‘The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time’ @ Theatre Arlington
Show photos by Dani Holway; graphics by Hannah Bell
—Almost entirely by Ryan Maffei, with minor interpolations from Jan Farrington
As good theatre often does, Theatre Arlington’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time leads us into an unusual world—this time not defined by its physical distance from our own, an exotic setting in history, or a rareified social milieu—but by the distinctive viewpoint of its inhabitant, one 15-year-old boy with a form of autism.
Meeting Christopher Boone is, literally at times, a trip: he goes, we go with…and we all will be changed. He lives with his father in a town not far from London, and comes as a funny and charming suprises to us, with his offbeat reactions (and sometimes fairly visceral objections!) to what happens in the everyday world—though how he “acts” seems right to him; these are the ways he keeps life organized and consistent, and lets others know what he wants.
If we know—or are—families that include a child or adult with disabilities, odds are good that we’ll recognize Christopher’s worn-to-the-bone parents, loving and scattered; his dedicated, almost-too-cheerful teachers and caregivers; the awkward or cosy interactions with neighbors; the stares of strangers; the awareness that the world (noises, lights, decisions, new things) can instantly become too much.
Mark Haddon, author of the novel on which the play (by Simon Stephens) is based, has fivwn his young protagonist a highly distinctive demeanor—his is a talkative, precocious voice, housed in a body beset by an arduous array of tics.
Christopher’s curious manner of communicating is both the book and the play’s device. In the novel, he’s the narrator; in the play he speaks for himself, or his words are read by his favorite teacher, who is such a kindred spirit that sometimes onstage they stand together as one Christopher, trading emotions and words between them—and out to us.
One of the story’s strongest points is that all Christopher’s differences are secondary to what we and he have in common, the same human wants and needs: safety, community, fulfillment, love. We may need a beat or two to understand that—and if we need a minute or two to settle into Christopher’s communication style and rhythms, only imagine the hoops he jumps through every day, trying to make any sense of us, and of the world beyond his own mind.
Discussions about representation in the theatre become inevitably more complex and fluid when it comes to neurodivergence. If an actor must simulate this character’s physicality, you hope for a portrayal so careful as to feel protective. Actpr John Marshall has made the most of the months he had to prepare his performance. A gifted twentysomething who could indeed masquerade as a high-schooler, his effort at this challenging role is invisible, his lexicon of movements so well-internalized they seem automatic. He is Christopher, and draws us with him into every emotion: joy, fear, agony, excitement, and isolation too—Christopher’s guarded yet open-minded detachment from the world around him, though the latter comes with a few tech tricks (the play’s other device).
Until he’s compelled by the titular incident—yes, the dog dies, but don’t worry, there’s a puppy in the story too—to breach familiar borders and enter the chaos of greater London, the lion’s share of Christopher’s world exists inside his own head. There, he’s stockpiled enough knowledge to stand a good chance at an A\** (A-plus) on his math A Levels—a big deal in English education, especially for a “special” student. The British accents onstage range from sterling to “well, you did drop that ‘r’”—with most clustering near stellar.
A trio of LED screens provide a backdrop for whimsical illustrations of memories, problems and other kernels of thought). And, as the landscape of the story broadens out, it incorporates more realistic content. The screen designs and rapid-fire images by co-director Bryan Stevenson creates an immersive experience that kicks the story into fun, eye-catching high gear.
Meanwhile, the excellent company push realistic portrayals up to a stylized cusp, helping to unify the content on the other side of Christopher’s lens. As Siobhan, Christopher’s best advocate at school, Megan Noble does work as captivating and connected as Marshall, the show’s second-chiefest asset. Rodney Honeycutt is poignant and galvanic as Christopher’s weary father Ed, and Elizabeth Kensek brings a moving sense of conflict to his comparably curious mother Judy. Laurel Collins is excellent as a sweet-natured neighbor who drives the plot forward. Octavia Thomas is especially amusing as the school’s dialed-up headmistress Mrs. Gascoyne, Darin Martin has a hilarious sequence with Christopher in the Underground, Kit Hussey gets the funniest gag in the show, and Hannah Bell and Clayton Younkin ably flip through the roles with the most bite.
The story is a sweet one, but tart in unexpected ways—not just the harsh intrusions of violence and coarse adult language into Christopher’s proudly rule-abiding routines, but the ways it explores and compares our flaws as human beings. Christopher’s parents treat him as a liability nearly as often as they exalt him for his singularity (and charm). His unique needs wear at the thread of their fragile relationship, sending them rushing into wildly ill-advised decisions, and putting Christopher’s precise and orderly way of interpreting the world to the test.
A deeply empathetic work, the play says things about raising kids that should leave anyone on either side of that dynamic feeling contemplative. But Curious also has a caper’s pace and intrigue, a sense of mystery and adventure of the Arthur Conan Doyle sort (hinted at in the title, of course) that motivates Christopher’s distinct approach to his everyday world—and moves him to take bold action when “incidents” and questions of particular note confront him.
A math whiz, Christopher is always working to resolve contradictions, so that you’re stuck with him on little epiphanies as plot and dialogue rapidly unfold. He attends a school where few of his classmates match his intellect—“I’m not supposed to call them stupid,” he says, “though that’s what they are”—and that tricky line spills over with compassion. Though the sweet kiddo processes huge traumas quite clinically (he takes comfort, and flourishes, in the cold rigidity of facts and figures), physical violence, and the emotion behind it, most vexes him. When an awful transgression is revealed, his father tries to appeal to him: “You know how it is when the red mist takes over. We’re not so different, you and I.” But in fact, Christopher is our aspirationally pure constant, and much of his and the play’s fascination is activated by the people in his world seesawing between nonsensical and plain as day.
This play successfully threads a very tight needle, with credit to Steven D. Morris’ direction (with co-director Stevenson) and Dr. Natalie Gaupp’s dramaturgy—the latter surely invaluable given the strength of the work here. For all the difficulty it contends with, it’s a feel-good experience. Hope Cox’s costume design, Robin Dotson’s properties design—and especially designer Ryan Simon’s quietly beautiful original soundscape—amplify what’s already a bright and gripping ride.
I was told by my companions that other productions have taken the tech and choreography even further. But with no other Curious Incident to compare it to, I think you’ll find yourself plenty satisfied; in fact, the less you know going in, the better (though I do not advise accidentally missing the first twenty minutes of this preview performance, as I did). The show also has a dynamite surprise ending, so though it’ll leave you on a cloud, don’t float out too quickly—hang back for one last brilliant, wry, moving note.
WHEN: May 9-25, 2025
WHERE: 305 West Main Street, Arlington TX
WEB: theatrearlington.org
