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‘Marcel on the Train’ a Celebration of Life Using the Silent Power of Mime
Live theater has the power to enthrall while inspiring a deep emotional impact, not only with well-honed dialogue and organic staging, but with movement and well-placed silences. With an emphasis on the latter, Marcel on the Train is mesmerizing and emotionally powerful. The drama is a tribute to celebrated icon of mime, Marcel Marceau. With a fascinating twist it captures a little known fact about Marceau’s life. As a young Frenchman he helped his brother save Jewish children with the French Resistance during the WWII Nazi occupation. This poetic, profound and suspenseful production finely directed by Marshall Pailet is inspired by Marceau’s courage and work in the Resistance. It currently runs at CSC until March 22, 2026.
Written by Marshall Pailet and Ethan Slater, who portrays Marceau, the events begin with an introduction to Marceau’s power to fluidly convey the invisible with simple movements. With these he manifests concrete objects that the audience sees with their imaginations in a silent, collective consciousness.
The opening scene happens in an abandoned train car overgrown with weeds, all invisible. Once Slater’s Marceau mimes sliding the doorway open, he views his surroundings. He sees a flower, picks it, and behold, his hand becomes the flower which opens, then dies. Another cast member enters and joins Marceau in the three sided space that is the train car. His right hand is a fluttering butterfly whose movements are accompanied by a riff of piano music, via Jill BC Du Boff’s sound design. Other performers whose hands are butterflies fill the train car with delicate beauty. Then, they vanish.
The scene transforms with the whistle and chugging sounds of the train. The performers turn into sleeping children and the difficult Berthe (Tedra Millan) screams as she awakens from a nightmare. Marceau attempts to understand her explanation and comfort her with humor in his role as chaperone of the 12-year-old boys (two girls are in disguise) under his charge. The train takes the 20-year-old Marceau and the four “boys” to a Boy Scout Camp in Switzerland to escape Nazi deportation to the concentration camps.
Pailet and Slater disclose the backstory in flashback vignettes where Marceau at various points remembers scenes from the past with his brother or father. These fill in gaps to clarify present events. In one such scene his brother Georges (Aaron Serotsky) discusses the foolproof plan (Jews never become Boy Scouts) to save children. Georges volunteers a reluctant Marceau to take them on a train through Nazi occupied France to the Swiss border. The flashbacks seamlessly return to the present stressful circumstances on the train created effectively with minimal design by Scott Davis and atmospheric lighting by Studio Luna.
As Marceau attempts to comfort the nihilistic, quarrelsome Berthe with humor, she criticizes his bad jokes and throws their dire situation in his face. Her character, though unlikable, provides the forward momentum challenging Marceau to rise above the dangerous circumstances. He persists and succeeds in rocking her off her negativity and fear with the silence of mime.
This becomes the template Marceau uses as he and the children travel toward the Alps, encountering obstacles along the way. Particularly tense scenes concern the unexpected. For example Georges doesn’t meet them at a stop where he was supposed to board the train to accompany them. Other frightening moments occur when they encounter the Nazis, especially as they come closer to their destination and the Swiss border crossing. At these moments of possibly being discovered, the stakes go through the roof. In each case, Marceau proves his mettle by using his art to distract the children and provide the hope and courage to confront extreme danger by believing in a positive outcome. Slater’s Marceau proves his talent using the power of silence and kinetic physicality. His creative imagination entrances the children. Thus, they follow his lead to keep quiet and not fight with each other and expose their true identity.
As a break in this template of Marceau’s softening the hellish situation with his artistry, Pailet and Slater interpose a scene in the future for each of the children. It is Marceau’s affirmation that they will not be captured and die in the camps. For example, Adolphe’s (Max Gordon Moore), future takes place in a POW camp in Vietnam. Marceau told him to remember something from his time on the train, Adolphe uses this remembrance to give himself hope. As a result he lightens the outlook for himself and another soldier despite the hellishness of the POW camp.
Marceau gives each of the children hope by telling them he sees their futures. Of course this inspiration deters them from believing in the present which is peopled by Nazis who intend to send any and all Jewish kinder off to the extermination camps.
The ensemble is superb. The staging and direction surprising and engaging. Slater, whose effervescent performance was perfection in the title role of “SpongeBob SquarePants: The Broadway Musical.” is of necessity the standout in a startling, endearing portrayal he helped write for himself. The scene where he picks up the snow that becomes the white make-up of Bip the Clown is searing and poignant. Slater’s few, profound gestures carry a lifetime of meaning in Marceau’s sixty-year career as a mime and actor in films who most always played himself with ironic silence.
Marcel on the Train runs 100 minutes with no intermission through March 22 at Classic Stage Company. classicstage.org.
‘Happy Talk,’ by Jesse Eisenberg, Starring Susan Sarandon, Marin Ireland
(L to R): Daniel Oreskes, Susan Sarandon, Nico Santos in ‘Happy Talk,’ directed by Scott Elliott, written by Jesse Eisenbert (Monique Carboni)
In Happy Talk by Jesse Eisenberg, adroitly directed by Scott Elliott, stealthy desperation that unravels into a high stakes gambit between employer Lorraine (Susan Sarandon) a Jewish community theater actress/housewife, and home health caretaker, Ljuba (Marin Ireland) climaxes by the end of the play. From the outset Eisenberg infers frenetic undercurrents in the dynamic between the two women. Lubja is the “happy,” compliant, illegal Serbian help and Lorraine negotiates the care of two individuals while she attempts a fantastic pretense that all is “well,” for the sake of the household. Both are fronting.
From their interactions at the top of the play, we divine a synergistic relationship between Ljuba and Lorraine. Ljuba is meticulous with Lorraine’s mom in her caretaking duties. Not in the country legally, Ljuba confides that she hopes to become a citizen via a green card marriage so that she might bring her daughter to the United States for a better life. Lorraine, whom we realize later in the play, is one step away from a nervous breakdown, has an upbeat attitude with Ljuba whom she treats as a friend. Importantly, she attempts to cheer up dour husband Bill, whose agonizing, degenerative MS is a depressive death sentence. Lorraine’s bedridden, incontinent mother is slowly dragging herself into the afterlife with Ljuba’s attentive care, feeding, changing and monitoring her. But in Lorraine’s daily existence, her mother is an afterthought, amidst her preparations for her role as “Bloody Mary” in the Jewish Community Center’s South Pacific.
(L to R): Nico Santos, Susan Sarandon, Marin Ireland in ‘Happy Talk,’ by Jesse Eisenberg, directed by Scott Elliott (Monique Carboni)
Eisenberg’s arc of development between and among the characters is pegged to the gradual revelation of the deeper “ethos” of these two women and how they balance the precariousness of their daily emotional struggles to manage their inner tension and stress. They do this with “happy talk.” Though other songs from South Pacific are played with ironic intent during the dramatic interludes (“Bali H’ai,” “Twin Soliloquies,” Some Enchanted Evening,” and “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair”) Eisenberg references the titular song sung by Bloody Mary. Initially, the analogy that Lorraine should be cast as Bloody Mary seems weird. But as the play unfolds, we understand the parallels of characterization flavored with trenchant sardonic humor. Both characters manifest underlying themes of manipulation, exploitation and desperation.
As the events unfold we realize that both Lorraine and Ljuba act to encourage themselves away from reality. One is easily recognizable because she wears “drama” on her sleeve and rambles on about the intentions and nuances of her role as Bloody Mary with her “co-star” Ronny (the fine Nico Santos). Ljuba is a joyful cipher who is unmasked by Jenny (Tedra Millan) Lorraine’s wrath-filled daughter whose condemnation of Lorraine is delivered in a rapid-fire series of punches. Jenny encourages Ljuba to be her real self, a painful prospect considering her circumstances.
(L to): Marin Ireland, Susan Sarandon in ‘Happy Talk,’ by Jesse Eisenberg, directed by Scott Elliott (Monique Carboni)
The intrigue in this production is in its authenticity of Sarandon’s and Ireland’s, staged “happiness.” They mask their interactions with each other while they choke down their true feelings. Ljuba fears deportation. Lorraine fears losing everything to her husband’s sickness and death.
But as Eisenberg displays the characters in the first half, with the exception of taciturn Bill (the excellent Daniel Oreskes) there is no hint of debacle, desolation or tension. Lorraine and Ljuba are cheerful, “open,” convivial and warm and seem to genuinely care for each other. Lorraine’s “over-the-top” narcissism about her acting chops and Ljuba’s sweet generosity and friendliness incite humor. In their interplay Lorraine’s self-aggrandizement about acting appears shallow and we laugh at her presumptive “greatness.” Of course the irony that Susan Sarandon, who has a mile-long list of credits, praises her talent is rich. And Ireland playing hand maiden as an actress of lesser years and experience is equally ironic.
The plot thickens when Lorraine matches up Ljuba to Ronny as her green card husband and they create a backstory together complete with photographs, dates and events. There are twists and turns; the tension increases. We witness the severity of Bill’s illness and pain. Also, we note that Lorraine refuses to confront her mother’s illness and impending mortality. She avoids even looking in on her and only does so after daughter Jenny berates her about it.
Jenny’s sneaky arrival through the back garden sliding doors gyrates the play in another direction and twerks the cheerful atmosphere and humor. Tedra Millan drips bile as she notes the pretense between her mother and Ljuba. Her appalling relationship with Lorraine whom she hasn’t seen in six months becomes apparent, and we are swept into her authenticity, amazed at her reaction to Lorraine.
(L to R): Susan Sarandon, Marin Ireland in ‘Happy Talk’ by Jesse Eisenberg, directed by Scott Elliott (Monique Carboni)
As Millan’s Jenny unloads a condemnatory rant in a fusillade of excoriations, with a self-justified tone of recrimination, she announces her permanent move to Costa Rica. Her brief visit to her grandmother and expression of love to Bill are almost ancillary. Her shooting target is Lorraine.
As divaish as Lorraine has been, Jenny assumes center stage; she a drama queen like her mother but with the intention to destroy. She shreds her mother until Lorraine has had enough and kicks her out, but not before Ljuba upbraids her. Nevertheless, Jenny has poisoned the well, and we look at the principals with a different perspective. Perhaps Jenny has clear-eyed vision in her suggestion that Ljuba is too compliant, too congenial in putting up with her mother. Perhaps Lorraine has another agenda in assisting Ljuba to obtain a green card marriage with Ronny.
In this highpoint of the play, the actors’ transformations are nuanced and real. Sarandon’s inner torment and guilt resonate with us and we shift toward her with empathy when she breaks down then recoups to carry on suppressing her pain so she will be able to go on. It’s an important moment during which Sarandon’s Lorraine becomes humanized.
Our estimation of Ljuba steps up when she defends Lorraine against what can only be a described as tragic hatred revealing traumatic hurt that Jenny has experienced growing up with Lorraine as her mother. Since we only hear Jenny’s side and see a humbled, guilty Lorraine who acts like a wounded animal, we cannot divine the truth. But we are on notice and watchful for additional signs of clarification.
(L to R): Susan Sarandon, Marin Ireland, Tedra Millan in ‘Happy Talk,’ by Jesse Eisenberg, directed by Scott Elliott (Monique Carboni)
Ireland and Sarandon play off each other like a chef and a sous chef that reverse the power dynamic now and again. The irony and sardonic humor laden with various tropes of middle class lifestyles gilding the darker aspects a “comfortable” life are jerked back at the end of the play. It is then we see the desperation and understand how economic hardship is the perennial wolf at the door. No amount of well meaning goodness can be sustained when the situation becomes a matter of life and death. Fear, panic and selfishness take over. And to survive, one must go along with what fate has dished up however terrible. When the masks are dropped, all becomes rotten and real and the “happy talk,” ends.
Happy Talk is a must see for the performances and the clever writing which changes on a dime to the unexpected and concludes with searing force into tragic collapse. The characterizations are grounded in the currency of the times and remind us that manipulations and secret agendas seek their own level of opportunity. The victims often have little recourse in the hands of unlikely predators whom one never sees coming.
Kudos to Derek McLane (Scenic Design) Clint Ramos (Costume Design) Jeff Croiter (Lighting Design, Rob Milburn and Michael Bodeen (Sound Design) Leah J. Loukas (Hair, Wig, Makeup Design).
Happy Talk presented by The New Group is at the Pershing Square Signature Center (42nd Street between 9th and 10th) until 16 June. For tickets and times at their website CLICK HERE.
CAROLE DI TOSTI 