By Robert Israel

This is a well-honed, mostly successful script about the difficulties of making human connections  — a drama about seizing the day.

Pru Payne, a play by Steven Drukman. Directed by Paul Daigneault. Presented by SpeakEasy Stage Co., Calderwood Pavilion, Boston Center for the Arts, 527 Tremont St., Boston, MA, through Nov. 16.

Karen MacDonald and Gordon Clapp in the SpeakEasy Stage Company production of Pru Payne. Photo: Nile Scott Studios

For Steven Drukman, the SpeakEasy Stage Company production of his one-act play, Pru Payne, which had its premiere at the Arizona Theatre Company last year, represents a homecoming. A native of Newton, Mass., who now calls New York his home turf, Drukman brings a well-honed, mostly successful script to his old stomping grounds. Set in Boston in 1988, his five person, one-act play focuses on the life and travails of Prudence “Pru” Payne over the course of twenty years.

Pru is a successful critic who has achieved many literary accomplishments. She loves her craft. She loves the challenges she faces when facing assignments. She is opinionated and snooty, and she bandies about literary references as if she was handing out Halloween candy. At the beginning of the play she is looking forward to an awards ceremony where her achievements will be honored. Yet we soon discover that Pru is set on a collision course with Alzheimer’s disease and, as the drama progresses, we see the early signs of dementia take hold, wreaking havoc on her memory and reasoning skills. Sadly the script dramatizes how the affliction imposes a pervading sense of confusion, anger, and hopelessness.

Drukman is a skilled wordsmith. The character of Pru, played by veteran stage actress Karen MacDonald, is adept at tossing out tongue twisters and pulling off wordy somersaults that include marvelous alliterative forays and are peppered with naughty (scatological) jokes. It’s all in good fun, of course, and the forays into the risque supplies much-needed humor to what would be an otherwise ponderous and grim topic. What I admired most about Drukman script is that it reflects a compact artistic vision, which he defines as “the dramatist’s job…to construct an event, playing out in a circumscribed space, within a reasonable amount of time.” The result: the audience is treated to a tightly crafted show. We see how an able craftsman makes engaging drama out of constructing double entendres and compound words and then deconstructing those same words, adding additional resonances to what we’ve just heard and experienced.

The challenge comes when Drukman becomes ambitious, attempting to infuse a larger vision into the struggles of individuals. We are informed that we live in an age of “collective amnesia.” There are references to our damaged American political landscape and its inadequate politicians (Dan Quayle and George Bush are two that are mentioned). But this one-act play does not have the time to develop this theme about cultural decay convincingly.

Where the SpeakEasy Stage’s production succeeds is with its performances. Supporting the vibrant and inspiring MacDonald is veteran stage and television actor Gordon Clapp, who plays Gus Cuddahy. Gus comes from another world and, at least initially, his working class language and crude mannerisms delight Pru as they both deal with the ravages of memory loss. Gus has a son, Art (Greg Maraio), who has an entanglement with Pru’s son, Thomas (De’Lon Grant). As both sets of these relationships unfold, the performers grapple with making sense of their similarities and differences, learning what makes them work and where they fall short.  Marianna Bassham rounds out the cast as Dr. Dolan, who is at the medical facility where Gus and Pru meet. Her character provides insights into the clinical aspects of the characters’ medical struggles.

Along with the acting, what binds this production together is an aura of the bittersweet, exemplified by the inclusion of a hit song from 1938, “I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire,” written by Bennie Benjamin (and others). The song’s refrain becomes haunting: “I don’t want to set the world on fire/I just want to start a flame in your heart.” It is a tune one could imagine hearing piped into loudspeakers while walking down the corridors of a “memory facility” where one encounters those struggling with the effects of dementia, living in cloistered rooms as they tick off their final days. In this context, the song’s yearning expression of love and hope is tinctured with melancholy. The high-pitched falsetto of its refrain reminds us of how futile our quest to attain human connection can sometimes be, unless we are lucky to discover tenderness — and hold onto it — early.

Robert Israel, an Arts Fuse contributor since 2013, can be reached at risrael_97@yahoo.com.