The Sound and the Fury at Public Theater

By Molly Grogan

Great writers put the lie to the adage that art imitates life, and William Faulkner was no exception. The unforgettable characters and stories of his fictional Yoknapatawpha County are enduring models of a way of seeing the American South in the early 20th century – plunged into a desperate poverty by the Civil War and clinging to memories of a decadent past  (a style known as Southern Gothic) – much more than they are representations of  life or people in Oxford, Mississippi, where the novelist lived and wrote.

By definition, however, theater is an art form that imitates life, where dramatizations of fiction typically struggle with how to be as representational as possible from the confines of the stage. Elevator Repair Service’s revival of its 2008 production of The Sound and The Fury, which opened at The Public Theater this week, does initially seem to promise a realistic interpretation of Faulkner’s novel. David Zinn’s meticulously furnished set evokes a politely decrepit southern homestead of upholstered armchairs, sturdy tables, fringed lampshades, heavy drapes, a radio and the occasional antique. The slew of characters in the Compson, Bascomb and Gibson families who form the novel’s core, articulate in lazy drawls and exclamations of a century ago and their stances and gestures mimic Mississippi’s antebellum racial dynamics of white landowners and their slaves.

But just as the thought dawns that an ironic verisimilitude is the objective here, a funny thing happens: Quentin (Mike Iveson), the eldest Compson son, and Luster (Ben Williams), the servant boy, jump into a line dance that is more hip-hop than Dixie two-step. The spell is broken, auguring that  The Sound and The Fury will not be a straight reading – if that were possible – of Faulkner’s most difficult novel.

Excerpt from “The Sound and the Fury at Public Theater” by Molly Grogan. Read the full article here.