University of Virginia Library

Striking Parallels

I believe Mr. Zindel wrote "Miss
Reardon" before his splendid,
award-winning drama, "The Effect
of Gamma Rays on
Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds," a fact
that's hardly surprising. There are
some striking parallels between the
two plays: each focuses on three
females and each presents
characters who have withdrawn
from society to shape a less cruel
world of their own.

One of the beauties of
"Marigolds" was the way in which
Mr. Zindel skillfully connected the
science experiment to the theme of
the play and in a matter of minutes
tied all of the loose ends together.
All of a sudden you realized the
allegorical significance of Tillie's
project, saw the point the author
was trying to make, and felt
dramatically fulfilled.

"Marigolds" had a dominant,
even memorable character in the
mother and, for lack of a better
term, an author's representative (i.e.,
a character to put the action in
exactly the perspective Mr. Zindel
desired) in Tillie, the younger
daughter. "Miss Reardon" has
neither of these - although all of
the characters are interesting, the
sisters are weighted equally in a
dramatic sense and not one of them
stands out as a character through
whose eyes we could view the
proceedings. And this, I think, is
why Mr. Zindel is unable to tie the
loose ends together here and give
his audience a feeling of total
satisfaction.

Still, there is much pleasure to
be had in seeing Estelle Parsons
prepare a vegetarian's dinner, Rae
Allen and Bill Macy put their feet
in their mouths, and Nancy
Marchand try to keep the situation
under control. Only Julie Harris as
the neurotic sister disappoints, but
in fairness many of the speeches
Mr. Zindel has given her are terribly
stagey. In all, a pleasant outing.

***

Trials are fascinating things.
Having the dubious distinction of
being called to testify in four
within the first twenty-two years of
my life, I have developed a great
appreciation, not of our judicial
system, but of what it's like to be
caught up in its workings. I've
learned that, as a witness, it's not
enough to simply tell the truth; you
have to sell the truth, and that's not
always easy with twelve strange
people staring at you questioningly
and an opposing lawyer doing
everything within his power to
make you look like a fool and a
liar. It is a maturing experience,
whatever your age may be, and it
leaves many lasting impressions on
your mind. But win, lose, or draw,
the strongest of these impressions is
likely to be your realization of the
imperfections and at times unjust
limitations of the law under which
our courts operate.

Nowhere is this more evident
than in "The Trial of the
Catonsville Nine," an engrossing
courtroom drama by Daniel
Berrigan, S.J., taken from the
actual account of the trial in which
he and eight others were prosecuted
for the burning of draft records in a
small Maryland town in 1968. The
question which the play poses -
and it is an increasingly pressing
question - is not whether they
were guilty of the act, but whether
that act was justified. Under
existing law, they committed a
crime and were thus convicted. But
is that law right? Is it, in fact, a
crime to try to save lives?