Kline & linney steal the show in ‘american classic’ – a small-town funeral gets a big heart
The greasepaint’s scent, the murmur of the crowd – it’s a familiar, if slightly agonizing, experience for any theater devotee. But Michael Hoffman and Bob Martin’s ‘American Classic’ isn’t about the grand spectacle; it’s about the messy, profoundly human moments that follow an unexpected loss.
A funeral reimagined
The series kicks off with the shocking death of Richard Bean’s (Kevin Kline) mother, triggering a cascade of complications and a desperate attempt to preserve his family’s legacy. Bean, once hailed as the future of American theatre – and now the subject of a viral video of his spectacularly drunken rant against a New York Times critic – returns to his struggling hometown of Millersburg, a place desperately clinging to its dwindling dinner theatre scene.
It’s a heartbreaking tableau: Jon Tenney as his brother, grappling with his mother’s passing and the early stages of dementia affecting Linus Cariou’s father, while Laura Linney’s Kristen navigates the challenges of running the town and, of course, adjudicating the annual Concerned Parents’ Bookburning Summit. The entire operation, staffed by a chef-Jon, a waitress-Miranda, and Kristen herself, feels utterly, wonderfully absurd.
Kline delivers a masterclass in understated grief and burgeoning self-awareness. He’s initially consumed by disdain for the town’s current offerings, planning a swift exit. But Tony Shalhoub as the relentlessly pragmatic agent, Alvy, reminds him of his ‘meme’ status and the need to capitalize on it. The result? A lavish, emotionally-charged funeral orchestrated at the theatre itself – a testament to the enduring power of memory and the desperate need to connect.
‘American Classic’ isn’t reinventing the wheel, but it’s a remarkably warm and perceptive piece of television. Hoffman and Martin capture the essence of small-town life with a deftness that echoes the charm of ‘Ted Lasso’ and the poignant humor of ‘Schitt’s Creek.’ The performances are uniformly excellent, particularly Linney, who imbues Kristen with a quiet strength and surprising depth. Kline, however, is the undeniable anchor, balancing his character’s inherent narcissism with moments of genuine vulnerability. The show’s quiet brilliance lies in its recognition that the most powerful performances aren’t always delivered on a grand stage; sometimes, they’re found in the shared grief of a small community. It’s a reminder that even amid the chaos and heartbreak, the simple act of remembering – and honoring – those we’ve lost remains a profoundly moving experience. The decision to stage Thornton Wilder’s ‘Our Town’ is a stroke of genius, a quiet declaration of art’s enduring value.