FST's 'Dear Jack, Dear Louise' is a playwright's love letter to his parents

Ken Ludwig’s “Dear Jack, Dear Louise” is now playing at Florida Studio Theatre. Based on the playwright’s track record (“Lend Me a Tenor,” “Crazy for You” and “Moon Over Buffalo,” etc.), you expect clever comedy, engaging characters, snappy dialogue and high-concept situations. 

This play meets all those expectations — with one surprise. For Ludwig, the material is very personal.

Jack and Louise aren’t fictional characters — they’re the playwright’s parents. Ludwig didn’t even change their names. This play recalls the courtship of the playwright’s parents. It was a long-distance courtship, delivered via air mail.

How’d that happen?

The playwright’s father, Jack (Jordan Sobel) was an Army physician — taciturn, stoic and dutiful. Ludwig's mother, Louise (Maggie Lou Rader), was an aspiring actress and dancer with Broadway dreams. 

Ludwig’s grandfathers were both Jewish refugees who’d fled the pogroms of Eastern Europe and came to America. They suggested that their kids should write — and they did.

The couple’s correspondence began in 1942; they didn’t actually meet until the war was over. Their love story unfolded in their revealing letters. Sadly, the playwright’s mother destroyed them. Happily, Ludwig reimagined them — and retells his parents' love story in this play.

As the play opens, Jack is stationed at an Army base in Medford, Oregon; Louise writes from a boarding house in Brooklyn, New York. In Jack’s letters, he vents his frustration with a hard-ass commanding officer who won’t grant leave,and his revulsion at the futile horrors of war. (Jack’s seen it first-hand, treating an endless stream of wounded from the Pacific Theater.) 

When she’s not trying to crack Jack’s emotional reserve, Louise writes breathlessly of her ups and downs trying to break into show biz. Her roommate stole the dream role she auditioned for in “Arsenic and Old Lace.” But “Hellzapoppin” has another dream role — and they’re auditioning right now!

The couple is geographically distant but emotionally connected. In Ludwig’s inventive staging, they share the same stage. (He’s on stage left; she’s on stage right.) The letters fly back and forth. They never physically meet, but words unite them. 

Jack and Louise read their letters out loud — a continual call-and-response. Their conversation theoretically spans continents. But that’s make-believe. In reality, two actors are talking to each other in the same room. It sounds like a normal conversation — with one key difference. The actors never interrupt each other.

The couple’s back-and-forth dialogue resembles the film technique of cross-cutting. It’s a snappy approach, but it could easily feel forced. Director Kristin Clippard smartly captures Ludwig’s rat-a-tat rhythms.

Louise (Rader) is a bouncy, bubbly chatterbox. She’s flamboyant and tries to accentuate the positive, though she can get boiling mad. Whatever’s on her mind goes straight into her letters. Rader’s character wears her heart on her sleeve. 

Courtesy of John Jones

Sobel’s Jack is a man of few words, but he’s got heart too. He’s a patriot, but that doesn’t blind him to the brutal stupidity of war (or the stupid generals making bad decisions). They’ve both got plenty of chemistry. Rader and Sobel sell you on their growing attraction.

Moriah and Isabel Curley-Clay do a swell job creating the divided world on stage. On one side, Jack’s office is spare and spartan. On the other side, Louise’s apartment is stuffed with knickknacks, mementos and makeup. 

Behind both spaces, letters in the backdrop seem to soar like birds in flight. It’s set design as characterization, and it works beautifully. Daniel Ciba’s period costumes nicely turn back time. Louise is a 1940s rainbow; Jack’s in uniform. Kudos also to Nicholas Christensen’s sound design — especially in the scenes where Jack is under fire. (You get some idea of what “shell shock” means.)

While we’re on the subject, that’s another twist on the playwright’s expectations. This is a very funny play — but it’s punctuated by moments of sheer terror.

World War II is constantly raging in the background. By the end of the second act, it’s coming on strong like a Category 5 hurricane. Jack winds up stationed in Europe — on the front lines treating the casualties of D Day and the Battle of the Bulge. And sometimes running for his life. 

Image courtesy of John Jones

Pretty suspenseful. (Seeing as how Ken Ludwig was born, it’s a good bet his father survives.) Knowing that, you’re still on the edge of your seat.

Ludwig’s epistolary play has a great premise. It’s a love letter to his parents — and the “greatest generation,” too. But that sweet notion is packed with nostalgic baggage. 

With a lesser playwright, that material could easily have been sentimental schlock. But Ludwig’s an honest scribe. His comedy is reality-based. As I said, the reality behind the playwright’s fiction is highly personal.

Like Proust, Ludwig was trying to recapture lost time. Unlike Proust, the lost memories weren’t his own. His mother burned the love letters, and he had to imaginatively recreate them. Imagine what that means …

Most love affairs click from countless variables: body language, appearance, physical chemistry and pheromones. What you say counts, but also how you say it. But with letters, words are all you have. 

Before their love affair could begin, Jack and Louise had to imagine the person behind the words. It took powerful words to do that. And a powerful playwright to reimagine them. Ludwig did — and that’s his real accomplishment.

With that in mind, feel free to enjoy the nostalgia.