Revived in 1998 to acclaim at New York's Lincoln Center, Ah, Wilderness! is a sharp departure from the gritty reality of the author's renowned dramas. Taking place over the July 4th weekend of 1906 in an idyllic Connecticut town, it offers a tender, retrospective portrait of small town family values, teenage growing pains, and young love.
American playwright Eugene Gladstone O'Neill authored Mourning Becomes Electra in 1931 among his works; he won the Nobel Prize of 1936 for literature, and people awarded him his fourth Pulitzer Prize for Long Day's Journey into Night, produced in 1956.
He won his Nobel Prize "for the power, honesty and deep-felt emotions of his dramatic works, which embody an original concept of tragedy." More than any other dramatist, O'Neill introduced the dramatic realism that Russian playwright Anton Chekhov, Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen, and Swedish playwright August Strindberg pioneered to Americans and first used true American vernacular in his speeches.
His plays involve characters, who, engaging in depraved behavior, inhabit the fringes of society, where they struggle to maintain their hopes and aspirations but ultimately slide into disillusionment and despair. O'Neill wrote Ah, Wilderness!, his only comedy: all his other plays involve some degree of tragedy and personal pessimism.
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness— Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!-- Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
I saw a production of this play last night at Chicago’s Goodman Theater, where I have been seeing plays for decades, including several productions of O’Neill’s most famous plays such as Long Day’s Journey into Night, and the Iceman Cometh. A sentimental romance, it is the only comedy O’Neill wrote, coming in the middle of an almost unprecedented explosion of some of the very greatest plays in the history of theater. After seeing the play I decided to read it for the first time. On the one hand, no thanks; it feels like he was answering a challenge from his friends/viewers: Hey, Eugene, I betcha can’t write a play that will make us laugh and feel good about ourselves! On the other hand, it's solid, a reflective fantasy on the life O'Neill never lived, with a teen main character very much like himself, so that's interesting. What if he had had parents who confronted him about his drinking and encouraged him in love and life?
So Ah, Wilderness sort of works, and it has sweetness throughout, but the depth of his greatest and most sorrowful plays makes this play pale in comparison. Written in one month in 1933, it focuses on the happy Miller family on Fourth of July weekend, 1906. O’Neill was born in a hotel room; his own mother was a morphine addict; his father was on the road for years in a traveling production. O’Neill was put in a boarding school at 7, and throughout his tumultuous life he suffered bitter depression, alcoholism. He spent many years on the sea that he loved, but his life and work was tragedy, on the whole.
The teen and lead character, Richard, is an aspiring poet, just beginning to rebel against his parents. He shares snippets of what might have seemed at the time racy poetry that his girlfriend’s father finds, forcing his daughter to write a letter breaking up with Richard. The very next night an older friend of Richard talks him into going to a bar where he drinks for the first time and has a brief, funny, but pretty uneventful encounter with a lady of the evening. Richard rolls home drunk, and in big trouble, though later the next day he gets a note from his ex making it clear she still loves him, saying the note was a forced and false endeavor. The parents, too, initially upset, discover his penitence convincing and are pretty soft on him, taking the moment to also rekindle their own love for each other. Love, love, all around and a happy ending.
I have to say the play made me a little sad, since O’Neill himself never experienced anything like the happy and supportive family he depicts here— and two of his own children committed suicide, too--which is part of the reason why, though often pretty funny, Ah, Wilderness feels not quite convincing as an endorsement of Love Everlasting. One interesting aspect of the production I saw, though, was that a range of ethnicities are represented in the casting in a way that could not have socially (or even physically!) been possible at the time. The Irish Dad is married to an African-American mom, and Richard is a white red-haired kid. A sister appears to be Asian, a brother possibly Indian, and Uncle (brother of the Irish Dad) is also African-American, and so on. Blended family? Not in 1906! I liked that aspect of the production, though; it made for an interesting reflection on racial family-making, even if O'Neill's play wasn't about that. The play is a sentimental fantasy of love, and a kind of fantasy of 1906 life, or the life O'Neill never lived, in some ways. I liked seeing it, but give me anguishing tragic O’Neill every time. ☺
So O’Neill, born in a hotel room, also died in one. As he was dying, he whispered his last words: "I knew it. I knew it. Born in a hotel room and died in a hotel room."
Definitely inferior to the only other O'Neill play I've read, Long Day's Journey Into Night, which-- though I've not seen it performed-- is one of my all-time favourite plays.
This one is occasionally funny (pitiful drunk Uncle Sid, whose alcoholism keeps the love of his life, maiden Aunt Lily, from marrying him, has all of the best lines), but that's pretty much it. Eminently forgettable.
No, I haven't read this yet, or seen it staged, but I did see the 1935 MGM film, which apparently is faithful in spirit. Let this be a placeholder. My review of the film, as posted over at Letterboxd: https://letterboxd.com/citizen_k/film... --- You know how you go into a movie wanting to hate it, and do for the first 30 minutes or so, ready to write some snarky jaded shit like a 21st-century know-it-all fuck, and then, as it proceeds, seeing some sweet stuff in it, then some funny stuff, and then some true stuff, and then finding your resistance breaking down till the point that you're practically in tears by the end, and liking it? Well, that was me with this movie.
Ah, Wilderness is an idealized view of an American family, the Millers, on the Fourth of July at the turn of the century. Richard, the high school valedictorian, is smarter than everyone around him, or so he thinks, and is full of ideals and boiling testosterone. There are unresolved issues in this family, particularly a stanched romance that has brewed for years between the older Cousin Lily (Aline MacMahon) and Uncle Sid (Wallace Beery), a loveable lout who likes the booze a bit too much.
Without going into too much detail, suffice it to say the issues get resolved, and everything is done with taste and a good heart and humor.
There's some fun acting in this; hammy oftentimes, but hard not to enjoy. Wallace Beery as Uncle Sid the drunk is a hoot. When he walks into the movie about halfway through, stealing the scenery in one of the funniest family dinner scenes you've ever seen, the film takes off the launch pad and never comes down.
There are some scenes in this that surprised me a bit, coming as they do in a family friendly MGM Code-era production, such as the one where Wallace Beery and Lionel Barrymore start reading and laughing at dirty Swinburne poems. Or when Richard, heartbroken at rejection by his sweetheart, hightails it down to the local pub to carouse with a seductive hooker. Or when Pa Miller (Lionel Barrymore) spanks his wife's ass HARD just because he wants to.
Ah, Wilderness is a pretty much forgotten MGM prestige production that for decades straddled the edges of the canon without ever quite getting a foothold in it. It's worth seeing, if you can allow it to take you where it wants to without impatience.
The movie gets props for taking its time, for not falling into genre traps, and for lovingly evoking the rituals and memories that give life meaning.
I would like to see this play staged. I found it fun because the story is based in 1906, the play was published in 1933 and I am reading it in 2008....so the mannerisms of the characters and the stage direction in the play are both "old fashioned".
Like all good dysfunctional family plots, there is some alcoholism, a bratty child, some know-it-all drama teens, some people in denial, and someone trying to tie it all together. However, I did not read this play thinking of Arthur Miller (though there is a character with this very name in the play) or Tennessee Williams. I felt like it was a more light-hearted and upbeat look. Maybe I read it with the wrong tone?
Seems like this play could be interpreted on the stage from a few different points of view...not that I am theater expert or a dramaturg.
Plays, I think, are meant to be viewed on a stage-especially comedic plays. Seeing the play performed at the Goodman Theatre in Chicago by an outstanding cast really brought it to life. The subtlety of the lines were highlighted in this first class rendering of the play.
-"...spring should vanish like a rose, that youth’s sweet-scented manuscript should close." - “Well, Spring isn’t everything, is it, Essie? There’s a lot to be said for Autumn. That’s got beauty, too. And Winter—if you’re together.”
This was quite the enjoyable read--even though I had to read it for school. I could tell that there were so many scenes that would be really hilarious when staged. It was still funny when I was reading it! I loved how specific all the stage directions were because they allowed me to truly visualize the whole play.
This play is Eugene O'Neill's only comedy. Very nice. I liked it when I read it, but enjoyed seeing it on the stage at UVU ever more. The play, written in 1913, had a prhase that I only heard my mother say: Little pitchers have big ears. She was referring to me when she said that.
I liked it - Made me laugh out loud several times. The characters are vivid, and the plot is short and sweet. Can't wait to see it performed by the Tara seniors.
There are some wonderful versions of this play on the internet, including one adaptation with the legendary Montgomery Clift; a remarkable actor that scared Burt Lancaster, in the words of the latter, powerful, tremendous performer, Montgomery Clift had a presence unlike any other, magnetism, and vibrancy.
Another ve4rsion has the glorious Orson Welles in one of the roles, the genius who expressed the opinion that actors make or break a production, motion picture or play, as we learn from the book by Peter Bogdanovich – the director who has turned down The Godfather and Chinatown- Who the Hell Is In It. In Ah, Wilderness Richard Miller is the protagonist and Montgomery Clift plays him in one performance – and this character has been inspired by the image that the author had of himself, as an aspiring poet.
He reads poetry and loves authors like Omar Khayyam – which has actually inspired the title of the play: “A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness— Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!”
Richard Miller is infatuated – as he is only sixteen, love may be a notion, a feeling that presupposes more maturity than the hero has – with his neighbor Muriel, but her father, the most important advertiser in the newspaper owned by Sid Miller, the protagonist’s father, disagrees. Indeed, when the mother of the girl discovers in one of the drawers of the teenager, hidden under her clothes, the proof of the amorous relationship, Mr. McComber comes to confront Sid Miller, demands punishing actions, such as he took against his daughter and finally, declares he would no longer advertise in the Miller newspaper.
Dave McComber leaves a letter written by the daughter that he has confined to her room for a month and when he reads it, Richard is so devastated that he would later confess he thought about suicide.
Fortunately, he does not do this – he says it takes a lot of courage for it – but goes to a bar nearby, where he drinks and meets an experienced woman, Belle, who approaches the young man and courts him. This woman may work as a sex worker – this would be the politically correct term today for what used to be called prostitute – and she encourages the hero to drink – in the first place, later she would say he has had enough – and asks if he likes her.
When the answer is that she is all right, she sits on his lap and asks for a kiss, only to protest when this is an innocent one, given the ignorance of this ingénue, who then says he has made an oath and cannot het any further. Richard would not talk of Muriel, this upsets Belle who demands if she is not good enough to talk about this other girl, the hero is soon inebriated enough to become confused and yet ferocious, willing to fight a man who wants to buy a drink for the woman, after they claimed they know each other, only to be proved they just met.
The prodigal son returns late at home, after the family became worried, the following day the father receives a letter from an anonymous sender, who mentions where the son got drunk, the fact that the bar tender served him in spite of the fact that he was under age and the father should drive the bar owner out of town for this misdemeanor. When father inquires, the son talks about the inebriation, mentions he is sorry, but he was upset by the letter, given that he wants to marry Muriel against all that vicious McComber says- to which Sid Miller protests that he cannot speak like that about his future father-in-law.
All the excess of the night appear to be more than misguided, when the young man receives another message from Muriel, stating that the previous letter did not reflect in the least her sentiments, for it was completely dictated by her father and she disavows it. Indeed, she is willing to risk anything to see him later in the evening, for her feelings for him have not changed and when the two lovers meet, he has to admit to what happened, after he was devastated by the letter, how he encountered the blonde Belle- this is not her natural color surely, opines the girl.
Muriel is very upset and evidently jealous, even when the boy makes it clear that he loves no one else, he did not play along and declared to that woman that he has made an oath and speaks about the plans for the future.
The nice girl talks about the punishment that her future husband received, she is told that there is none yet and then she mentions that Mr. Miller would probably expect his son to go to University and Richard is none too happy about that. In fact, when he discusses with his father, the latter admits he has forgotten about the drinking night and the recompense needed for it and mentions that he might take his son to the newspaper to work, only to find that the hero is happy about the prospect, therefore he changes the penalty and says:
One of the central problems with Ah, Wilderness! seems obvious. It is a light charming comedy written by a playwright who at his best was intense, at his worst ponderous, but was never light or charming. There are scenes, for instance, where the family share jokes and laugh and I wonder how this works on the stage: it must be a challenge to get the audience to share the warmth of feeling. But maybe it plays better than it reads on the page. But even if this is the case I’m not convinced by it. A lot of the nostalgic charm depends on us looking back to 1906 and thinking it was a naive time: the way Essie Miller, for instance, is shocked by her son’s taste in literature – Bernard Shaw and other firebrands – might be comic, but it is comic because we know better. Her husband, Nat Miller, is not as shockable and, so we get the point, he is contrasted with David McComber, a more extreme example of the small minded in a small town – but there is a certain complacent security about Nat and his family: they are nostalgically nice because they are from a small town in simpler times. Nat and Essie’s son Richard is rebelling (Shaw and rest have gone to his head): it’s a comic rebellion, much of it about taking stances, quoting poetry, attempting to be cynically wise, but he also goes out and gets drunk...but he doesn’t allow himself to be picked up by the painted lady and later regrets his debauchery. Finally he returns to the goodness of his family...the complacent, self-satisfied family. My problem is that I’m not convinced Eugene O’Neill was sincere in all this: I think it all rings a little hollow. Apparently thirty years ago Ah, Wilderness! ran on Broadway in reparatory with A Long Day’s Journey Into Night: they were marketed as the O’Neill Plays and the idea was that they showed a light and dark versions of O’Neill’s family and youth – they shared the same cast, the same set, but the comparison seems a little unfair, the dark version is the vital one, the one with a complexity of attitude. But maybe Ah, Wilderness! plays better on the stage, maybe there are deeper emotions under the surface, but I missed them reading the text.
A window into such a different time. The play follows a whole family of characters, none of which are particularly interesting, but the relationships between them are fascinating. The play imagines itself a good moral influence. So, you get to see what the play thinks is is permissible, what is not, and what is praised.
From a modern perspective, none of the on-stage romantic relationships seem healthy. Mrs. Miller shoves all decision making and emotional labor onto Mr. Miller, and he sort of blows her off. Lily somehow manages to treat Sid more like an agency-less child than anybody else in the family. It's implied that he proposes to her every night, and Mrs. Miller asks why Lily doesn't just "reform him" from being the alcoholic everybody in else in the family encourages him to be. Richard and Muriel don't take responsibility for their actions, and the way they keep blaming each other is framed as cute.
Other parts of the play's sense of "right and wrong" are surprisingly... sex positive? Of course, Richard's puppy-love aspirations of "untainted" monogamy are celebrated as exactly what a "good boy" would want. At the same time, Mildred is dating around and everybody seems cool with it except for Mr. Mccomber, who is framed as uptight, unrealistic, and insufferable. Mr. Miller lectures Mr. Mccomber as naive for insisting Muriel is corruptible by sexualized poetry, insists that such if she was she'd be ignorant, and says he is "giving her [Muriel] credit for ordinary good sense." Richard has to of course vehemently decline since he is such a good boy, but Mr. Miller says that, while he wasn't into prostitutes, he ultimately supports Richard's personal decisions so long as he understands there's a difference between a relationship and a transaction. There's a lot of poorly-aged hand wringing about corrupting the womenfolk, but the play ultimately celebrates those "scandalous books" Richard has, and Mrs. Miller comes to accept them.
It's weirdly disjointed and seemingly inconsistent moralizing ramble, but that's also a lot of what I like about it.
O’Neill, Eugene. Ah, Wilderness! 1933. When I think of Eugene O’Neill, I remember dark, Freudian plays about dysfunctional families and broken dreams. But Ah, Wilderness! is a nostalgic little romantic comedy that I was surprised to learn was the inspiration for the Andy Hardy series of teen comedies with Mickey Rooney. It is Happy Days for folks living through the Great Depression. Set on the fourth of July in 1906, it presents an idealized middle-class family in a Currier and Ives New England town. Richard is graduating from high school with revolutionary ideas from reading the scandalous works of George Bernard Shaw, Algernon Charles Swinburne, and Omar Khayyam. Will his girl ever allow him to kiss her? Will he go off to Yale and become a doctor or a lawyer? Richard’s adolescent posturing is hard to take, but we put up with it because his good-humored father (played in a 1934 movie by Lionel Barrymore) treats it with condescending humor. It is as if O’Neill is forgiving himself for his foolish teenage dreams.
The playwright himself said that the inkling for this play dawned upon him in a dream. Surely, this book, his only comedy, is very much an idyllic dream. This is his description of a youth he never had. This book differences cuttingly with ‘Long Day’s Journey into Night’ in which he faced completely the tender truths of his own past, joined with them details drawn from the lives of friends and neighbours, and placed them in an acquainted story of disturbed adolescence. Having read this play in 2005, being rather uninformed of O’Neill, I much later came to know that he had called this play ‘a comedy of recollection’. And why won’t he? The plot’s sentimental tenor gives it its character. All the scenes, whether comic or sentimental, are spattered with a desire for a simpler, pure time. This unpretentious, bourgeois comedy of the American large small-town at the turn of the century, entertained me massively on the first read. Why? Just since it was a wannabe make-believe. That is all.
An unusual O'Neill play. It's warm, nostalgic and mildly humorous. Fabulous illustrations by Stirnweis - particularly the full page paintings. A nice, affirming read (not what you'd usually expect from O'Neill.
A mildly amusing time! I bet this would really come alive on stage, but the dated nature of a lot of the text makes me wonder if it will ever have a resurgence.