For over 60 years, few books in the American literary canon have meant as much as Harper Lee’s “To Kill a Mockingbird.” The story of a lawyer who must face a difficult case uncovers a study of racism that has lingered in the public’s consciousness ever since, creating a complicated understanding of how everyone chooses to relate to each other. Is it right to embrace mob mentality at the expense of doing what is justifiably good? Many have come away with their own beloved opinions of those pages, and among them is writer Aaron Sorkin. A renowned author in his own right, his obsession with courtroom drama feels suited for a stage adaptation of this work. The results find an interesting meshing of talents where both voices clash in fascinating ways, ultimately creating a piece of theater that feels vital and new even when it’s abundantly old-fashioned.
Questions around adapting this story in a way that makes it vital to a packed theater are valid. It’s at times a stuffy story, but Sorkin has found a way to embrace the potential of the stage and create a piece of art that highlights what the story did best. Through protagonist Scout Finch (Melanie Moore), the childlike study unfolds when she begins the evening amid a blank stage, plotting out a murder defense. With the help of the even more naïve Jem (Justin Mark), they use theater of the mind to show how the audience is to function throughout the rest of the show. Even as props and set pieces emerge, there is a need to look into the invisible, something more resembling a moral conscience. There is a lot to see, but sometimes it’s a misdirect from the truth. By the time this scene reaches that conclusion, To Kill a Mockingbird’s stage has deftly molded into a courtroom, where desks and seats emerge from every corner of the stage, preparing to introduce the story’s hero.
As mentioned often in the press, Atticus Finch is played by Richard Thomas in a role that’s largely compelling. Sorkin’s gift is finding a way to build to his introduction, using Scout’s inquisitive nature as she wanders the stage to build on theme and character. She’s at times physical, others metaphysical, helping to create an implicit awareness that this is the vision of right and wrong through a childlike perspective. Even if Atticus is about to lay out his first of many versatile monologues, there is a sense that his words aren’t only meant to please those in the court. They are informing how his children will see the future.
For the most part, Sorkin doesn’t deviate from the text that audiences have grown to love. Several key moments are done almost verbatim, albeit with a staging that allows the Finch’s front porch to feel like it’s in constant motion. Everyone walks by the porch, waiting to hear what Atticus has to say. Even if it’s easy to write him off as altruistic, the subtle reveals show a man dedicated to his craft, a sense of honesty that the murder trial of a Black man needs to be handled in a nuanced and sensible manner. The trick is getting people with their own biases to believe his side. It helps that Thomas gives Atticus a humanity that is constantly in search of an even break, where suddenly those threatening him with vulgarity and violence will turn to passivity. It’s not just for the trial. He sees it all as a chance to better Scout’s life and, metaphorically, the future of America.
The show’s greatest feature is not changing the focal point even if it would benefit Sorkin’s greater interest in law and order. He dedicates focus to Lee’s rambunctious, sometimes obnoxious young protagonist who is simply trying to navigate a life where bullying is encouraged and easy accusations will get her far. Even if she has this incredible understanding of law, she is still a child, stuck in a grey area where both sides have their allure. It’s important for her to see Atticus as a hero, and yet she also sees him as a flawed man whether it be in court or at home holding discussions where offhand remarks get the best of him.
It’s also a chance to really add a sense of greater levity to the show. Scout is a child, and she constantly acts like one. She gets into mischief, finding herself disconnected from the adult world that holds some mystery that she tries to understand. Even with what little access she has to Atticus, she must find the answers for herself. It’s what makes the courtroom scenes have a subtextual appeal. While the action plays out, Scout walks around, observing the speaker and witnessing law in action. Without a word, she’s subliminally creating a question around what is moral truth.
The rest of the show has its moments of impressive levity. While Sorkin is too indebted to the text this time, he still finds some humorous beats to reflect each character’s personality shining through a difficult issue. He manages to make Act II’s pivotal moments hold this deeper weight, where he allows the actors to give into these draining monologues where integrity is constantly brought into question. It’s the passionate, eager defenses that are electric on a stage. To hear actors give in to their emotions after reason has torn apart is what To Kill A Mockingbird does best. It breaks through defenses, and beats down the artifice until one is left with the perceived truth. Sometimes it comes in a joke that reflects the judge’s own bias, others it’s Atticus making a desperate plea for justice. Whatever it is, the show’s ability to handle emotion is palpable.
Richard Thomas should be commended for his work, helping to define a man who is likable but also flawed. With his upbeat southern ways, he uncovers a man who despite his stubbornness is more concerned with society’s struggle for empathy. While it’s arguable how well To Kill A Mockingbird brings a new understanding of the work (basically an essential need for adaptation), it does plenty to highlight what’s great about the text. At its core, the study of racial intolerance and choosing to ignore truth are ideas that have only become more highlighted in the decades since. Sorkin does plenty to reflect Lee’s intentions, but the show’s one downfall is that it doesn’t fully bring a direct correlation to the here and now. It’s a throwback that is sure to please those wanting a thrilling night of theater, but for those wanting some provocative and deep reassessment, it’s a tad disappointing and overlong.
For the most part, To Kill a Mockingbird achieves its goal of being a crowd-pleasing look into America’s tumultuous past. Sorkin is once again delivering an entertaining and zippy script that results in something that is creative and vivid. There’s no doubt that this is a show with enough appeal that it’ll draw in audiences for years to come. The only issue may be that it’s not exactly saying anything new with its material and instead relies on faithfulness to a somewhat debilitating degree. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Harper Lee’s text is a masterpiece for a reason. It is likely that it’ll continue to be essential as long as America’s intersocial relationships continue to be questioned. The only question is whether Sorkin does enough to make the stage version something that’s on par with that legacy. It does for the most part, though you’re just as well off reading the book instead.
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