‘A View from the Bridge’ — Written by Arthur Miller. Directed by David R. Gammons. Scenic and Sound by Joseph Lark-Riley; Costumes by Elizabeth Rocha; Lighting by Kevin Fulton. Presented by Apollinaire Theatre, 189 Winnisimmet St., Chelsea, through March 22.

By Shelley A. Sackett

Arthur Miller, a prominent 20^th century American playwright best known for the classics Death of a Salesman (1949) and The Crucible (1953), penned the two-act A View from the Bridge in 1956 to tackle themes of working-class masculinity; conflicts between natural and bureaucratic law; family dynamics; feminism, and the struggles faced by immigrants (especially when illegal and confronted by anti-immigrant backlash).

He created the Carbones, a 1950s Italian-American household living in Red Hook, Brooklyn, as the vehicle through which to explore these timeless big ticket topics. He also uses their soap opera family dramas to investigate and expose the underbelly of human emotions and the havoc they can wreak.

The play opens on Joseph Lark-Riley’s stark but effective stage that will serve as a dock, a lawyer’s office, an apartment, and a street. The full cast assembles on the large center platform, everyone talking at once in a variety of languages, a Brooklyn version of the Tower of Babel. It doesn’t seem to matter that they can’t understand each other; they speak not to converse, but to express.

This style of flawed, blindered communication will inevitably result in tragic consequences and is at the heart of A View from the Bridge’s real message.

Miller uses the elderly lawyer Alfieri (Dev Luthra) as omniscient narrator and Greek Chorus stand-in to describe Red Hook and the unexciting types of cases he usually deals with. Once in a while, however, one stands out, like Eddie Carbone (Jorge Rubio), a 40-year-old longshoreman. Although this catastrophe was inevitable, its trajectory was unstoppable.

The action seamlessly shifts to the living room of Eddie’s apartment, where he lives with his wife, Beatrice (the marvelous Sehnaz Dirik), and their 17-year-old adopted niece Catherine (Naomi Kim). The second Eddie walks through the door, the conflict that is a recipe for full-blown tragedy is as obvious as it is menacing.

Eddie makes a beeline for Catherine, flirting with her in a way that is creepy and borderline incestuous. She responds with playful childishness, but it is clear that a part of her understands exactly what he is doing and likes it.

Beatrice just as clearly gets it and unambiguously does NOT like it. Yet, the furthest she will go is to throw quick verbal jabs at Eddie, trying to reason with him and point out the wrongness of his behavior. He predictably rebuffs her. She continues to suffer in silence, unwilling to confront the man she loves, even as he humiliates her to her face.

It’s hard to find much to like, let alone empathize with, in Eddie. Brash, tyrannical, petty and lacking self-awareness, he has channeled his passion into Catherine, pouring his money and soul into raising her to be better than he is. He has kept her locked in a gilded cage, “protecting” her by forbidding her to hang out with contemporaries.

This night, there is big news to share. Beatrice’s cousins are arriving from Sicily, and Catherine has landed a job, even though she still hasn’t graduated from high school. Eddie has granted permission for the cousins to stay in his home, but he is not as amenable to Catherine unfurling her wings and launching into the real world and a life independent of Eddie’s control.

Beatrice cajoles, begs and tries to reason, but ultimately defers to Eddie’s position as decision-maker. Only after the women refuse to talk to him or even acknowledge his presence does he cave and allow Catherine to take the job she so desperately wants (and deserves).

Things don’t fare as well when the cousins arrive. Although Eddie claims he is honored to be able to help his family, he harbors deep resentment that no one helped his own family when they arrived under similar circumstances. The “submarines” (illegal immigrants) are brothers Marco (Rohan Misra) and Rodolpho (Andres Molano Sotomayor). Marco, married with children he already misses, is anxious to get to work at the docks and send money home. He is serious and sullen.

Younger brother Rodolpho is the opposite. Blond (think Ryan Gosling in “Barbie”), unconventional, and with the soul of an artist (he sings jazz, dances, cooks and jokes), Rodolpho is popular on the docks. He opens Catherine’s eyes and heart to the possibility of a life of her own outside Eddie’s clutch.

Soon, the two are courting, in full view of the increasingly unhinged and rattled Eddie.

His domestic tyranny is threatened for the first time. He panics at the thought of losing his caged bird, increasingly desperate and pathetic. He claims Rodolpho has homosexual tendencies and is only interested in marrying Catherine to gain citizenship. “I want my respect,” he insists, a line that has always worked with the more compliant Beatrice.

Even Beatrice is alarmed by Eddie’s behavior, and she finally tries to intervene directly. She counsels Catherine to do as she says, be independent, and set boundaries (something she is unable to accomplish). To Eddie, she is blunter. “When are you going to leave her alone?” she demands. “You’ve got to stop it.”

In desperate jealousy, Eddie turns to Alfieri, hoping for help from the law. “Too much love sometimes goes where it shouldn’t,” he tells Eddie. “Let it go. Let her live her life.”

When Eddie protests that he can’t do that, Alfieri tells him that the only recourse he has is to report Rodolpho and Marco as undocumented. As in much of the play’s sometimes unsurprising plot, Miller doesn’t hide the ball, foreshadowing the bad seed that will grow into the tragic beanstalk that will poison many lives.

In Act II, Eddie snaps, releasing a boulder that careens with a destructive force that will affect every character and climax in a crisis that brings little catharsis or closure.

David R. Gammon’s directing and Kevin Fulton’slighting create believable illusions of different times and places. The scene with Eddie and his two buddies on the dock is particularly effective, using uplit faces, coordinated head turns, and spine-chilling laughter to craft a sense of camaraderie, hysteria, and threat.

As Beatrice, the always superb Dirik breathes life into Eddie’s drab, brow-beaten, and long-suffering wife. Her facial expression, cadence, and spot-on gestures are impossible to ignore, whether she is center-stage and delivering a crucial speech or silently reacting. Her magnetism on stage is a pleasure to witness.

Although a few characters seem miscast and the last scene is one of overly prolonged top volume agony, Apollinaire Theatre’s two-hour (one intermission) production is particularly timely and a reminder of why this play has won Tony and Drama Critic awards, the Pulitzer Prize, and been adapted for opera, television, film and radio.

For more information and tickets, visit: https://www.apollinairetheatre.com