Sarah Goodwin: Could there be a more perfect name for a character played by Laura Linney? You just know Sarah wears her blond beauty unassumingly, and her bone structure and breeding have helped set her life compass.
Unfortunately for Linney — and the audience at “Time Stands Still” — Sarah also is a holier-than-thou, joyless prig.
Had she been written better, Sarah would have been an interesting challenge for the actress — and she could have handled it — but author Donald Margulies (“Sight Unseen,” “Dinner With Friends”) only looks at murky waters, afraid to dive in.
Sarah is a well-regarded, globetrotting photojournalist who specializes in trouble spots. “I live off the suffering of strangers,” she says grimly and with a hint of self-aggrandizing relish. Her daredevil habits and judgmental snaps can inspire suffering among friends and family, too, but she either doesn’t realize it or doesn’t care: She has a purpose.
After narrowly escaping death in Iraq, Sarah is medevac’ed back to her shabby-chic Brooklyn loft. She recuperates from her injuries in the care of boyfriend James (Brian d’Arcy James, last seen as Shrek), a freelance writer who frequently collaborates with Sarah. He’s struggling to place hard-hitting, war-is-hell stories with magazines more interested in celebrities. He’s also working on a book about horror movies — no rush there, since his great insight (horror is really about sex!) was already moldy back in 1981.
Sarah and James argue — about the ethics of bearing witness to war, about an affair Sarah had in Iraq, about the sacrifices required by coupledom — as every scene predictably flares up into contention. Adding to Margulies’ schematic approach is the fact that the couple’s friend and editor Richard (Eric Bogosian) has just started dating a much younger woman (Alicia Silverstone). A sweet, naive party planner, Mandy is the exact antithesis of Sarah. So . . . more dull bickering.
Under Daniel Sullivan’s direction, the cast of this Manhattan Theatre Club production rises above the material it’s been handed. Richard is a sketch of a nice guy, but Bogosian fills it with substantial decency. Silverstone imbues Mandy — a part written with infuriating condescension — with a kindness and generosity that make Sarah and James look like rude jerks.
When James heatedly berates a well-meaning play they’ve just seen as caricaturing the Middle East to make an NPR-loving audience feel better about itself, you can’t help but pan around the Friedman Theatre and gape at the cruel irony of it all.
