The Piano Teacher Theater Review

Maybe she taught you ballet, or piano, or the violin. She might have been your kindergarten teacher, or the neighbor lady who baby-sat, or your favorite grandmother. She wore pastel cardigans and eyeglasses that hung from a chain around her neck. She smelled like nobody else, of flowers and powder and gentle decay.

Elizabeth Franz, left, plays Mrs. K, the piano teacher, and Carmen M. Herlihy a former student in Julia Cho’s new play.

She was a comforting figure who represented goodness and generosity, the innocuousness of old age. She probably evaporated from your life, or receded to its hazy fringes, sometime during your adolescence. Now here she is again, embodied to perfection by Elizabeth Franz, offering you cookies, of course, in "The Piano Teacher," a cozy, effective little chiller by Julia Cho that opened last night at the Vineyard Theater.

The reunion is, at first, as comforting as can be. After handing out the sweets, Mrs. K, as she is called, sneaks one for herself, then settles into her armchair for a long chat. She prattles on a bit, as you might expect, about her beloved husband, who died some years ago, about her favorite students and what might have become of them, about passing the time as best she can. She blushes a little to confess that her favorite show is "Dancing With the Stars." But the warmth in the room begins to dissipate, probably when those mysterious phone calls start.

By the time Mrs. K has finished telling the story of her life, and two former students have come to call bearing unwelcome recollections, the bright glint in her eye is charged with anxiety. The cheery smile, so inviting before, now seems to mask an unspeakable sorrow. When Mrs. K's friendly stream of talk suddenly stops, and the lights dim on a woman clinging desperately to a story she knows to be a lie, you will probably feel speechless with sadness too.

Ms. Franz has given many marvelous performances in her long career. She was the original Sister Mary Ignatius in Christopher Durang's celebrated black comedy about Catholic pedagogy, and won a Tony for her wrenching Linda Loman in the most recent Broadway revival of "Death of a Salesman." But the affable, sympathetic, piteously deceived Mrs. K must rank among her finest achievements.

The crinkly eyes, the delicate, slightly uncertain tread, the hands that flutter nervously as they reach for another chocolate: There is unerring truth in all the little details, and they collectively compose a homey portrait that makes the sting in Ms. Cho's deftly wrought play so painful. It is impossible not to squirm in discomfort as this harmless woman is forced to confront the dark shadows in her past, to admit that evil has tainted a life she had thought blameless.

The story of that life, as Mrs. K admits, appears inconsequential. "I was just a piano teacher in a suburb among suburbs," she says. For 30 years she coaxed the local children through their Chopin and Mozart. It was her husband, a refugee from a country ravaged by long cycles of violence, who knew the brutal truth of the world firsthand.

"I was a normal girl from a normal town, and I'd been through nothing like what he'd been through," Mrs. K recalls, speaking of their first meeting. She was drawn to him out of empathy for his solitude, and for the scars of suffering she sensed in his soul. "I guess I thought {hellip} I suppose I thought {hellip} that maybe my very normalcy could save him a little."

It would not be fair to reveal too many details about what Mrs. K discovers when she opens the dusty scrapbook of her past. Digging out a list of old students from the piano bench, she decides, on an impulse born of curiosity and loneliness, to try to get in touch with a few. Ms. Cho has constructed her play with a keen sense of suspense that should not be spoiled. I will only say that what Mrs. K's husband was up to in the kitchen with the kids, when the occasional student arrived for a lesson early or stayed late, was something more than crossword puzzles, but not what you may find yourself wearily predicting.

As Mary Fields, the former student who amiably takes Mrs. K up on her offer to visit, Carmen M. Herlihy gives a performance well matched to Ms. Franz's in its simplicity, honesty and ease. John Boyd has a much trickier role as Michael, the one bona fide prodigy Mrs. K taught, whose promise ended in horror.

Mr. Boyd capably transmits the character's unsettling jumpiness, the glints of malice and resentment in his friendly chatter. But the director, Kate Whoriskey, who calibrates the other performances with admirable precision, allows Mr. Boyd a little too much free rein. He's a terrific young actor, but a more guarded, understated performance might be more satisfying.

Ms. Cho is partly to blame. The play's subtle surface is broken by the arrival of this obviously sinister and oddly articulate character, who gives blunt voice to one of Ms. Cho's sharp morals. "We live the way we live, among supermarkets and doilies and nice curtains on the window, simply because we have all agreed to hide our knives," he says. "For now." As that observation suggests, the play owes a modest debt to similar theatrical tales of innocence corrupted, like Wallace Shawn's "Aunt Dan and Lemon" and Martin McDonagh's "Pillowman."

Nevertheless "The Piano Teacher" coolly and effectively imparts its own insights about the transmission of evil in a globalized world, where actions a continent away can spread their malign influence to the suburb next door. And Ms. Cho's play draws attention to a paradox worth pondering: An awareness of man's capacity for cruelty and violence is an important tool for living in the world wisely and with compassion, but the same knowledge, acquired too brutally, too intimately or too soon, is pure poison.

THE PIANO TEACHER

By Julia Cho; directed by Kate Whoriskey; sets by Derek McLane; costumes by Ilona Somogyi; lighting by David Weiner; original music and sound by Obadiah Eaves; production stage manager, Bryce McDonald; production manager, Ben Morris; general manager, Reed Ridgley; associate artistic director, Sarah Stern. Presented by the Vineyard Theater, Douglas Aibel, artistic director; Jennifer Garvey-Blackwell, executive director. At the Vineyard Theater, 108 East 15th Street, Manhattan; (212) 353-0303. Through Dec. 9. Running time: 1 hour 25 minutes.

WITH: John Boyd (Michael), Elizabeth Franz (Mrs. K) and Carmen M. Herlihy (Mary Fields).