Stiff Drink

Great plays are not always easy to sit through. Eugene O'Neill's The Iceman Cometh runs nearly 4 1/2 hours, has a garrulous first act that could try the patience of saints, and hammers home its point about "pipe dreams"--the illusions that prevent people from facing the bleak realities of their lives--so many times that you might want to take a lead pipe to the author. Yet at least once a generation, theatergoers deserve a chance to immerse themselves in this oceanic masterpiece. This time it's an inspired dip.

We're back in Harry Hope's bar, an end-of-the-line booze joint, where a dozen or so wasted regulars are waiting for the annual appearance of Hickey, a gregarious salesman who never fails to perk them up. But Hickey arrives with a teetotaler's resolve and a revivalist's mission--to get them to cast off their phony dreams. In this career-making role (it helped make Jason Robards Jr. a star), Kevin Spacey gives the performance of his life. Prowling the stage in a half-crouch, his voice oozing with snake-oil self-confidence, using silences as cagily as the torrent of words, he is funny, charismatic and ultimately shattering.

The new Broadway production, directed by Howard Davies, has actually improved a notch since its acclaimed run last year in London, where the cacophony of Brit-style American accents was a bit distracting. Tim Pigott-Smith, as the disillusioned anarchist Larry, is an indispensable holdover, while Tony Danza as the bartender, Michael Emerson as a soused former law student and Robert Sean Leonard as a tormented turncoat are vivid additions. All in all, a potentially grueling evening becomes a breathtaking theater experience.

--By Richard Zoglin