Marjorie Prime
1 hour 20 minutes, no break. Hayes Theater, 240 W. 44th St.
When June Squibb took the stage in “Marjorie Prime” at the Hayes Theater, I immediately felt a sense of gratitude for her presence. It’s been eight years since this stage and screen legend graced Broadway, where her career began in 1960 with “Gypsy,” alongside Ethel Merman.
While continuing her work on film and serving on boards, she has delivered stellar performances in projects like “Thelma” and “Eleanor the Great.” Now, at 96, Squibb embodies the title character in this revival of Jordan Harrison’s haunting sci-fi play that debuted on Monday night.
Similar to how Squibb elevates the experience with her age, Harrison’s thought-provoking play about artificial intelligence has matured impressively over its 11 years. In the story, we meet 85-year-old Marjorie, who spends her time in a cozy armchair conversing with a robot named Walter (Christopher Lowell), designed to resemble her late husband in his youth.
Walter’s purpose? To “provide peace of mind.” Perhaps that’s a bit simplistic. He listens to Marjorie’s happy anecdotes, absorbs information, and even forms his own character—like a whimsical ChatGPT. Lowell’s portrayal of Walter is both graceful and amusing, reminiscent of a Twilight Zone character, while his voice is smooth enough to issue navigation directions.
Their dialogues unfold in a green living room set designed by Lee Jelinek—a color choice that feels both futuristic and eerie, the perfect backdrop for this sci-fi narrative. Marjorie, a Gen Xer, seems quite intrigued by technology, as many of us often seek someone to interact with, don’t we? Yet, her daughter Tess, played powerfully by Cynthia Nixon, harbors skepticism towards technology, often referring to Walter as “it.”
Tess’s husband, John (Danny Burstein), adds another layer to the dynamics. He watches as Walter attempts to uplift Marjorie, who’s grappling with dementia. Is it harmless? Well, it starts off simply enough, but as the story progresses, we begin to see that Prime may not be offering true comfort.
That aspect reveals an unsettling truth: people longing for closure often look to technology to ease their pain, yearning for connections with versions of those they’ve lost. However, these digital constructs lack the rich, complex nature of real individuals—they present a shallow echo of who our loved ones were. This theme cleverly plays on a common thread in American drama: our inability to fully understand our parents.
Under the direction of Anne Kaufman, the cast—anchored by iconic actors—creates a remarkably cohesive ensemble. Nixon brings depth to Tess, a daughter facing her mother’s declining health while also juggling her own child’s career uncertainties, which adds to the underlying tension. And just when you assume Burstein’s character John is merely supportive, his performance reveals profound emotional layers that resonate deeply.
The play prompts a familiar, yet vital question: “Why does this matter now?” The answer is straightforward. Harrison’s narrative is alarmingly relevant. Unlike many political dramas that feel more like recycled headlines, this story remains human and deeply touching, without veering into over-sentimentality.
The play holds a mirror to the audience’s vulnerabilities. I suspect many patrons find themselves pondering whether they would want a Prime if it were available. And it’s likely that an honest reflection would stir discomfort.
In the end, Squibb and Marjorie together create a potent mix—she embodies both a relatable charm and the weight of grief. Squibb brings a unique blend of warmth and melancholy, revealing the complex layers of Marjorie as not only intelligent and lovable but heartbreakingly human.
We are, indeed, fortunate to witness such brilliance at this stage of June’s career.
