Atticus is hardly a white savior since his arguments for Tom fall on deaf ears. Playing Atticus like a gathering storm, Daniels is magnificent at showing the growing passion of a lawyer feeling the boot of bigotry on his neck. The Finch children can hardly grapple with the moral tangle of intolerance, except in their father’s lesson that it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird, a symbol of innocence. But does that excuse Bob Ewell (Frederick Weller), the abusive father who forces his daughter Mayella (Erin Wilhelmi, superb) to frame Tom Robinson for a rape he never committed? Finch asks his children to walk in the shoes of another person before condemning him. Racism is on trial here, and so is white accommodation, of which Atticus is not entirely blameless. And, under Sher’s urgent direction, the experience is electrifying. While Lee took her time getting to the courthouse drama, Sorkin lunges headlong into the fray. There’s a powerful sense of these children, now grown, still negotiating a world of festering social injustice. Scout, based on Lee’s memories of her own 10-year-old self, narrates the play with her older brother Jem (Will Pullen) and their friend Dill (Gideon Glick), a character modeled on Lee’s childhood chum Truman Capote. Celia Keenan-Bolger is sensational as Jean-Louise, aka Scout, the tomboy daughter who never tires of asking her widower father to explain the roots of prejudice. Another bold stroke is casting the Finch children with adult actors. There’s genuine daring in this production, with Sorkin deepening the roles of Tom and Finch housekeeper Calpurnia (a brilliant, bracing LaTanya Richardson Jackson) who finally get to speak for themselves as persons of color spoiling to be heard. In a towering performance from a never-better Jeff Daniels, Atticus is a good man besieged by doubts, fears and flashes of righteous anger. Months before opening night, To Kill a Mockingbird suffered contentious legal wrangling between producer Scott Rudin and the estate of Lee, who died in 2016, over depicting Atticus as someone less perfect and more human than “the most honest and decent person in Maycomb.” When the dust cleared, Atticus was no longer a gun owner with a penchant for drinking and cussing. And it sparks theatrical fireworks that light up the stage. And neither is it the beloved 1962 film version that won Gregory Peck an Oscar as Atticus Finch, the gentleman lawyer from small-town Maycomb who damn near started a riot by defending Tom Robinson (Gbenga Akinnagbe), a black handyman falsely accused of raping a white woman. Two things to get straight: The play isn’t the book. Brimming with humor, generous heart and gritty provocation, To Kill a Mockingbird is as timely as it is timeless. It’s a tricky, balancing act and Sorkin - in tandem with dynamic director Bartlett Sher and a flawless acting ensemble - never loses sight of making Lee’s tale thrillingly alive on stage. Aaron Sorkin has adapted Harper’s Lee’s benchmark 1960 novel of growing up in a racially segregated, hate-charged, Depression-era Alabama so that it adheres to the granular specificity of the past while speaking to the harsh realities of a turbulent present. All rise for the miracle that is To Kill a Mockingbird on Broadway.
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