Teen prodigy’s inner world
Fifteen-year-old Christopher (Adam Langdon) suffers the sort of problem that makes him need directions to buildings right in front of him, even though he can map out the universe, with all its black holes and red dwarfs, better than most adults can, That’s especially true for his bluecollar father, Ed (Gene Gillette), a single parent. Christoper might be a math prodigy, able to take his A levels years ahead of schedule, but he can’t understand metaphors or body language or entirely refrain from soiling himself.
Christopher is a great observer, which helps him solve before intermission the title mystery of “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the NightTime,” whereby his neighbor’s dog was found stabbed with a
pitchfork. His actual problem is that he observes too much, unable to filter from a barrage of stimuli the important from the not. That makes a place like a train station unbearably intense. Yet venture to one Christopher must, to reckon with the answer to his detective work and what it says about his life at home — which is a lot harder than the sleuthing itself.
For those of us more accustomed to that sensory overload that is a terminus, the Tonywinning production that opened Wednesday, June 28, at SHN’s Golden Gate Theatre immerses us into Christopher’s heightened perception. As envisioned by director Marianne Elliott, the London Underground’s ads and crowds, its screeches of wheels and glares of light signal not the drudgery of a commute: They roar as the very dogs of hell.
Eardrum-shattering as all that is, the real terrors of “Incident,” which Simon Stephens adapted from Mark Haddon’s popular novel, aren’t sudden blasts of sound or flashes of strobe. They’re quiet. They lurk in how easy it is for adults to say “I promise” and not mean it, for them to break the rules they create, as well as the ones someone like Christopher devises to make his world more bearable. No chatting with strangers. No touching, except for one ritualistic hand gesture whereby two palms meet, as if trying to connect through a windowpane.
Especially toward the end, Elliott’s tone can wax feel-good, ignoring the story’s interesting loose ends instead of letting us feel the lack of resolution. How do you make up with someone who can’t respond to emotional appeal? What will become of Christopher’s aspiration to be an astronomer or scientist, when he still needs adults to dress him? Here, it’s as if the only thing that matters is Christopher’s math exam.
Langdon’s performance, however, can get you through most any rough patch. He delivers Christopher’s speech in strange singsong, his incantatory rhythm showing just how much Christopher travels on his own frequency. He radiates appeal, with an almost undetectable smile as he matter-offactly ranks his likes and dislikes, his prowesses. Elliott’s staging makes him magical, even. An ensemble of actors makes props appear exactly when Christopher needs them; they send him aloft both in moments of intellectual reverie and bottomless terror.
You root for him so much than you forget what a pain in the neck he must be. The show is not as generous as the book is, through profound understatement, to the woes of Christopher’s many caregivers, an imbalance that lowers the play’s stakes.
Yet “Incident” still makes a sobering point, revealing trust as miracle in this frightening world of ours. Strangers might be scary, out there in the dark, but family members know the very perches from which we gaze at the stars.
Adam Langdon radiates appeal, with an almost undetectable smile as he matter-of-factly ranks his likes and dislikes, his prowesses.