Exploring the Illogical Nature of Alcoholism in ‘Days of Wine and Roses’ Chris Lehoux, February 6, 2024 By Vinson Cunningham It’s hard to know—or maybe, really, to admit—that you drink too much. After all, you might just be a fun guy. The sort who orders half the menu at a dinner for two, using each cocktail or glass of wine as a kind of musical notation, a mark of rest between courses, helping the unhurried night grow long and lively. Three drinks in, or four, neon signs blur with companionate charm, and the lights dotting bridges (you see them from the back of your car as you head to the next party) spread calmly over the water, offering you peace. Drink might help you speak up, speed your charisma. It might lift a scrim and put you in better contact with others, and with your own senses. Seamus Heaney once wrote: When I unscrewed itI smelled the disturbedtart stillness of a bushrising through the pantry. When I poured itit had a cutting edgeand flamedlike Betelgeuse. If that bright flame makes you too wild now and then, makes you wake up with a tart taste in your mouth, having forgotten how you ended up in bed, and you start to measure hangovers in weeks instead of mornings . . . who can say? You might’ve just had a bad month. You’ve been looking for light. One such fun-loving innocent is Joe Clay (Brian d’Arcy James), the rascal whose penchant for drink is the igniting spark of “Days of Wine and Roses,” a new musical at Studio 54, directed by Michael Greif—based on the play by J. P. Miller from 1958 and the Blake Edwards film from 1962—with a book by Craig Lucas and music and lyrics by Adam Guettel. We first meet Joe at a work event in nineteen-fifties New York, a glass of amber liquid in hand, chatting up his boss’s pretty, new secretary, Kirsten Arnesen (Kelli O’Hara). Joe’s a Korean War veteran, recently back Stateside. Kirsten’s the daughter of a taciturn Norwegian. She grew up on a farm; her wit is city-ready. It’s easy to see what part alcohol plays in Joe’s life. It spurs on his charmer’s flirty patter and makes him bold when the moment’s ripe for risk. From the start, Joe—pure personality—is fixated on wooing Kirsten. Early on, she lets slip that she doesn’t drink. He seems to take it as a challenge. Soon we see them at dinner. He feeds her a sweet drink, and she doesn’t hate it as much as she thought she would. The buzz is nice. A horror story begins. Guettel’s music sets a tipsy, disorienting mood. The show—a tale of two drunks and their dangerous passage through the years—remains emotionally credible because it never permits itself to erupt into anthem-like songs that could be lifted from their setting and featured on pop charts. In lieu, O’Hara and James voice vacillating lines of chromatic melody. Here, music becomes a medium conveying the tumultuous logic of a protracted night and its clumsy seductions. Inebriation carries with it an entire sensory experience: solely via the sound—and the fluid, oscillating conducting of the show’s music director, Kimberly Grigsby, discernible on a perch on stage right—you can nearly perceive the air in some rooms, tangy with liquor and smoke. As Joe and Kirsten revel in their deepest intoxication, elevated above their difficulties and the dilating gulf of their common issue, they indulge in a lively little song. They meander among drinks, extracting liquor after liquor from bags, expressing an innocent hymn to champagne, with its “fleeting sparkles erasing everything!” It’s all about the diminishing envelopment of a relationship defined by addiction—the kind of euphoric love that starts to descend as soon as it reaches its zenith: Two dolphins splintering a waveTwo dolphins right to the tomb . . .Sporadically I feel like I am sailing on a boltOn the pin of a compassSpinning in reverseMerely a gust of windWith all this water around meI’m projecting out the windowI’m sprinting with a bladeI’m voyaging on a boltI’m racing for my existenceWhat’s the apprehensionI possess you nowYou are all I necessitate It’s a jovial, nauseous tune that highlights the potent voices of the pair of singers. While they harmonize and bellow in a tipsy fashion, they also dance. Sergio Trujillo and Karla Puno Garcia have devised suggestive, effective, humorous routines that bring back memories of traditional show-biz allure, but also refer to the ominous expression “highly functioning”—how two very bubbly drunkards can appear and feel wonderful while spiralling increasingly closer to the precipice. But this kind of fun never lasts. The night slumps, a short life becomes a half-conscious montage, ice waters down your drink and you order another too quickly on its heels. Joe and Kirsten have a baby, and their unfitness for their new roles as parents becomes immediately apparent. The show is best—and the whole thing is quite good—when it demonstrates how alcohol, trickily liquid, can fill the spaces in a relationship, helping to bring it together but also inevitably driving it apart. That great time starts to stink if you can’t stop going back to the well. Soon it’s time to look around and start over. One of the subtler touches of the lighting in “Days of Wine and Roses” is how it eventually gives the audience a sense of the daytime, once Joe gets sober and acquires an A.A. sponsor (played by a warm-spirited David Jennings). Most of Joe and Kirsten’s story unfolds at night, that dark cloak for excess, but drying up lets a bit of sunshine in. So does having someone to talk to outside the household. Broaden your circle and brighten up a tad. “The Animal Kingdom,” a new play by Ruby Thomas, at the Connelly Theatre, directed by Jack Serio, takes place entirely within a group-therapy setting, showing how talk can be a balm, even if only for a while. Sam (Uly Schlesinger), a troubled college student, fresh off an attempt at taking his own life, is now living at a rehab institution. He’s smart, intense, and full of nervous energy. His counsellor, Daniel (Calvin Leon Smith), provides a counterpoint to Sam’s obvious physical discomfort: Daniel is snappily dressed, in a brown-orange sweater and matching socks, his loafers giving off a slight shine; he’s warm where Sam is defensively cool, ever more patient when Sam seems about to snap. They’re in a room with a two-way mirror—the only room in this willfully claustrophobic play. The story begins to unravel over the course of six required meetings with Sam’s family. Sam’s chatty mother, his closely guarded father, and his anxiously pleasant younger sister each take their turn sharing their views and feelings. They provide a sort of life story of Sam, while subtly suggesting the current and historical family dynamics that may have led them to this heartbreaking juncture. Keeping such a play from becoming overly sentimental or an excessive display of trauma and pain is challenging, but Thomas’s sharp, empathic writing maintains a good equilibrium. Sam is queer, perpetually unhappy, but also privileged and he’s aware of it. One aspect disturbing him is his family’s wealth. His father, who comes from modest beginnings, leads corporate acquisitions, pillaging companies for any excess components that can be sold off. His sensitive, anti-capitalism son desires to keep some distance from these operations, in spite of the fact they’ve paid for his education and the time spent in this institution. His greatest advantage in this situation may be the presence of Daniel. Smith delivers his role with a soft tenacity that extends beyond the stage and into the audience. His performance is a wonder of lucidity and a form of affection. His flawless friendliness is a reminder that beyond conflicts and boredom, fears and sadness, there exist human voices – our real sources of addiction. They’re more difficult to draw out, but easier to grasp onto, always ready to step in and offer comfort. About the Author: Chris Lehoux Meet Chris Lehoux, an experienced wine connoisseur and dedicated blogger with a deep passion for all things wine-related. With years of expertise in the industry, Chris shares insightful wine reviews, valuable wine tasting tips, expert pairing advice, and captivating tales of vineyard visits. Join Chris on a journey through the world of wine, where every sip is an adventure waiting to be savored! Wine