By David Greenham

The script focuses on the internal struggles that made Eleanor Roosevelt an uncomfortable wife, rather than taking a deeper dive into the moral and progressive vision that made her such an admirable first lady.

Eleanor by Mark St. Germain. Directed by David Ellenstein. Scenic and costume design by Anita Stewart, lighting design by Mary Lana Rice, sound design by Seth Asa Sengel. Produced by Portland Stage Company, Forest Avenue, Portland, Maine, through October 19.

Kandis Chappell as Eleanor Roosevelt in the Portland Stage Company production. Photo: James A. Hadley

The United States hasn’t been so keen on the idea of having a first gentleman, but we sure do love our first ladies. Dolley Madison, Jacqueline Kennedy, Barbara Bush, Rosalynn Carter, Betty Ford, Michelle Obama, and “Lady Bird” Johnson are among the most popular or effective on the list. But it’s Eleanor Roosevelt who stands above all others; she is widely considered to be the most politically active and impactful first lady in history.

No wonder that playwright Mark St. Germain decided to make her the centerpiece of his Covid-era play, Eleanor. Commissioned by the Florida Studio Theatre as part of their Suffragist Project, the script received an online performance at Barrington Stage Company in the fall of 2020 when theaters were scrambling to connect audiences to their work.

Now, as (some) theaters are scrambling to produce plays that are relevant to our current battle for democracy, Portland Stage Company has started its season with Eleanor, a 90-minute reflection and lecture by one of the most ardent public and private advocates for kindness and equality of the 20th century.

Eleanor (Kandis Chappell) meets us in Rock Creek Cemetery, which stands in the shadow of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in the Petworth neighborhood of Washington, DC. The time, however, is the present, or at least long after Eleanor’s death in 1962. It’s her unsettled spirit who’s telling this story. The cemetery signified peace, she tells us. It’s where she used to go to find much needed quiet for renewing solitude. “Think of is as a park with permanent residents,” she quips.

She’s turned up in front of the famous Adams Monument, which features a hooded, grieving woman created by sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens and architect Stanford White. It is the grave of 19th-century socialite Marian Hooper Adams, a photographer who suffered from severe depression. In 1885, a year after Eleanor’s birth, Adams took her own life, we learn, by drinking the potassium cyanide that she used to develop her photos. The backdrop of grief serves as an underlying theme for Eleanor’s story.

Franklin and Eleanor’s relationship and marriage has been thoroughly examined in books, theater, and films, so her tale assumes the audience has some familiarity with the couple. She shares the details of her privileged childhood in Manhattan, as the daughter or Anna Hall and Elliott Roosevelt, and niece of former President Teddy Roosevelt. Her mother contracted diphtheria and died was Eleanor was eight. Her father, an alcoholic whom she calls “the true love of my life,” died just two years later. She was raised by her grandmother.

Eleanor recalls that her passion for learning was inspired by London’s Allenswood Academy and she credits the school’s founder, Marie Souvestre, with instilling in her the confidence and integrity that drove her throughout her life and work. She wanted to stay in London, but after graduation Eleanor was summoned home by her grandmother to join the social circles of New York’s elite community, where she never fit in.

In 1905 she married Franklin, her fifth cousin, against his mother Sara’s wishes. The play includes several humorous comments about her callous mother-in-law. “Sara loved her son,” she says with a smirk, “think Mary and Jesus.”

Their marriage was one of convenience and political showmanship. Eleanor’s narration lingers on references to lovers along the way for both of them. Despite his infidelity, she tells us that FDR insisted, “I could see from the start there was something of substance in you.” Eleanor wanted to end the marriage, but her political advisor and “close friend” Louis Howe insisted that the partnership between FDR and Eleanor was what made them both great. “He’s got the brains, charms, looks and the money to succeed, big time,” he tells Eleanor. “What he doesn’t have, you do. You can put yourself in anybody’s shoes and see the world like real people do. He’s got the head for the game, and you’ve got the heart.”

As Eleanor, Kandis Chappell provides a compelling portrait. While mostly presented in chronological order, there are a few jumps and interruptions in the narrative. Transitions are sometimes abrupt — at times, even marked by a sound effect. The actor skillfully navigates through the choppy transitions.

St. Germain, known for his explorations of significant characters, such as Sigmund Freud, Sinclair Lewis, and even Dr. Ruth, chooses to avoid some of the public actions and speeches that made Eleanor an important political figure in order to focus on the mechanics of the rocky marriage. There is only a passing mention of her famous “My Day” newspaper column, which helped transform the national perception of the role of a first lady. It would have been valuable to learn more about the important policy disagreements between the couple. For example, she argued against the internment of Japanese Americans as well as our refusal to accept Jewish refugees at the beginning of World War II. FDR disagreed about both decisions, mostly out of political expediency. Both decisions stain our past and continue to resonate today.

After FDR’s death, the play heads to its denouement rather than giving sufficient time to Eleanor’s civil rights work, her participation in the creation of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, her work at the United Nations, or even her opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment. All would have been fascinating (and dramatic) topics to explore. It’s not only her words that made Eleanor an inspiration, it was also her actions and her determined belief in the essential decency of her fellow human beings.

Designer (and Portland Stage’s executive and artistic director) Anita Stewart has created a functional, symmetrical setting with three benches spaced in a semicircle, with the Saint-Gaudens sculpture placed upstage center. The visuals take a back seat to the script. But, ironically, Chappell’s Eleanor never seems comfortable or at peace in the space, despite the character telling us to the contrary. In fact, except for a few textual references — and comments on the present inspired by three pieces of trash on the ground —  the location doesn’t serve the story at all.

Along with the gossipy tales of dalliances and coverups of FDR’s polio, a few pointed moments touch on our current political shitstorm. Eleanor reveals that J. Edgar Hoover had a 3,000-page file on her activities. She also recalled that, at one point, she’d been called a liberal, which, like now, was meant as an insult. “We must reclaim that word, liberal,” she says flatly.

Overall, Eleanor is an engaging production. Chappell establishes a strong  presence, mitigating the fact that the script serves up a modest representation of the woman’s drive and determination. St. Germain focuses on the internal struggles that made Eleanor Roosevelt an uncomfortable wife, rather than taking a deeper dive into the moral and progressive vision that made her such an admirable first lady.

David Greenham is an arts and culture consultant, adjunct lecturer on Drama at the University of Maine at Augusta, and is the former executive director of the Maine Arts Commission. He can be found at https://davidgreenham.com/