same peculiar phenomenon tormenting Mrs. Brustein. This company's representation of the young, gifted and black author’s composition came across as simplistic and over-affected, particularly with the over-playing of the rapid banter and witty cynicism the characters and their interactions are smothered in (Travis Knight’s Black Pride-filled best friend Alton and his exchanges with Stack’s Sidney being a potent example). Nevertheless, the acting not entirely mirroring the training, experience and presumable talent of these seasoned performers, constituted small potatoes considering the spectacular whole of the production that compels me to say my eyes were truly opened to good theatre because “I saw ‘The Sign’.”