An Inspector Calls
The Vortex, through July 25
Running time: 2 hr, 20 min
In J.B. Priestley’s An Inspector Calls, it’s not whodunit as much as everyone-dunit. A destitute girl named Eva Smith commits suicide, and an inspector comes calling to investigate. There is something strange in this premise. Why would an inspector get involved when no real crime has been committed? But as Priestley and his play will carefully demonstrate, we do not live alone. People affect other people’s lives, often causing destruction through selfish and thoughtless deeds. The play runs like a socially conscious murder-mystery, an indictment of the upper class. Refusing charity, refusing pity, refusing a raise, refusing love – all these accumulated unkindnesses killed Eva Smith, and now an inspector has come to exact verbal retribution on the perpetrators.
Written in 1945 and set in 1912, An Inspector Calls feels antiquated, and Different Stages’ production reflects this quality. The experience is pleasant, but the drama isn’t quite there. Suicide doesn’t pack the dramatic punch it did six decades ago, not to our CSI-inundated ears. So while the characters repeatedly say how distraught they are over this terrible event, the audience just waits for the plot to move along. Early on, we learn that the inspector is going to methodically question each character. With each successive interrogation, we soon easily guess which fish in this theatrical barrel are responsible for which aspects of the poor girl’s demise. The audience is far too far ahead of Priestley and his machinations. What keeps things interesting are the different generations’ responses to the lines of inquiry. Arthur and Sybil Birling, the heads of this wealthy household, are incensed by the implication they had any responsibility for Eva Smith. But the younger generation, Sheila and Eric Birling and Sheila’s fiancé, Gerald Croft, seem to grasp what the inspector believes: that sometimes social responsibility should matter more than good business.
Different Stages’ production, directed by Norman Blumensaadt, does not miss the mark. The play is communicated; the story is clear; the message is sent home. But the production is neither particularly powerful nor gripping. A few moments of jarring light shifts and aggressive musical underscoring may be intended to amp up the drama, but, due to their clunkiness, they elicit laughter instead. Overall, the performances are fairly weak. The night I attended, more than one actor was forgetting lines to the point of distraction. The strongest performances are by Garry Peters, whose inspector possesses relentless logic and passionate empathy, and Nicole Swahn, whose Sheila Birling appears believably shocked and ashamed by her privilege. Andy Smith also does nice work as Eric Birling, the troubled son.
Paul Davis’ set provides an elegant dining room in which the secrets of the wealthy are revealed. And as the play progresses, the dining room shifts orientation, providing a new angle on the set for each act and a nice echo of the idea that the inspector is trying to get the Birlings to see a new perspective. Priestley was fascinated with time, particularly with J.W. Dunne’s notion that the past, present, and future are all happening simultaneously. An Inspector Calls plays with this concept in a way that would make M. Night Shyamalan proud, but it makes for a long and repetitive journey to get to the payoff of the final twist. In the end, a lasting impression is left by the mysterious inspector whose final line sums up his moral ferocity: “We don’t live alone. We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other. And I tell you that the time will soon come when, if men will not learn that lesson, then they will be taught it in fire and blood and anguish. Good night.”
This article appears in July 17 • 2009.