‘The Iceman Cometh’: Theater Review

The surest way to get as pickled as the self-deceiving regulars at Harry Hope’s downtown New York dive bar in The Iceman Cometh would be to take a shot of whiskey every time someone says “pipe dreams.” Eugene O’Neill was seldom one to go easy on emphatic repetition of his themes, and the playwright’s bleak vision of men drowning their deferred plans in cheap booze can be as prolix as it is poetic. George C. Wolfe’s revival feels on some levels like it’s still cohering, the underlying despair remaining muted for too much of the three-hour-45-minute running time. But it comes together in a powerful final act driven by the searing confessional monologue of Denzel Washington’s Hickey.

There’s a symphonic quality to this brawny four-act 1946 drama, with its flavorful early 20th century New York vernacular and its cast of 17 major characters all doing their best with their big talk to fool themselves about the hollowness of their stalled lives. Wolfe has assembled a talented ensemble, almost all digging deep into their characters. Their individual stories have a unique music as they blather on about a past that was probably never quite what they claim, and a future that they refuse to concede is fermenting in the bottom of a glass. The production perhaps could have used a longer preview period, since the choral aspect of the performances is still one step behind the solo work. But it’s compelling enough to suggest the ideal balance will come.