Harvey, written by Mary Chase in the 1940s (a different time and spiritual place in the United States), is a gentle, slightly melodramatic comedy about a man (Elwood P. Dowd) and his best friend (Harvey), a giant rabbit -or pooka (look that up in your Funk and Wagnall’s) -that befriended him many years ago after a night of drinking and fun.
Elwood P. is the most affable, helpful and courteous (though somewhat dipsomaniacal) man imaginable, but the conflict of the play is that his live-in hallucination is driving his sister (Veta) and niece (Myrtle Mae) batty. Not only that, but he’s ruining the young girl’s already slim chance of finding a husband. Most people don’t understand when someone -even a very friendly person- introduces them to an extremely large rabbit that happens to be invisible.
In desperation, Veta attempts to have Elwood admitted to a "rest home". The mix up that occurs when young Dr. Sanderson believes that Veta , not Elwood, is insane leads to myriad heartwarming, humorous scenes that delve into the themes of loneliness, the difficult relationships between the sexes, and coming to terms with reality.
Ultimately, the answer to the question of whether Harvey is real or merely the result of some synaptic relay in Elwood’s head gone awry is: does it really matter? If an imagined 6 foot bestial buddy turns you into as nice a fellow as Elwood, then start looking for furry friends (take note George Bush).
Why spend the evening alone? Come to the play and find out if you can see Harvey or not.