Underneath the Lintel

New York, Soho Playhouse

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    The sole character in Glen Berger's Underneath the Lintel is an unprepossessing, mild-mannered Dutch librarian. His specialty is checking in books returned overnight, placed in that slot in the library's outer wall by people who scurry off without offering to deal with any fines that might be due. The librarian then fills out a form or two and sends a notice to the miscreant demanding that the overdue fine be paid. He is one of life's invisible people, and for his entire life this routine has apparently suited him just fine.
    Then his life changes when a book is placed in the slot that is 113 years overdue. There is no name on file, only the initial A, and a post office box in China. The librarian then becomes slowly obsessed with finding the person who checked out the book. There are a few clues and the librarian finds in himself, to his great surprise, some very real talents as a sleuth. He also finds a reason, far beyond his settled life in this library, to live. In addition to his talents as a sleuth, he discovers a wellspring of energy, of devotion to his quest.
    It starts as what might almost be called a hobby, but quickly takes over his life, especially when the Librarian discovers-or at least comes to believe-that he might be on the trail of the Wandering Jew. Now the story takes on cosmic overtones, for if he does indeed find the Wandering Jew, it will, he believes, prove the existence of God and validate his own existence on the planet.
    But is he simply mad? Berger's play is ambiguous enough to suggest that he just might be. Or is the Librarian simply motivated by the universal need to make some mark on life as he passes through? As T. Ryder Smith plays the librarian, he is a small man becoming larger, a weak man becoming stronger, a man with a very limited vision of his world becoming driven to no less a task than to prove the existence of God. Smith pulls it off perfectly, never letting go of the nebbish at the heart of the man even as he becomes something of a super sleuth and amateur philosopher. He is a charming innocent, at one point sharing his delight at putting one over on his employers by pretending to be ill and getting a few days off to pursue his quest. He chortles over being, he believes, the first person ever to think up such a nefarious scheme.
    Randy White directed, and whatever the chemistry between him and Smith during rehearsals, the result is 90 minutes that fly by with an actor using the stage, the many props, and his personality in such a way that the direction is invisible, which is the highest compliment to be paid to a director.