Nine-year-old Caroline is a bright, perceptive child, marked by the sharp awareness that often accompanies growing up with a parent navigating recovery. Her mother, Maddie, has maintained sobriety since Caroline’s infancy, yet this is a child whose finely tuned senses pick up on even the slightest hint of instability.
Remarkably, Caroline had always believed her maternal grandparents were deceased. They were, Maddie explains, “metaphorically” so. Their existence is revealed only as Maddie and Caroline, whose father passed away years ago, find themselves in a quiet but desperate situation. They need a safe harbor and a chance to rebuild their lives. Maddie hopes her affluent parents might offer that help.
Preston Max Allen’s compelling new play, “Caroline,” opening at MCC Theater, introduces us to Maddie (portrayed by Chloë Grace Moretz) and Caroline (River Lipe-Smith) in an Ohio diner booth. They appear to be an exhausted working-class mother and daughter on a road trip, ordering from an all-day breakfast menu. However, Caroline’s arm is in a sling; a bone freshly broken by Maddie’s now ex-partner is the injury that forced their urgent departure from their West Virginia home.
Under David Cromer’s sensitive direction, the specifics of their predicament unfold gradually. What is immediately clear, however, is the profound strength of their bond, evident in Maddie’s protective nature and Caroline’s easygoing spirit. They are vital to each other, a constant source of support and love.
As they sit in the diner, Caroline asks the waitress for a brownie (easily granted) and her mother for a Nintendo Switch (a hopeful but futile request). Then, Maddie asks her child with tender deliberation: “Do you have any thoughts on what you want your name to be?” This poignant question reveals that Caroline—the name she chooses for herself—is transgender, and is finally being empowered to live authentically for the very first time.
Soon, they arrive unexpectedly at Maddie’s childhood home in affluent Evanston, Illinois, a Chicago suburb. The muted tones of the set, designed by Lee Jellinek, reflect the atmosphere. There, Maddie’s mother, Rhea (Amy Landecker), is just as surprised to learn about Caroline as Caroline was to learn about her. The relationship between Maddie and Rhea (and Maddie’s father, who is absent on a business trip) had been severed long before Caroline’s birth.
Maddie had previously disclosed to Caroline that she struggled with addiction as a teenager, leading to significant thefts from her parents. Rhea, a polished and emotionally distant woman, recounts these periods as the most challenging of her life, consumed by fear for her daughter whom she felt unable to help. (Costumes by David Hyman, hair and wigs by Robert Pickens, makeup by Suki Tsujimoto.)
No lingering trust exists between Maddie and Rhea. Yet, for the sake of the vulnerable Caroline, they attempt to diffuse the deep-seated tension that pervades their interactions. They try, for Caroline.
Performed with remarkable naturalism by its three-person cast, “Caroline” is an intimate, deeply observant play. It offers astute commentary not only on transgender identity and acceptance but also on the complexities of addiction, the arduous path to recovery, the stark realities of wealth and class, and the intricate dynamics within families. For Caroline, living a scrupulously honest life has always meant living as a girl.
The play’s commitment to honesty makes it particularly susceptible to any false notes. A few lines delivered by Caroline, for instance, feel less authentic to her character’s thought process and more like attempts by the playwright to elicit laughter. More problematic is a jarring late-stage plot twist that feels contrived, as if the narrative is suddenly wrested from the characters’ control. (A subtle warning: vague spoilers follow.)
We never truly get to know Rhea in depth; perhaps her agreement with her husband’s extreme conditions for helping Maddie and Caroline is consistent with her character as a steely figure in her marriage. However, it strains credibility that Maddie would not immediately highlight the undeniable harm her parents’ plan would inflict upon Caroline.
From a dramaturgical perspective, this twist feels too convenient—a manufactured tension that allows humanity to exist on only one side. “Caroline,” a play so beautifully nuanced until this point, deserves a more thoughtful resolution.
“Caroline” runs through November 16 at MCC Theater, Manhattan. The running time is 1 hour 30 minutes.