Philip Roth had more fun writing Sabbath’s Theater than he did any of his other novels.  The protagonist, a lecherous and embittered puppeteer, is according to his author both “the first time that Mr. Hyde has been given the floor” and “the nearest I’ve come in all my fiction to drawing a realistic self-portrait.”  Readers will remember that Mickey Sabbath spends much of the book racking up moral transgressions: he has an affair with a student, which is exposed when she releases tapes of their phone conversations; after a friend takes pity on him and offers to let him spend the night, he steals a pair of his daughter’s underwear; and in the novel’s most famous scene, he masturbates at the grave of his mistress, Drenka.

Which is not to say that Mickey Sabbath is Alexander Portnoy.  He is an old man.  Arthritis has ended his career.  His behavior has alienated almost everyone still willing to speak to him.  The one woman he loved dies of cancer in her mid-fifties.  “There’s nothing on earth that keeps its promise,” he says.  For Sabbath, the circumstances of life make sex, obscenity, and transgression life-affirming forces, almost sacred in their humanity.  The name, I think, is no accident.  Sabbath is practically ecstatic hearing Drenka describe her numerous extramarital affairs; after falling in love with him, she continues them mostly for his amusement.

Like much of Roth, Sabbath’s Theater is easy to translate to the stage.  The script, by Ariel Levy and John Turturro, relies exclusively on the text of the novel, and Roth’s writing has long been compared to stand-up comedy for its oral qualities.  The production is spare: Turturro plays Sabbath, Elizabeth Marvel plays Drenka (as well as all the other women characters), and Jason Kravits plays the friend (and all the other men).  Considering the religious overtones of the book, hearing it spoken aloud—especially if we already know it—reinforces the sense of ritual.  In contrast to most religious discourse, however, Roth insists that it is our failures that make us human, our vices that make life worth living.  Propriety is the real obscenity.

All three actors are superb, and Marvel, in particular, helps to refocus the narrative, to realize the tenderness at its core.  Almost thirty years after their publication, Sabbath’s exploits are not as shocking as they used to be.  I suspect the audience was more amused than scandalized by his behavior.  To my surprise, it is the love story with Drenka that remains most affecting.  Because of her death, it is a story of mourning.  This is Roth’s King Lear, and we could almost picture Sabbath, ranting over Drenka’s grave, “Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, / And thou no breath at all?”  Levy and Turturro have done a great service in bringing it to the stage.

Sabbath’s Theater runs through December 17th at the Romulus Linney Courtyard Theatre.  480 W. 42nd Street  New York, NY.  1 hour 40 minutes.  No intermission. Photograph by Monique Carboni.