There are several things that John Patrick Shanley does to make Doubt, currently playing at the Asolo Rep, so totally engrossing. First, he introduces a nun who is light years from the contemporary stereotype, and makes us jettison our prejudices as we follow her story. Nuns aren't taken very seriously in contemporary theater: Either they're derided for their narrowness, as in Chris Durang's Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All For You, or they're taken as anachronistic objects of fun as in Late Night Catechism or, for that matter, the Sister Act movies. But Shanley's Sister Aloysius is no backward laughingstock. She's a coldly powerful critic of human nature who teaches authoritarianism as a moral necessity, and who doggedly defends her students' well-being even where others see no threat. Is she too cold, too tyrannical? Just about everyone on stage eventually comes to think so. But she may just have more integrity than her detractors. And she may see more deeply into the abyss of the human soul than anyone else is capable of doing.
Or maybe not. That's the next virtue of this surprising play: It's awash with ambiguity. There's only one character whose moral stature is easily judged, and that's Sister James, the well-meaning, warm-hearted eighth grade teacher willing to believe the best about everyone she encounters. The drama's other three personages aren't nearly so transparent. Sister Aloysius may be a female Sherlock Holmes, or she may be a fanatic who finds turpitude everywhere, especially where it's not. Father Flynn, the priest whom she suspects of sexually abusing a student, may be a predatory devil masquerading as a man of God, or he may be a caring father, amiably teaching young pupils the virtue of compassion. And finally, Mrs. Muller, the mother of the possibly victimized child, may be a clear-sighted sophisticate, wise to the ways of weak humans in a crooked world, or she may be so forlorn and exhausted that she's lost all sense of the protection she owes her son. Shanley asks us to decide for ourselves in every case — even at the end there are no easy answers — and gets us to hang on every word in our search for the truth. Be prepared for some lively post-play discussions about the ultimate meaning of what you've witnessed.
At least the plot is simple enough. Sister Aloysius is the principal at a Catholic school in the Bronx in 1964. One day a young nun, Sister James, happens to tell her that the school's only black student, a certain Donald Muller, acted somewhat strangely in an earlier class. It seems that Father Flynn — pastor of St. Nicholas Church — took young Donald to the rectory for a private talk, and afterward Donald "put his head on the desk in the most peculiar way." Further, Sister James is almost sure she smelled alcohol on Donald's breath. Immediately, Sister Aloysius imagines the worst: Father Flynn has given the boy liquor of some kind and then sexually abused him. Sister James is not at all convinced of this scenario, but Sister Aloysius believes that "It is my job to outshine the fox in cleverness" and arranges for the two women to confront the unsuspecting pastor. When they do, he's insulted and insists on his innocence. He has a credible explanation of the wine on the boy's breath, and manages to win Sister James to his interpretation. But Sister Aloysius is relentless. Convinced of Flynn's guilt, she arranges to speak with Donald's mother — an interview that just makes things harder to fathom, and that leaves the nun shaken. So finally it comes down to a battle of wills: the Sister against the Father. One of them must prevail. At least one of them knows the truth.
As Sister Aloysius, Randy Danson is a formidable presence. Shoving her way forward like a heavyweight among middleweights, she seems beyond gender, beyond feeling, almost beyond humanity. There's nothing very likable about this tough, domineering nun; even her concern for Donald's welfare is overshadowed by her brutal certainty that she can see around corners, through walls, into the human heart. As her antagonist, Paul Molnar is sunny and seemingly life-affirming. He's the priest who wants to be everyone's best friend: boyish and charming and an advertisement for religion where Sister Aloysius is a warning label. Karis Danish doesn't do very much with Sister James: she's all naïveté and credulity, and one wishes that she'd found a contradictory impulse in her character's makeup. And Sameerah Luqmaan-Harris is strangely artificial as Mrs. Muller; this is a terrifically complicated character as written by Shanley, but Luqmaan-Harris reduces her to a very few attitudes: excessive politeness and a touch of irony. Still, director Anne Kauffman elicits emotionally honest confrontations between Sister Aloysius and Father Flynn, and Kris Stone's cold church interior helpfully serves to heighten the play's ambiguities. Matthew Parker's sound design includes traditional church music and up-to-date rock; it's not always clear what the latter is supposed to tell us.
What Shanley's play tells us is more thinkable: We live in a world of uncertain character and have to make judgments all the time based on insufficient evidence. Because lives are at stake, we have no choice but to act. But our element is doubt: We live and breathe it like oxygen. Not even time can be trusted to distinguish right choices from wrong.
Not a minor lesson for a 90-minute play. But go and see Doubt for yourself. And then decide for yourself — if you can — where the truth lies.
This article appears in Jan 2-8, 2008.