'Last of the Boys' shows aftermath of Vietnam

Thirty years after the Vietnam War, Robert McNamara, the U.S. Secretary of Defense during the better part of the '60s, wrote in his memoirs, "Although we sought to do the right thing—and believed we were doing the right thing—in my judgment, hindsight proves us wrong." McNamara, his initial decisions and his final regrets are only some of the ghosts that haunt the characters in Steven Dietz' play "Last of the Boys," playing at the Berlind Theatre through Oct. 17. One character physically morphs into McNamara when induced to do so by another ghost, that of a young soldier killed in action. The war itself casts an unavoidable shadow over all the characters in Dietz' highly effective, often frighteningly mystical play.

There are only five characters, but each one has so many quirks that the play can merely touch the surface of each one's pain and past trauma. Ben (Joseph Siravo) is a present-day carpenter living out of a trailer in California. When Jeeter (Tom Wopat), who served with Ben in Vietnam, comes to visit after attending the funeral of Ben's father, he brings along a new girlfriend, a suitcase of memorabilia and a reminder of a past that Ben has been trying to forget. Through a series of confessions and discoveries, Ben and Jeeter learn how little they understand each other and whether or not friendship is always worth preserving. And though conclusions are reached, often in harrowing moments of despair, the play moves along at a meandering pace that is at once frustrating and real.

In fact, when considered separately, every element of the play seems as if it could take place any day, anywhere. Ben's trailer would not be out of place anywhere in America, nor would the rusty lawn chairs and the strewn beer cans. Between scenes, Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones blast through the monitors to remind us of our history and how it has lived on in a variety of ways and for all people. The dialogue is often short and fast. Any two old friends who have shared countless experiences could spout off maxims and anecdotes the way Ben and Jeeter do. The only difference is that these friends have shared experiences they might prefer to forget, so that when speeches turn from conversational to revelatory, the shift can be jarring.

The director, Emily Mann, compellingly heightens these moments and the ones in which ghosts appear through lighting changes and the addition of smoke. The effects make the action seem more remote and interior — we can no longer imagine ourselves participating in the conversations because they have become blurred by Ben's mental state and each character's confusion. Siravo's task as Ben is an enormous one. He must transition from a veteran into a political figure and somehow reconcile these two characters by letting one explain the other's frustration. Although Siravo sometimes exaggerates Ben's restlessness by constantly twitching and moving around the stage, when he puts on the glasses that make him McNamara, his posture becomes rigid and his speech assured. Wopat gives Jeeter warmth despite his seeming overconfidence, and he clearly relishes the quips he makes, often drawing out syllables as long as they will go. As Jeeter's girlfriend Salyer, Jenny Bacon brings an otherwise-absent innocence to the play. Her mother Lorraine, who appears midway through the show to take her daughter home, is played by Deborah Hedwall with such wit and anger that, although she has less to do dramatically, she easily becomes the most engaging character of the four.

At one point she informs Jeeter, "This just in: time passes." In the trailer park world of "Last of the Boys," she is wrong — time proceeds but must constantly regress into the past, and harmonizing history with the present ultimately becomes a question of preserving yourself so that you can move on in peace and sanity.