By Michele Markarian
‘The Treasurer’ – Written by Max Posner. Directed by Rebecca Bradshaw. Scenic Design by Kristin Loeffler; Costume Design by Chelsea Kerl; Lighting Design by Chris Hudacs; Sound Design by Elizabeth Cahill. Presented by The Lyric Stage Company of Boston, 140 Clarendon Street, Boston through March 22.
At some point in life, whether you want to or not, you may find yourself in the unenviable position of having to care for an aging parent. I say unenviable because not everyone’s parent ages poorly; my parents’ parents, for example, died with their boots on in their nineties. Even as the poorly aging parent becomes financially helpless and less mentally with it, they often don’t wish to relinquish control or their former lifestyle. Such is the case with Ida Armstrong (Cheryl McMahon) in Max Posner’s complicated family dramedy, The Treasurer.
The Son (Ken Cheeseman) is a family man living in Denver who tells us at the beginning of the play, “I’m not the sort of guy who could kill himself, which is information you should keep in mind for the next 90 minutes.” Point taken. The Son is the youngest of three. Ida, his mother, left his heartbroken father when the Son was only thirteen, for more glamorous pastures – a newspaper editor named Ron Armstrong. The Son, needless to say, has distanced himself from her, both emotionally and physically. A call from his older brothers (Shanae Burch and Robert Najarian, in multiple roles) alerts him to the fact that Ron Armstrong has died, and his mother’s life and finances need managing. Somehow the Son, who earns the moniker of “Treasurer” from his older siblings, is put in charge of Ida’s dwindling bank account.
This is a thankless task. Ida refuses to go into a nursing home that is reasonably affordable, as all of her social contacts are in the expensive “Beaver Brook”. With a $250,000 down payment and an additional $2500 per month, the Son and his siblings are in no position to help. Yet they do. The Son takes on the added responsibility of paying Ida’s out-of-pocket expenses, which are myriad. Ida is a very trying personality, narcissistic and grandiose. “I did things, not just Mommy things,” she says. “Mommy things” were probably not high on the list of someone who could find it that easy to walk away from her offspring. It’s no wonder the Son tells us, “I will be in hell because I don’t love my Mom. I don’t. I want her to die”. One can only imagine the years of unresolved pain and anger dwelling inside of the Son, who is doing his best to be sanguine. Yet when he comes face to face with Ida towards the end of her life – most of their scenes together occur over the telephone – he is unable to give her what she truly wants, and their relationship is left unresolved, dangling. His Jewish guilt, however, is unnecessary and pitiable. Our sympathies, for the most part, lie with the Son, although I wanted to slap or hug him out of his feelings of inadequacy, perfectly understandable for the boy inside of him who was abandoned.
Director Bradshaw has assembled a first-rate cast. Cheeseman does a remarkable job playing the Son, who is trying to do the right thing even as he doesn’t really want to. He is one of those rare actors capable of playing two things at once – you can see the resentment simmering inside of him, despite his even exterior. McMahon gives a brilliant, adorable, and charming performance as Ida, a character who, on the page, is not all that likeable. She too, brims with resentment at her predicament, as evidenced in a sidesplitting monologue about flinging dog poop at her former friend’s window. When she exclaims, “Well, I never expected to live this long” you almost feel sorry for her. Without Ron Armstrong, Ida wants her role as Mommy back, but there appears to be too much water under the bridge. Najarian and Burch show range, empathy and humor in their various roles; Najarian as a mattress salesclerk and Burch as a Talbot’s saleswoman are particularly effective.
The Treasurer is a reasonable, nuanced look, from Posner’s young perspective, at what happens when we are forced into doing things we might not want to do – give up our home, pay for a parent, say things we don’t mean. This is where the Son draws the line; he can’t bring himself to utter something he doesn’t feel. His guilt afterwards is the real tragedy of the play, and one that I question, as the Treasurer has gone above and beyond what would be expected. You, however, might feel differently. See The Treasurer and let me know. For tickets and information, go to: https://www.lyricstage.com/
