The very best moments in Hugh Leonard's play "Summer" are the very first. The lights come up on a grassy hill high above Dublin, and we find eight people relaxing after a picnic lunch, reclining in the sod, saying nothing. It's obvious that these people all belong to the same party, but, for this extended instant, each character is isolated, staring off into a lonely space of his own choosing. Yellow light hangs heavy in the air. Birds chirp in the distance. One of the figures slightly rearranges his posture. And while no one has spoken a line, the audience has already been treated to a poignant foreboding of the evening's subject. The tranquil hush of the hill, the beatific stares on the faces, the translucent glow of the sky all summon up an utter stillness that cannot be confused with anything but death.
"Summer" … has other things to recommend it besides that strangely upsetting first tableau. As one expects from this writer, his play boasts a bracing splash of Irish wit, a fierce sense of compassion and some highly theatrical roles…. But there's also an obviousness to the writing that prevents a decent, workmanlike evening from ever really taking off. We are haunted by the play's opening because it dramatizes Mr. Leonard's theme elliptically, poetically. In much of the rest of "Summer," the playwright merely states his concerns point-blank….
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