Is the conflict between the archetypal, masculine hero and the worship of a more contemporary, sensitive man still one that resonates decades later?

Happy Birthday, Wanda June, a play by Kurt Vonnegut (yes, apparently Vonnegut wrote plays — at least this one, anyway). It was written in 1970, and the anti-Vietnam undertones are rather prevalent in this story; comparisons to the current conflict might have proven an inspiration for American Century to pick up this often-forgotten work and put it to stage again. But the work’s more central question is about the relevance of a once-revered man, Harold Ryan (William Aitken, appropriately coarse but with some intelligence behind his bluster).

Ryan has disappeared for several years on a hunting expedition, to the point where the world considers him dead. He returns to his wife Penelope (the name isn’t a coincidence), who is caught between two suitors and her husband’s memory. But this Penelope isn’t quite so steadfast as Odysseus’ — she’s about to marry Dr. Norbert Woodly, a rather effeminate peacenik, by the time Ryan shows back up.