HER MIND, OUR MEMORY

Kenneth Lonergan’s family fissures hit hard
in Backyard Renaissance’s intimate staging

What an incredibly robust month November has been for smaller theaters in San Diego: the fun of To My Girls at Diversionary; a gloriously intense one-woman performance in Beauty’s Daughter at OnWord; a delicious character study in Master Class at Scripps Ranch Theatre; and now this exquisitely-cast, gut-wrenching production of The Waverly Gallery, the Pulitzer Prize finalist (2000) by playwright Kenneth Lonergan, produced by Backyard Renaissance, who keep raising their bar, show after show, and satisfying every time.

This memory play opens in 1989 with our occasional narrator, Daniel (Tom Zohar) conversing over a light meal with the much older Gladys (Deborah Gilmour Smyth) in her small art gallery in Greenwich Village. Daniel can barely get a few words in as Gladys jumps from topic to topic, often repeating herself. Their relationship is hard to determine at first, until she states — almost in passing — that her husband Herb was Daniel’s mother’s father, something he clearly already knows. It’s the first real clue that Gladys’s connection to reality isn’t tight, but Daniel’s good nature permits him to keep her smiling instead of dwelling on her slips.

As the pair move to dinner with Daniel’s mother Ellen (Katie MacNichol) and stepfather Howard (Alexander Ameen), where there’s more need to keep Gladys focused, the gravity of the situation and the family tension become more apparent. Fears spike when it’s discovered that the increasingly unfocused Gladys has just told an almost-homeless artist named Don (William Huffaker), whom she met that day, that he is welcome to live in the side room of the gallery and even do a show of his art. The story continues as the family struggles to cope while life takes its usual twists and turns, rarely giving them a break to deal with Gladys’s descent.

Before delving into individual performances, perhaps the most telling moment of how powerful the script is — and how strongly director Francis Gercke succeeds — comes in the final moment of the night: after the curtain call, the lights came up and no one in the whole audience moved or spoke for close to a full minute. Universally, everyone needed time to gather themselves and take in Mr. Zohar’s final monologue, even though the actors had already broken character to take their bows and the house lights were up.

In a world that seems to give a standing ovation to anything, not one person stood up to cheer. Not because the accolades would have been undeserved, but because we were simply not emotionally ready to let go, not ready to return to our role as appreciative audience members. The performance was still echoing in us.

In 2013, Deborah Gilmour Smyth slayed in Margaret Edson’s Wit and, at the time, I assumed that would be the role I’d always remember her for. Yet here, the exhaustive, relentless energy that she puts into Gladys — especially in Act II — is indelibly burned into my mind. Leaping from second to second between fear, joy, confusion, tranquility, curiosity, and longing without any regard for who else is speaking, Ms. Smyth’s Gladys is a profoundly moving creature caught between wanting independence and a mind that cannot be controlled. The result is a level of empathy for Daniel, Ellen, and Howard that could not be achieved without Ms. Smyth’s perpetual intensity.

And every member of the cast meets her with equal truth — particularly Mr. Zohar, who truly shines in the ultimate scenes. Even Mr. Huffaker, initially a source of levity, ends up touching us deeply as found-family caught up in the literal insanity.

Duane McGregor’s lovely set is split between the gallery on the audience’s right and the family’s uptown dining room. Center stage occasionally becomes Gladys’s home as well. Wherever we are over the next two years of the family’s life — whether the moment deals with Gladys present and needing to be controlled, or talking about her in those brief spells of relief when she is not there — the tension is virtually non-stop through both acts. Rarely have I both needed intermission so badly and been so eager to see more after getting that breather.

This truly fine production opened last weekend, yet has only a week left. It comes highly recommended not just for its artistry, but for the tenderness and truth with which these actors inhabit their characters. The Waverly Gallery reminds us how fragile mind and memory can be — and how deeply we remain connected to one another, even as those connections fray.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

photos by Michael Makie

The Waverly Gallery
Backyard Renaissance Theatre Company
Tenth Avenue Arts Center, 930 Tenth Ave.
Mon at 7; Thru, Fri & Sat at 7:30; Sun at 3
ends on Dec 6, 2025
for tickets, call 619-337-1525 or visit Backyard Renaissance

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦