Three plays in London

Every once in a while a new play comes along that changes the way you look at the world.

Such is the case with The Curious Incident of The Dog in the Night-Time, now playing on London's West End.

That's because, in this extraordinary play, the world is seen through the eyes of its protagonist, Christopher, a 15-year-old British boy with Asperger's, a syndrome on the spectrum of autism. And it's a remarkable world— wondrous, dangerous and ultimately just.

At the play's onset, Christopher has discovered a dog lying dead in his neighbor's yard, a pitchfork plunged into its side. Horrified by the injustice, Christopher vows to solve the murder.

Telling the truth

However, Christopher has a few liabilities. First, he's a student in a special school for learning disabled students (in a town called Swindon). Second, he doesn't always understand what people are saying to him. Third, his mother has abandoned the home, and his father, though devoted and loving, can't always cope.

On the other hand, Christopher has great assets. First, he's a mathematical genius. Second, he always tells the truth. Third, he has a compassionate teacher who supports him in both his academic and personal endeavors.

As it turns out, Christopher's assets outweigh his liabilities and, thanks to his determination as well as his mathematical logic, he solves the mystery on his own. Unfortunately, his discovery prompts him to flee from his father's home and make a perilous journey to London in search of his mother.

Inside Christopher's mind

A train ride from Swindon (80 miles west of London) to the heart of the city would be an ordinary trip for a teenager. But not for Christopher, who has never ridden on a train or subway before (he has a terror of being touched physically by other humans) and who cannot understand verbal directions.

So his journey to London and the subsequent taking of his A-level exams (resulting in the reunion of his fractured family) prove to be nothing less than heroic.

Director Marianne Elliott displays the same masterful skill and sensitivity that she applied to another great coming-of-age play, War Horse. She turns the stage into a box, employing the three sides and ceiling as a grid-like computer screen, upon which she projects the mathematical workings of Christopher's mind as he struggles to compress the chaos of the world around him into algebraic formulae. Elliott's ten actors, playing multiple roles in Christopher's world, sit on benches around the empty stage, participating in the action as it unfolds.

Urban jumble

As Christopher embarks for London, the walls and ceiling come alive with the frantic movement of urban life, while the actors swarm about in a simulation of urban jumble. We're seeing the modern world through Christopher's eyes"“ a world ablaze in chaos, commotion and confusion.

As explained by Mark Haddon, author of the book from which the play has been adapted, Asperger's is a term used to describe people who have mental and social issues, as well as behavioral problems.

But, as Haddon asks: "Who doesn't have behavioral problems?" Like the protagonist in Equus, Christopher has been labeled "an outsider." But if you look at the world through Christopher's eyes, the play turns out not to be about Christopher— or Asperger's— at all. As Haddon says, "It's about us."

Brawling in Parliament

Two other masterful productions on the London stage this spring also offer keen insights into "us."

This House, James Graham's rollicking new comedy now playing at the Royal National Theatre, makes hay of Britain's Parliament, for the dual purpose of a) providing terrific entertainment and b) offering unusual insights into human behavior in the political arena.

The play focuses on one particular House of Commons vote in May 1976 that resulted in a traumatic rift between two parties that were bitter rivals to begin with— a vote taken according to an informal agreement called "pairing." Somehow (it still hasn't been clarified) the procedure was broken, allegedly by the Labour Party, which was able to maintain its power. ("Cheating!" the Tories accused bitterly.) The rift between the parties deepened, and the nation suffered as a result.

"This bloody, self-destructive country," laments one party whip. "It would work fine, this British democracy, if it didn't rely on people," laments the other." During a brawl, when one party member grabs Parliament's Ceremonial Mace to take a swing at a colleague, a party whip announces, "Replace the mace!"

At the play's end, the two opposing whips set it right by reinstating their "gentleman's agreements" and ushering in a new government based on a mutual recognition of fairness and inevitability.

Through the past, darkly

And then there's the world of Harold Pinter, in which human behavior sinks to lower depths. The stunning revival of Pinter's 1971 play Old Times at the newly renamed Harold Pinter Theatre on the West End features virtuosic performances by Rufus Sewell, Kristin Scott Thomas and Lia Williams, under the skillful direction of Ian Rickson. But all that brilliant talent can't temper the blow of a Pinter play.

In Old Times, Anna has come to visit her married friend Kate after a hiatus of 20 years, and their reunion sets of a series of reminiscences about their entwined relationships that are mysterious, frightening and inconclusive. By the end of the play, we know less than when we began— about what happened between them, about who is telling the truth, and (far more important) about who really loves whom. Insidiously, we in the audience begin to mistrust our own memory and its function.

So what does that say about human behavior? Pinter baffles me.

I admire his great contribution to modern drama ("The comedy of menace," it's called). I recognize his profound influence on so many authors (David Mamet, Neil LaBute, etc.). But I always leave a Pinter play feeling uneasy— unsympathetic toward his characters, unhopeful for mankind in general. What can we count on, if we can't count on love, if we can't rely on memory, if we can't trust ourselves?

In the end, I'd rather spend the evening in Swindon with young Christopher, who tells the truth and solves the mysteries. As Christopher teaches us, there's safety in numbers