No wonder “The Heiress” has returned to Broadway time and again since its 1947 premiere. Romance, money, lies, manipulation and petticoats: Ruth and Augustus Goetz’s melodrama has it all.
Inspired by Henry James’ short novel “Washington Square,” the 1850-set story is built so sturdily that even a fitful revival like the one that opened last night still holds our attention.
Driving this vehicle are Jessica Chastain and Dan Stevens, who’ve been seen frequently on screens big and small over the past few years but are only now making their Broadway debuts.
To play the title character, Catherine Sloper, Chastain (“The Help,” “The Tree of Life”) has camouflaged her copper hair under a mousy brown wig.
But brightness wouldn’t fit the painfully shy and self-effacing Catherine. She always looks as if she wants to hide behind the heavy drapes lining her family’s Greenwich Village home — realistically rendered by Derek McLane’s opulent set.
Catherine comes to life when the dashing Morris Townsend’s around. And so does the audience, because Morris is played by Stevens, the blue-eyed British heartthrob best known as Matthew Crawley on “Downton Abbey.” Audible sighs greeted his entrance at a recent performance, with a repeat when he let out a convincingly American “ma’am.”
Catherine revels in Morris’ attentions. For years, she’s endured the put-downs of her father, Dr. Austin Sloper (David Strathairn), who holds her personally responsible for her mother’s death in childbirth.
Catherine is a smart woman with a sharp wit, but her father sees only her limitations, her lack of social graces and her inability for small talk.
So when Morris comes a-courtin’, Sloper just assumes he’s in it for Catherine’s money.
Turns out the doctor is right, but so what?
As the play progresses, Catherine undergoes a drastic wake-up call. There’s a distinct before and after in her personality, making the role a juicy one — Cherry Jones won a Tony for it in 1995. Under Moisés Kaufman’s direction, Chastain negotiates the first stage well. Her socially and emotionally crippled Catherine is like a bonsai tree forced to grow stunted.
But there’s a definite turning point when Catherine understands both Morris’ real agenda and the depth of her father’s loathing. Unfortunately, Chastain isn’t authoritative enough.
When she utters the play’s most famous line — “Yes, I can be cruel. I have been taught by masters!” — the words should hit us like a hammer. Here, they barely graze.
Luckily, the faltering star is propped up by pros.
Stevens does well enough as a charming snake, but even he recedes in the background whenever the great Judith Ivey appears as Aunt Lavinia, a chuckling biddy.
As for Strathairn, he gives an interestingly counterintuitive take on Sloper, camouflaging his bullying behind a bumbling demeanor.
The play itself takes care of the rest, carrying us along like the well-crafted yarn it is. They don’t write ’em like this anymore.