Following their triumphant production of The Ferryman, Tony®-winning Playwright Jez Butterworth and Oscar and Tony-winning Director Sam Mendes reunite for The Hills of California.
In the sweltering heat of a 1970s summer, the Webb sisters return to their childhood home in Blackpool, an English seaside town, where their mother Veronica lies dying upstairs. Gloria and Ruby now have families of their own. Jill never left. And Joan? No one’s heard from her in twenty years… but Jill insists that their mother’s favorite won’t let them down this time.
The run-down Sea View Guest House is haunted by bittersweet memories of amusement park rides and overdue bills. Back in the 1950s, each night the girls rehearse their singing act, managed by their fiercely loving single mom. But when a record producer offers a shot at fame and a chance to escape, it will cost them all dearly.
Having now seen “The Hills of California” on Broadway, where it opened Sunday at the Broadhurst Theatre, I realize Butterworth has written something much more significant and moving. In crossing the Atlantic Ocean, he also cut a plot detail from the third act — and it’s a prime example of less being not only more but much better.
The best way to enjoy The Hills of California – not that it takes any real effort to do so – is to take it as a long yarn that unfolds across its own soapy, extended timeline. Jez Butterworth’s latest play, directed by Sam Mendes and imported from a London run earlier this year, is never less than compelling, well-executed and performed. But the slightness of its core that’s far from insurmountable, but can incur a modest wince once revealed, about two-thirds of the way into its two-hour-forty-five runtime.
2024 | West End |
West End |
2024 | Broadway |
Original Broadway Production Broadway |
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