NJT review: Love at the speed of snail mail

JUDITH NEWMARK, Special to the Jewish Light
Published June 12, 2022

The audiences most apt to appreciate “Dear Jack, Dear Louise” are baby boomers, people whose parents lived through World War Two.

But let’s hope that some of them bring their teenaged grandchildren along. They might be fascinated by the New Jewish Theatre’s production of this love story, directed by Sharon Hunter.

Jack (Ryan Lawson-Maeske), a young physician stationed at an Army hospital in Oregon, and Louise (Molly Burris), a dancer/actress trying for a career on Broadway, write each other letters for years before they get ever get a chance to meet.

An image from ‘Dear Jack, Dear Louise’ at New Jewish Theatre. Photo: Jon Gitchoff

There’s no cell phone. There’s no texting, no email; telephone calls were reserved for emergencies. One time, when Louise and Jacky had to get in touch fast, they sent telegrams. (“Telegrams” may need to be explained. Wait until intermission.)

Obviously, this romance has a happy ending. “Dear Jack, Dear Louise” was written by the couple’s son, playwright Ken Ludwig (“Crazy for You,” “Lend Me a Tenor,” etc.). He wrote the letters that make up the play; his mother destroyed the real ones, for reasons he doesn’t know.

But he’s re-imagined them with humor and tenderness. Only occasionally do the actors hold letters or sit writing. Mostly, they speak the letters as if they really were spoken, full of fresh feeling and plenty of charm.

Burris and Lawson-Maeske build bonds between the characters, even though they remain separated, each confined to half the stage. Their initial formality dissolves — mostly at Louise’s insistence — into friendly chats.

Gradually they open up more, with Louise sharing her anxiety about the ups-and-downs of auditions and Jack, just out of medical school, admitting how shaken he is by the wounded men he tries to treat.

Hunter stages these scenes so vividly that you almost forget that Jack and Louise can’t see each other, not the way that we can see each of them. They are frankly emotional with each other by the time Jack is shipped from the safety of Oregon to the battleground in France — a transition Hunter makes explicit in Ryan-Maeske’s darting movements, aided by David LaRose’s lighting design.

Scenic designer Dunsi Dai sketches out each actor’s area effectively — a cot and desk for him, a small vanity, clothes rack and chaise for her. Dai knits it all together with movie posters, theater posters and glamour-girl shots from the 1940s, setting time as well as place.

Lawson-Maeske is uniformed, naturally, but costume designer Michele Friedman Siler provides with Burris an assortment of accessories to change her look. And her coif, complete with pinned-up curls, is perfect.

Ludwig clearly wrote “Dear Jack, Dear Louise” as a love letter to his parents, whose real pictures decorate the lobby. But it’s also a love letter to the power of the written word. Letter-writing forced this young couple to go slowly. There’s something to learn from that, too.