Dec 19, 2023
Shaken and Stirred: A Review of “Agnes of God” at Redtwist Theatre
June 8, 2023 at 7:00 am by Mary Wisniewski Soleil Pérez in “Agnes of God” at
June 8, 2023 at 7:00 am by Mary Wisniewski
Soleil Pérez in "Agnes of God" at Redtwist Theatre/Photo: Tom McGrath
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When you enter the small, dimly lit Redtwist Theatre for its production of "Agnes of God," Rose Johnson's set makes you dizzy. On either end of the black-box theater space are stylized church windows, lit from behind and slanted so that the pews beneath them seem askew. Chairs are tipped over, and a desk has been chopped short on one side. Underneath the tall side of the desk is a dim light, with dry-ice vapor pouring out. Is this a ransacked office, a chapel, or a horror-movie cemetery?
Debra Rodkin and Jacqueline Grandt in "Agnes of God"/Photo: Tom McGrath
Entering this expressionistic space is the chain-smoking psychiatrist Dr. Livingstone (Redtwist ensemble member Jacqueline Grandt), dressed in an intimidating ensemble of wool suit, turtleneck sweater and high heels. She presents as logical and scientific, but the slanted setting undermines her from the start. She's not as impartial as she thinks she is. All three characters in this play are unreliable narrators, and we’ll be groping with them toward the truth until the end.
Written by John Pielmeier in 1979, the play is about a young nun named Agnes (Soleil Pérez) found bleeding and unconscious in her convent bedroom. In a wastepaper basket is a strangled baby. The nun can't remember what happened. Dr. Livingstone must determine if she's sane enough to stand trial. Mother Superior (ensemble member Debra Rodkin), a wisecracking older woman who took the veil after being widowed, cautions the psychiatrist not to probe too deeply—Agnes is innocent and special, perhaps a saint. Too much analysis might ruin her. But the psychiatrist, a former Catholic angry at the church for past injuries, can't resist digging deep, even if it risks disaster.
Directed by Clare Brennan, this stunning Redtwist production is almost unbearably intense, disorienting and claustrophobic. It gives us three gifted actors, performing with absolute passion and commitment. Seated in a single row of chairs against each long wall, the audience gets the full hurricane blast of the performance. Nothing is held back. (Because of the small space, the audience must wear masks.)
Livingstone's use of hypnosis to uncover Agnes’ repressed memories hasn't aged well in the more than four decades since the play was written. Researchers have found that hypnosis doesn't work well as a memory-recovery method, and can implant false memories through suggestion. Surprisingly, this change doesn't make the show feel dated—it wasn't totally on the side of psychiatry anyway. All three women sought refuge from trauma—Livingstone in her work, and Agnes and Mother Superior in religion. All find that the refuge was not as safe as they’d hoped.
Soleil Pérez, Jacqueline Grandt and Debra Rodkin/Photo: Tom McGrath
Redtwist's "Agnes of God" is perfectly cast. Rodkin's Mother Superior in humorous and charismatic, especially when she and Livingstone speculate about what kind of cigarettes the saints would have smoked (Peter was a Marlboro man). She can also flare with anger, and show touching vulnerability. As Livingstone, Grandt displays great subtlety, moving from detachment to love. And Pérez as Agnes is a revelation—her luminous hazel eyes hardly blink as she tells her visions. In her white novitiate habit, she seems to radiate light.
This isn't an easy play. If you’re looking for cheap Catholic bashing—a temptation after recent Illinois Attorney General revelations about clergy abuse—you won't find it in "Agnes of God." It has too much respect for mystery. You also won't find squishy mysticism, or dismissal of science. The play acknowledges the complexity of all this. After the show, you’ll blink in the light of Bryn Mawr Avenue feeling shaken and stirred, with more questions than you had going in.
"Agnes of God" at Redtwist Theatre, 1044 West Bryn Mawr, redtwisttheatre.org. Through July 9.