Good writers know that they need to have good opening paragraphs to entice the reader to continue on, and Washington Post reviewer Peter Marks sure nailed that one!

Take a deep breath and try to ruminate calmly on the position playwright Bruce Norris takes in his scintillating new play, “Downstate”: that the punishments inflicted on some pedophiles are so harsh and unrelenting as to be inhumane.

The obvious question for the reader quickly becomes: is any punishment for pedophiles harsh enough and unrelenting enough to be unjustified? I read the rest, because I wanted to see Mr Marks’ answer:

‘Downstate’ is a play about pedophiles. It’s also brilliant.

Bruce Norris’s off-Broadway work is tough stuff, questioning how society treats those convicted of heinous acts.

by Peter Marks | Wednesday, November 23, 2022 | 1:26 PM EST

NEW YORK — Take a deep breath and try to ruminate calmly on the position playwright Bruce Norris takes in his scintillating new play, “Downstate”: that the punishments inflicted on some pedophiles are so harsh and unrelenting as to be inhumane.

Are you still reading? It’s almost impossible to broad-brush the perspective at the heart of this impeccably acted drama without sounding as if one is advocating some extraordinary level of consideration for individuals who have committed unspeakable crimes. And yet Norris proposes a variation on this proposition at off-Broadway’s Playwrights Horizons: He is questioning what degree of compassion should society fairly hold out to those who have served their time for sexual abuse, assault or rape.

Obviously, I cannot quote the entire 949-word review, but with Mr Marks describing the crimes as “unspeakable,” the obvious question becomes: are any punishments for “unspeakable” crimes themselves unspeakable?

“Downstate,” directed with exceptional astuteness by Pam MacKinnon, seizes on our reflexive response to these crimes and shifts our emotional focus to the perpetrators. Living together in a group home in downstate Illinois, their movements monitored electronically (and their windows broken by irate vandals), four men of diverse age and backgrounds eke out marginal existences in menial jobs and managed routines. The house is like an island whose shores are washed with waves of contempt. Any protest or request is treated by their harried caseworker Ivy (played with brittle cynicism by Susanna Guzmán) as that of a passenger in steerage daring to ask for a clean blanket.

Norris, who won a Pulitzer Prize for “Clybourne Park,” a bracingly funny play about race and gentrification inspired by “A Raisin in the Sun,” goes here for another societal jugular. And his provocative efforts result in one of the best theater evenings of the year. (Its pre-covid premiere occurred in 2018 at Steppenwolf Theatre in Norris’s hometown, Chicago.)

He’s loaded the dice to some degree in “Downstate,” as the predators who’ve completed their prison terms are depicted not as monsters but rather as complicated, troubled souls. Felix (Eddie Torres) is a taciturn loner, keeping to himself in a screened-off alcove. Gio (Glenn Davis) is a smarmy operator with a job at a local office supply superstore. Dee (K. Todd Freeman) is a clearheaded ex-stage performer who is fiercely protective of the oldest resident, wheelchair-bound Fred (Francis Guinan), a onetime piano teacher of serene disposition.

Here’s the problem: if Mr Norris’ play depicts the predators “not as monsters but rather as complicated, troubled souls,” does that not beg the question: can such people be both monsters and troubled souls? It’s obvious to me that those with pedophilic tendencies are “troubled souls,” men who ought to be wishing that they had some other inclination, any other inclination, because they have to know that engaging in their sexual preference is fraught with the risk of being caught and locked up. I’d like to think that, perhaps deep down, they might even realize the harm they are causing to their victims, but if any do, the actual offenders don’t seem to see that as problem enough not to commit their crimes.

There’s no sweeping under the threadbare rug in “Downstate” of the heinous offenses for which the men have been severely punished. We learn about what each of them has done, and we are in effect asked to judge for ourselves what magnitude of ongoing torment each deserves. It develops here as an agonizing moral question, one that our retributive correctional culture would rather not have to debate.

I was living in the Keystone State when the revelations of the crimes of former Penn State University assistant football coach Jerry Sandusky were revealed. The testimony came out in dribs and drabs, but most people were persuaded. When former graduate assistant Mike McQueary testified that he heard a “skin-on-skin smacking sound”, as he walked in and caught Mr Sandusky anally raping a young boy, a boy who had his “hands up on the wall” to brace himself, everyone knew what that meant: to put it bluntly, not only was Mr Sandusky sodomizing a boy around 10-years-old, but he was doing it vigorously. Pennsylvanians were, as Mr Marks put it, “judging for (themselves) what magnitude of ongoing torment (Mr Sandusky) deserve(d).” If anyone I knew thought that the former coach was being treated too harshly, none of them ever expressed that to me.

Scranton attorney Kathleen Kane made her 2012 campaign for state Attorney General based in part on criticism that then-Governor Tom Corbett (R-PA) had acted too slowly when he was Attorney General in bringing the case against Mr Sandusky, and she “received more votes than President Obama or Senator (Bob) Casey did in Pennsylvania during the 2012 elections; her total number of votes was then the fourth highest of any politician in Pennsylvania electoral history.”^[1]Considering that Mrs Kane’s personal legal problems all came from her being Attorney General, she probably wishes she’d never run that race.

The way that Mr Marks puts it is interesting: he states that the perpetrators already “have been severely punished,” but how many people would say that any punishment shorter than life without the possibility of parole is severe enough? Mr Sandusky was sentenced to the statutory minimum of sixty years in prison; he will be eligible for parole no earlier than October 9, 2042, when he will be 98 years old. I never heard of anyone saying that he was sentenced too harshly.

Mr Marks goes on to describe a meeting between “Fred,” the wheelchair bound offended, and “Andy,” one of his victims who arrives seeking some kind of ‘closure’ over having been molested.

Fred’s loss of mobility came about after he was set upon and beaten brutally in prison. Context is all, for as Andy stumbles through a recitation of his psychic pain and suffering, we have the physical evidence of the price that Fred has already paid. Norris’s juxtaposition in this regard feels cheap. There was a way, I think, to acknowledge the damage that’s been done to Andy without judgmentally minimizing it.

How many of us would really think that a sex offender, especially a child molester, being beaten severely enough to wind up in a wheelchair is a bad thing?

The bad thing, as I see it, is that child molesters ever get out of prison. At around the same time, also in Pennsylvania, in the Archdiocese of Philadelphia, the Rev Edward Avery, 69, was allowed to plead guilty to “involuntary deviate sexual intercourse and conspiracy to endanger the welfare of a child”, and sentenced to a whopping 2½ to 5 years in prison. Former priest James Brennan, whose first trial ended in a hung jury, then pleaded no contest to simple assault before a retrial, and received two years probation. Monsignor William Lynn was charged with child endangerment for moving accused priests around, but not of any sexual abuse himself, and got the more stringent sentence of 3 to 6 years in prison; he served 33 months before his conviction was overturned due to the law being incorrectly applied.

Mr Marks concluded that there will be a lot of potential playgoers who will simply not like it, due to the subject matter. While I am not averse to examining the thoughts and motivations of child molesters, to try to figure out what could possibly make them tick, the fundamental concept that child molesters do get released is offensive enough.