Nine-year-old Caroline is a remarkably bright and inquisitive child, possessing the sharp perceptiveness often found in only children who have navigated life with a parent struggling with addiction. While her mother, Maddie, has maintained sobriety since Caroline’s infancy, this young girl has developed an uncanny ability to detect even the slightest hint of trouble.
Despite her keen awareness, Caroline had never once doubted the absence of maternal grandparents in her life, having always believed them to be deceased.
“Metaphorically dead,” Maddie clarifies, forced to reveal their true existence. With Caroline’s father long gone, mother and daughter find themselves in a silent but urgent crisis, desperate for safety and a fresh start. Maddie clings to the hope that her affluent parents might offer the help they so desperately need.
Preston Max Allen’s poignant new play, “Caroline,” makes its debut at MCC Theater, introducing us to Maddie (portrayed by Chloë Grace Moretz) and Caroline (River Lipe-Smith) seated in a diner booth in Ohio. They appear to be just another tired working-class duo on a road trip, perusing the all-day breakfast menu. However, a significant detail immediately catches the eye: Caroline’s arm is in a sling. This freshly mended bone, a result of Maddie’s former partner’s violent outburst, is what propelled them to flee their West Virginia home.
Under David Cromer’s masterful direction, the nuances of their predicament unfold gradually. Yet, what’s instantly clear is the profound connection between Maddie and Caroline, evident in Maddie’s unwavering protectiveness and Caroline’s unpretentious demeanor. Their bond is palpable, each essential to the other’s survival.
Back at the diner table, Caroline casually requests a brownie from the waitress (granted), then attempts to negotiate for a Nintendo Switch with her mother (denied, but a valiant effort!). It’s then, with tender consideration, that Maddie asks her child, “Do you have any thoughts on what you want your name to be?” This revealing question unveils a crucial truth: the chosen name, Caroline, signifies that the child is transgender, finally able to embrace her authentic self.
Their journey soon leads them to the elegant doorstep of Maddie’s childhood home in Evanston, Illinois, a wealthy suburb of Chicago. (Lee Jellinek’s set design beautifully captures the muted opulence.) There, Maddie’s mother, Rhea (played by Amy Landecker), is blindsided by Caroline’s existence, much like Caroline was by hers. The relationship between Maddie and Rhea (along with Maddie’s father, who is absent on a business trip) had fractured beyond repair long before Caroline was born.
Maddie had previously confided in Caroline about her teenage struggles with addiction, which included multiple, significant thefts from her parents. Rhea, portrayed as emotionally reserved and impeccably presented, reflects on that period as the most agonizing of her life, consumed by fear for her daughter and a sense of powerlessness. (The production credits include costumes by David Hyman, hair and wigs by Robert Pickens, and makeup by Suki Tsujimoto.)
A deep chasm of mistrust divides Maddie and Rhea. Yet, for the sake of the vulnerable Caroline, they attempt to diffuse the palpable tension that permeates their every exchange. They genuinely strive to find common ground.
Brought to life with remarkable naturalism by its three-person cast, “Caroline” is an intimate, meticulously crafted play that offers insightful commentary on transgender identity and acceptance. It also delves into complex themes of addiction, recovery, wealth disparity, class distinctions, intricate family dynamics, and the challenging path of living a truly authentic life. For Caroline, this authenticity has always been intrinsically linked to living as a girl.
Given the play’s dedication to authenticity, it becomes especially susceptible to any moments that feel artificial. For instance, a few lines delivered by Caroline seem more designed for comedic effect than genuinely reflective of her character’s thoughts. More critically, a jarring late-game plot twist feels as though Allen abruptly steers the narrative, undermining his own characters. (A mild spoiler warning for the following points.)
Rhea remains somewhat enigmatic throughout the play; perhaps she has always maintained a rigid, almost bureaucratic, role within her marriage. Her assent to her husband’s extreme conditions for assisting Maddie and Caroline might, in that context, be predictable. However, it severely strains credulity that Maddie fails to immediately confront the palpable harm her parents’ proposed plan would inflict upon Caroline.
From a dramaturgical perspective, this twist feels convenient: tension manufactured without genuine character impetus, with empathy restricted to only one party. “Caroline,” which had been so exquisitely nuanced up to this point, ultimately merits a more thoughtful resolution.
Caroline
Playing through November 16th at MCC Theater, Manhattan. Running time: 1 hour 30 minutes.