Rules for Living: Jonathan Feuer, Naomi Jacobson, and Dani Stoller – Photo: Margot Schulman
Funny and devilishly astute, Sam Holcroft’s Rules for Living, now at Round House, delivers a home-for-the-holidays dramedy where everyone has way more baggage than their carry-ons. Just as giggle-worthy as her slow-mo’ car wreck of a family Christmas is her clever meta-juxtaposition of a few notions from cognitive behavioral therapy about the coping mechanisms most of us use to survive and/or evade home truths. The result is some big laughs, a few insights, and a well-timed shot across the bow as we all head into the holidays.
Originally written for British characters, this has been thoroughly “translated” for a stateside audience, which is an interesting choice considering the number of Americans who now spend their evenings tucked up in front of writ-for-Brits fare and managing just fine.
That said, there’s no doubt that the Yankified version of Rules for Living makes for an instant-mash kind of relatability with its buffet of crusty Brahmin-aspirant parents, neurotic Millennials, and a dash of mismatched romance. Add director Ryan Rilette’s sharp pacing and a sparkling ensemble, and this cracks along with a laugh or revelation a minute.
The show is most definitely stolen by Jonathan Feuer as Adam, the eldest son of the uber-conventional parents playing host to this incendiary gathering. Without revealing Adam’s “rules” for living, suffice it to say that Feuer captures the frustration and angst of this hamstrung man with the kind of all-in conviction and comic timing that makes him not just the perfect vehicle for Holcroft’s zingers, but abundantly believable. He is the embodiment of that guy who never misses a miserable trick — about himself or anyone else — and he lets everyone know about it.
Coming in a close second is a stellar Dina Thomas as his wife, the highly-strung Nicole. This is a particularly well-conceived and written incarnation of that certain woman of the chattering classes who, perhaps unwillingly, finds herself either family champion or spinning-top neurotic, depending on your point of view. To Holcroft’s credit and despite being in it for the laughs and indeed the honesty, she never lets Nicole turn into an object of contempt, even if there is plenty of derision. Thomas plays it with a furious ardency, nicely capturing Nicole’s “don’t make me be this way” exasperation.
Another stand-out is the always phenomenal Naomi Jacobson as the tightly-wound matriarch, Deborah. The challenge here is managing Holcroft’s choice to paint Deborah as an unstoppable domestic tyrant while also having her collapse into manic cleaning whenever the going gets rough. This never feels fully authentic since Deborah presents as a dyed-in-the-wool extrovert (indeed, Adam calls her the Führer) and you’d expect her best defense (and rule for living) to be an offense, not sudden retreats into dusting trinkets.
Deborah certainly has a powerlessness at her core, but that’s never stopped anyone from going for the jugular. Jacobson does an acrobat’s job in making sense of this fault line with exactly the right highly comic stridency when in full flight and a well-drawn subtext of silent expression when she’s under siege. Thanks to Jacobson’s mastery, Deborah is exactly the anchor she needs to be. As the late-arriving patriarch Francis, John Lescault ups the ante, right on cue.
Another challenging role is Carrie, a would-be actor and girlfriend to Mathew, the family Golden Boy. Holcroft writes her loud and large as she maneuvers her way through Deborah’s minefields and the freighted triangle between Mathew, Adam, and Nicole. She’s the least nuanced of the characters, with Holcroft only vaguely suggesting she may be that archetypal ditz who’s actually the shrewdest in the room. This leaves Carrie little more than an entertaining foil, but Dani Stoller does a great job keeping the lights on with a storm of energy and occasional consternation, which skillfully fudges the question of whether there’s also anyone at home.
Will Conard hasn’t quite figured out what to do with Mathew’s grab-bag of noxious traits. This is a guy who lies and gaslights to make his life easier — he’s an accomplished lawyer but eats like a toddler, and he calls Carrie’s extroversion vulgar while preening over his own childish performance. Although Conard checks all the boxes, he ties Mathew together with a kind of hapless affect that doesn’t quite gel with what surely lies beneath.
The only other complaint is one that won’t bother the crowd ready to be pleased: Holcroft’s choice to deliver a climax that dives headlong into overtly-choreographed cliche. Much is salvaged by the full-stop of the quietly charismatic Maisi Posner’s Emma, but the finale would have been far more effective and convincing with a single defining outrage having something to do with Deborah.
Despite the sitcom sheen, there’s no question that Holcroft is clever in her turning of the family screws. She has a keen eye and ear for the mental gymnastics of a certain demographic. Rules for Living may not be a world-rocking probe of the human psyche, but Holcroft has a confident handle on what makes people with First World problems tick, and it’s entertaining as hell.
Rules for Living (★★★★☆) runs through Jan. 4 at Round House Theatre, 4545 East-West Highway in Bethesda. Tickets range from $50 to $109.00. Call 240-644-1100 or visit RoundHouseTheatre.org.
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