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A review by jonscott9
Never the Sinner by John Logan
4.0
"I could look at them like you do, Bob. I could damn these boys for what they did. For the madness, for the brutality ... I can see the sin in all the world. And I may well hate that sin, but never the sinner."
So go the words of defense attorney Clarence Darrow, to state attorney Crowe. The scene is jazz-era Chicago, 1924, and two 19-year-olds, Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb, are on trial for the heinous, seemingly unrepentant murder of an acquaintance, a 14-year-old boy.
It's a true story. Leopold and Loeb harbored intellectual prowess for their years, as well as massive hubris, both, that blinded them to the fact that they were actually not Nietzsche's "ubermensch" as they fancied. Turns out they weren't so above the law, weren't perfect.
That alone is obvious by the fact that they were caught. They did not intend to be but were, and stood trial for the killing. The playbook by John Logan does well to not announce the verdict in some melodramatic courtroom scene within his pages.
Exchanges both in and outside the court between Darrow and Crowe are the benchmark addresses or monologues in this play. They get a bit talky, even for a play that at times seems to feign serving as a discourse on capital punishment, but that grandstanding is just what lawyers do, and in Chicago, and in the '20s (see: the musical Chicago, et al). The dialogue here is crisp, staccaco, but for Leopold's strangely loping opening monologue. In the hands of a top-notch director and the throats of polished performers, this show could be brought to life in a riveting way. A local production to be staged soon will do just that, with hope.
Leopold and Loeb fascinate even as they repulse. The attractive, charming Loeb seems soulless but then is let down when his mother won't have anything to do with him as Chicagoans call for his hanging; she seems to be the one person on the earth who he doesn't want to disappoint. Leopold's mother died when he was younger, and he's painted as a ruthlessly academic, learned young man with a fierce romantic bent to boot.
That the two had a sexual pact on the side of their criminal co-conspiring is intriguing, and of course given prominence. Sensational headlines delivered by adult-Newsies-styled reporters canvassing the court and interviewing the players involved tout the affair behind the crime. This was the '20s, after all, and, anyway, sex has always ruled the media.
"This is a love story," say the notes appearing ahead of the two acts. That may be, but if so, it's a rather painfully one-sided one. One of these two seems incapable of ever loving another more than himself. The murder aside, that itself is a real tragedy.
So go the words of defense attorney Clarence Darrow, to state attorney Crowe. The scene is jazz-era Chicago, 1924, and two 19-year-olds, Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb, are on trial for the heinous, seemingly unrepentant murder of an acquaintance, a 14-year-old boy.
It's a true story. Leopold and Loeb harbored intellectual prowess for their years, as well as massive hubris, both, that blinded them to the fact that they were actually not Nietzsche's "ubermensch" as they fancied. Turns out they weren't so above the law, weren't perfect.
That alone is obvious by the fact that they were caught. They did not intend to be but were, and stood trial for the killing. The playbook by John Logan does well to not announce the verdict in some melodramatic courtroom scene within his pages.
Exchanges both in and outside the court between Darrow and Crowe are the benchmark addresses or monologues in this play. They get a bit talky, even for a play that at times seems to feign serving as a discourse on capital punishment, but that grandstanding is just what lawyers do, and in Chicago, and in the '20s (see: the musical Chicago, et al). The dialogue here is crisp, staccaco, but for Leopold's strangely loping opening monologue. In the hands of a top-notch director and the throats of polished performers, this show could be brought to life in a riveting way. A local production to be staged soon will do just that, with hope.
Leopold and Loeb fascinate even as they repulse. The attractive, charming Loeb seems soulless but then is let down when his mother won't have anything to do with him as Chicagoans call for his hanging; she seems to be the one person on the earth who he doesn't want to disappoint. Leopold's mother died when he was younger, and he's painted as a ruthlessly academic, learned young man with a fierce romantic bent to boot.
That the two had a sexual pact on the side of their criminal co-conspiring is intriguing, and of course given prominence. Sensational headlines delivered by adult-Newsies-styled reporters canvassing the court and interviewing the players involved tout the affair behind the crime. This was the '20s, after all, and, anyway, sex has always ruled the media.
"This is a love story," say the notes appearing ahead of the two acts. That may be, but if so, it's a rather painfully one-sided one. One of these two seems incapable of ever loving another more than himself. The murder aside, that itself is a real tragedy.