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The widely-discussed flamboyant personality of Irish playwright Oscar Wilde (1854 - 1900) is such that many often forget that Wilde was married and fathered two sons. It is his wife, the comparatively uncovered Constance Wilde, that gets the spotlight in Thomas Kilroy's The Secret Fall of Constance Wilde, which opened June 6 at the Guthrie Theater's McGuire Proscenium Stage. Set in a turn-of-the-century British train station version of Limbo, the play speculates on the Wildes' relationship, with input from Oscar Wilde's lover, Lord Alfred Douglas. Anchored by a mesmerizing and heartbreaking performance by Sarah Agnew (from the Jungle Theater's The Syringa Tree), the complex humanity at the base of the Wildes' marriage pulls the piece through some peculiar theatrics and an unfortunate third wheel in the cast.

The play covers Constance's marriage to Oscar Wilde in a disjointed, stream-of-consciousness manner, starting with an imaginary final meeting between the couple after Oscar's release from prison in 1897, and before Constance's death the following year. Every major incident in their relationship is covered from Constance's perspective, from his relationship with Douglas, to his trial and the unnerving revelations that were made there. But to say the unfolding of events lies only with Constance would be a gross misstatement. Rather than victimizing Constance and turning Oscar into a villain-type, the play depicts the great poet just as terrified and confused as his wife.

Agnew crafts a brilliant portrayal of Constance, a woman being torn in two by her own conflicting feelings and the injury that increasingly pains her body and mind. Constantly driven to desperation by a need to confess her deepest secrets, Constance is a strong force despite all the turmoil she hides inside. And Agnew pours that agony out to the audience with every pained step and every choked word. A picture of grace under Victorian pressure, Agnew's Constance pushes herself to determined bravery, proving to herself with each new turn exactly what their marriage means and what purpose Oscar serves in her life. Her quietly conflicted face, always a moment away from tears, never betrays itself and glues the entire audience to her whenever visible.

As the famous poet, Matthew Greer casts a very different light on the common conception of Oscar Wilde. All the sharp-tongued wit is there, but in a series of increasingly delirious monologues, the more serious side of Wilde's personality is revealed — dark, confused and barely able to comprehend the forces surrounding against him. At the close of act one, when Wilde is cast into prison, all of his underlying fears are terrifyingly ripped into reality. In these moments, the violent and nightmarish conditions are vividly brought to life by Greer alone.

 

The only misstep in the cast is recent BFA graduate Brandon Weinbrenner as Lord Alfred Douglas — affectionately called "Bosie." Weinbrenner seems to have believed that it was up to him to provide the comic relief in the show, but when one of the lead characters is Oscar Wilde, no comedic foil is really required. He plays Douglas as the most stereotypical homosexual British aristocrat around — with open-mouthed shock, plenty of foot stamps and lots of whiny shouting. With two such beautifully nuanced performances from Agnew and Greer, Weinbrenner's subtlety-be-damned approach is even the more jarring. If there were a villain of the piece, Douglas would certainly be it. But in this case, anyone ignorant enough to be fooled by such a person for so long probably deserves at least a little bit of the ridicule and torment thrown his way.

All the other characters in the piece, from Wilde's jury, to passersby on the street, to Constance's own children, are silent puppets and objects manipulated by a quartet of androgynous puppeteers who not only manipulate the surroundings but the three players themselves, trapping every character into a certain mode of action. They serve as a greater force exerting itself on the characters, whether they are fate intervening or the strict rules of turn-of-the-century society. Director Marcela Lorca stages the action as one large dance piece led and manipulated by the puppeteer ensemble; a sensible choice, given her extensive choreographic work. Several sequences are staged with an almost filmic fluidity — a mixed effect to be sure. While slow-motion movement can often be effective, here it seems present only to produce a cinematic feeling.

But the bond between Constance and Oscar is undeniable, even with all its contraptions and complexities. Agnew and Greer are at once repulsed by each other and irresistibly drawn to each other, making every interaction they share undeniably intense and impossible to look away from. What would seem to be an unlikely marriage becomes a deep love story about two people who could only find completeness in each other and the secrets they kept all their lives.

 

At the Guthrie through July 31st