Matthew McConville and Kevin Maynard in Of Mice & Men
In 1936, novelist John Steinbeck wrote a newspaper series, The Harvest Gypsies, about the Great Depression's itinerant farm workers. Then he wrote his 1937 novella Of Mice & Men, and adapted it for the stage himself within months of the book's publication. Two years later, he wrote The Grapes of Wrath. As a young man, he lived this harsh existence; as a writer, he evoked it with his eloquence. And the Richmond Hill Barn Theatre's Of Mice & Men is a skillful incarnation of this story. Director Justin Raver, alongside his cast and crew, brought it to vivid life in this production – one that's as stark and realistic as Steinbeck's words themselves. (I got the book from the library and started reading it the next day.)
Though I hadn't read the work before Thursday's opening night, or watched the 1939 or subsequent film adaptations, I knew the gist of the plot. The large, slow, usually amiable Lennie became part of popular culture – if you're Gen X or older, you may remember various hulking Looney Tunes characters who enthused to some George or other about hugging and squeezing and mashing small, helpless animals. Anyway, what I didn't realize about the characters was the cruel, hardscrabble loneliness and exhaustion of migrant farm workers' lives. Now, I've had a glimpse.
Kevin Maynard plays George straightforwardly; stoic, no fuss. He takes care of Lennie, though they're not kin. George has some patience with the big man, despite his occasional pop-offs about how good he'd have it without his human burden. Maynard doesn't overplay George's exhaustion, but I could feel it. George simply has to go on with no respite, knowing that every time they get their next job, Lennie will eventually erupt, and they'll be back on the road with nothing.
The marvelous Matthew McConville plays an endearing Lennie. Forgetful and frequently demanding reassurances, Lennie has little self-control or capacity to learn, and is the next thing to a four-year-old … with a sledgehammer. He takes a while to get it, whatever it is – his eager smiles bloom, or confusion overtakes him, gradually and implacably. What sustains both men is a dream of working their very own land, keeping the crops and animals they choose, taking the day off when they want. Owning a home where they can stay, and not have to leave when the barley's in.
Patrick Kelley, a delightful performer who makes me regret missing most of his previous portrayals, is Candy, an older man who cleans at the ranch where George and Lenny are now working. He can't do strenuous work, as he's missing a hand (which the actor indicates in a subtle, clever way). Kelley's good-natured tippler Ivan in The Seafarer – which Raver directed for Richmond Hill last fall – inadvertently saved the day in that dark play. Here, sweet Candy tries to do the right thing and climb out of the ditch of poverty the men are trapped in – and my heart broke every time his did when he lost whatever he loved. [On a related note, Candy's dog is played by Kane, a real (leashed) canine.]
Glenn Kluge is a master of verisimilitude as the friendly, pragmatic ranch hand Slim, and the equally naturalistic Julian Totton (as Carlson) and Zack Sullivan (as Whit) also come off as unsentimental men whose only pleasures are a shot of booze and a visit to a brothel, blowing a week or two of their hard-earned money in one night. Anthony Mitchell plays Crooks, a smart stable hand who is sometimes belligerent for good reasons beyond his crooked back. The actor plays his part exceedingly well, and his skill with the cane and Southern patois add nicely to the character. Mitchell played the title role in Genesius Guild's Othello in 2023, another performance I'm sorry I missed.
Kevin Keck is fairly terrifying as the ranch owner's hotheaded son Curley. Mike Skiles ably plays the Boss himself – no tyrant he, but as stern as he needs to be with constant worker turnover. Both make a strong impression with comparatively little stage time. Meanwhile, the always entertaining Lily Blouin plays Curley's Wife, who, tellingly, doesn't even get a name in the play … though the men do call her "tramp" and "whore" (albeit fine with visiting the cathouse themselves).
The set is spare and functional. One great aspect of Richmond Hill's theatre-in-the-round playing space is that vital elements which appear only once or twice (for example, bunks) can be tucked into corners, without the interruption and distraction of setting and striking scenery. Here, the tool-strewn length of fence along the corridor leading into the theatre is an impressive touch. (As seems to be tradition with the Barn Theatre, the program doesn't credit the designer – but "Boss" portrayer Skiles built it.)
I muse on the tragedy that every character in this play is a victim of circumstance. Yes, personal choices shape what happens, but Lennie, for example, can't change how he was born and built. Being unable to remember things, despite trying hard, is not a moral failing – it just is. Also, thanks to this vivid staging of Of Mice & Men, I now know the source of inspiration when The Walking Dead writer Scott Gimple had Carol tell her young charge Lizzie "Just look at the flowers" in that episode 10 years ago.
Of Mice & Men runs at the Richmond Hill Barn Theatre (600 Robinson Drive, Geneseo IL) through October 13, and more information and tickets are available by calling (309)944-2244 and visiting RHPlayers.com.
