By Nick Dent
Time Out Sydney
July 2, 2010

For a few years in the 1980s William Hurt was one of the biggest stars in Hollywood. The Washington DC-born actor (The Big Chill, Broadcast News, Gorky Park) won an Oscar for Kiss of the Spider Woman playing Molina, a gay window dresser in a South American prison who survives day-to-day on his memories of trashy old movies. To see Hurt, now 60, playing Eugene O'Neill's deluded patriarch James Tyrone in Long Day's Journey into Night on the Sydney Theatre stage, is to experience the unique privilege of watching an actor who excels at conveying self-deception. His eyes deep-set and distant, his voice, a somnolent, teasing murmur, Hurt's very presence seems to be struggling from the depths of a pleasant dream into the cold light of day.

O'Neill's autobiographical 1956 play portrays a fracturing family. It's 1912 and Tyrone, an ageing actor who spends most of the year on the road with touring shows, is passing the autumn break at his dilapidated seaside house in Connecticut. His wife Mary (Robyn Nevin) has recently returned from a sanitorium that has been treating her for morphine addiction. Sons Jamie (Todd van Voris) and Edmund (Luke Mullins) are here too: like his father, Jamie is an alcoholic actor, while Edmund is a former sailor and aspiring writer whose health is failing.

Over the course of the day these four characters circle each other warily, like duellers. They'll avoid saying what they want to say, then suddenly land a savage blow before quickly retreating into the safety of familial platitudes. Mary is obviously back on the dope, and Edmund is clearly very ill, but nobody is game to say the words ‘morphine' or ‘consumption' for fear of upsetting mother. James senior also has a dangerous addiction – to money – and his miserly ways have affected his family's mental and physical health over the years. As night falls the characters hit the whiskey and the truth comes out through a series of lengthy, harrowing monologues.

This is a powerful production, skilfully directed by Andrew Upton. Hurt is excellent, even though some might find his low-key delivery odd for a character who is supposed to be a giant of the American stage. Nevin, meanwhile, as the long-time addict who has built up such a complicated web of denial that she keeps forgetting which lie to maintain, is simply phenomenal. Another American import, Todd van Voris, plays James Jr; booming of voice, roly-poly of presence, van Voris makes quite an impression as the son whose boozing and whoring are symptoms of his self-loathing. Mullins's Edmund is by contrast a fragile, slender reed, and his fear and despair are extremely poignant. All three of the men portray growing drunkenness with technical brilliance, while Emily Russell as the servant, Cathleen, provides welcome shades of comedic distraction.

The set by Michael Scott-Mitchell is non-naturalistic, taking the form of a series of collapsing, square proscenium arches. It's the perfect home for an acting dynasty that's performing for its life, maintaining the lie at all costs. Yet the deeper you look into this house, the more lopsided it becomes, sinking into the stage and into oblivion.