Oscar-winning actor Forest Whitaker is making his Broadway debut in a new production of Eugene O'Neill's "Hughie." Contributing critic of Time Out New York David Cote filed the following review.
Contrary to what you might assume, Forest Whitaker does not play the title role in “Hughie,” Eugene O’Neill’s 1942 portrait of a small-time craps shooter in a grubby hotel lobby.
The name refers to a night clerk who recently died, leaving gambler Erie Smith melancholy and morbid. The problem is, Whitaker does not truly play Erie, either.
Yes, the accomplished film star speaks Erie’s lines, but he misses the spirit of the character, leaving a void, not to be confused with O’Neill’s poetic nihilism.
It is a pity because much in this revival goes well: Frank Wood provides able support as a new night clerk, also surnamed Hughes, who blankly listens to Erie’s elliptical, jazzy blather about his success with “dolls” and how much dough he spent on roses for Hughie’s funeral.
Wood’s role is tricky, requiring long stretches of deadpan stillness and barely active listening, but he fills it well.
The physical production—sleekly directed by Michael Grandage—is grimly gorgeous to a fault.
Christopher Oram’s decaying brown lobby is thrillingly infernal, lit with sooty, sickly greens and blues by Neil Austin.
All in all, the design screams that Erie is a damned soul in torment, but Whitaker portrays him as a low-status schlemiel who has already given up.
Where he should be a big-talking con man and Damon Runyon-esque swell, Whitaker tries something possibly more realistic, but ends up blunting O’Neill’s punchy lines. Hughie is only an hour long, but as we wait for Whitaker to gain confidence in his character, the night grows long and weary.
To use gambling lingo, this revival of Hughie is a king short of a royal flush.