The Marriage of Bette and Boo

They tell you to write what you know, and Christopher Durang certainly ran with that bit of writerly advice in The Marriage of Bette and Boo, an autobiographical rendering of his parents' tumultuous marriage - and, by extension, his own chaotic childhood. Respectfully revived by the Roundabout in a crisp and colorful new production, Durang's caustic comedy continues to trade in jabs of acerbic, aggressive wit. First you wince, then you laugh in spite of yourself.

Framed within a crimson box of slick-moving panels, Matt, the narrator (played by Durang himself in the original production), offers a tightly sketched map of the lives of his parents and their families, neatly compacted into 33 scenes with clinical names like "Bette and Boo go dancing." Much of the humor trickles from Matt's attempts to consider his life from an analytical, objective perspective - he intersperses literary analyses of Thomas Hardy's novels to better understand (or escape?) the tragedies that ensue.

This need to know why things turn out the way they do is the humanizing force that tunnels through the play's absurdities. A glossy yet naïve bride and groom, Bette and Boo (gleefully and hauntingly played by Kate Jennings Grant and Christopher Evan Welch) marry and quickly have a son. Their subsequent attempts to have children, however, result in four dead babies (unceremoniously tossed to the floor by the doctor), Boo's destructive drinking, and the gradual dissolution of their marriage.

Seamlessly staged by Walter Bobbie, the scenes percolate through the efforts of the vibrant supporting cast (wrapped in Susan Hilferty's exquisite Easter egg-colored dresses and suits), who diffuse tension through their endless family idiosyncrasies. When a character dies, the priest insists on showing off his rendition of "bacon in a saucepan" at the funeral.

But then again, what are we to make of the nonsensical, bizarre trail of events that make up our lives? "Boo?!? Booey? Where are you?" Bette frantically demands, and this visceral, primal need for meaning, for presence - even when the person in question is just inches away - captures the essence of The Marriage of Bette and Boo, a timeless tour through one set of lives, created and obliterated.

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