‘An Inspector Calls’: A Sermon Served Straight By Hampton Theatre Company

“Socialist British playwright” as a crossword clue, nine letters, would yield up “Priestley” to the elder educated class, though younger puzzlers would likely be stumped.

J.B. Priestley—journalist, novelist, playwright, broadcaster—is not well known in America today, but was famous across the pond from the 1940s to the 1970s for his biting commentary on English society. Think Bernie Sanders penning an ostensibly polite drama about income inequity and you have the feel of Priestley’s 1945 play, “An Inspector Calls,” the Hampton Theatre Company’s season opener at Quogue Community Hall, staging through November 8.

Set in 1912—the night before the Titanic sank and the dawn of “Downton Abbey”—the play is a vehicle that examines the smooth and untroubled existence of a haute bourgeoisie British family unconcerned about those less fortunate. But their tranquil way of life is soon to be uprooted by the changing times, along with the rise of the labor movement.

As written, “An Inspector Calls” is a well made psychological period piece that becomes a full-frontal attack on merchants and moguls today who won’t raise, say, fast-food workers’ salaries to $15 per hour. In Edwardian England, the demanded wage hike is from 22 to 25 shillings a week. Unthinkable!

The action unfolds in a fictitious town in northern England where the Birling family is celebrating the fortuitous engagement of daughter Sheila to the scion of an another even-more-successful manufacturing family, Gerald Croft, with toasts and plenty of pomp. Showcasing their good fortune, the men are in tails, the ladies in fancy dress.

Such a happy circumstance of this self-satisfied crew is brusquely interrupted by a mysterious detective, Inspector Goole, who bursts in to question them about the recent suicide of a young woman, Eva Smith—she would be “Jane Doe” in America.

Her troubles began when the patriarch of the Birling clan, Arthur, sacked her from the factory for being one of the agitators for higher wages. Thus poor Eva falls on hard times and bad men before she drinks disinfectant and dies.

But who is this Inspector Goole? He isn’t acting like a regular policeman, and how does he know so much about everyone? Did Eva really leave such a detailed diary that he claims to have found? And why is he so accusatory? None of them actually poured the cleaning fluid down Eva’s throat. Is he real, or a specter—a stray Ghost of Christmas Future who wandered in?

If you are looking for clues, note his name: Goole, pronounced “ghoul.” Drink the postprandial port while ye may, but Goole/Ghoul will get you. Before the final curtain, all will be implicated.

The drama itself has the subtlety of your neighbor’s leaf blower when you are about to nap, but is given its due here with an exceptional production. Unlike the 1994 revival on Broadway, celebrated for its technical razzle-dazzle and accompanying music, this is the sermonizing play taken neat. But neat is not a bad word here. What we get is good theater without noisy bells and whistles.

The action in this whodunit unravels at the home of the Birling family, and set designer Peter-Tolin Baker has given us a drawing room to delight, with looming wooden rafters and majestic doors, lush red velvet and high-backed caned chairs, punctuated with a gilded telephone. A series of back-lit frames evokes family portraits, or second- or third-rate old masters. We’ve come to expect handsome sets in Quogue; this one is especially swell.

Edward A. Brennan, a steam engine of a man, is commanding and intimidating as Inspector Goole, weaving the threads of this family’s responsibility for Eva’s suicide. Susan Galardi is Sybil Birling, the haughty wife and mother; Amanda Griemsmann is Sheila Birling, the newly engaged daughter who turns out to have a moral center; Anthony Famulari is Gerald Croft as her betrothed; and Spencer Scott is the wastrel son.

All are excellent and work together well, but it is Daren Kelly as the smug and self-righteous Arthur Birling who dominates. Mr. Kelly has ample acting credits, from Broadway to film and television. Here he projects all the aplomb of a man hoping for a knighthood while skimping on the salaries of lowly factory workers. He convincingly spouts lines that could be written by Donald Trump about “how a man has to look after himself” rather than worry about the economic concerns of others. Everywhere you turn, Priestley’s preachy socialism is leaking out of the script.

Well, why not? Especially today, given the enormous financial inequities between master/owner and employee/peon, we could use some stiff medicine in our theater.

The play’s history reflects the socialist theme. It was first produced in Russia in 1945 because, as the story goes, a theater could not be found in London and Priestley’s Russian translator found suitable venues in Moscow and Leningrad. Did Stalin applaud? We’ll never know, but it’s a fair guess that the play cut too close to the bone for the British theater-going crowd of the era until it was done elsewhere. Londoners saw it the following year, and it came to Broadway in 1947 where it lasted less than three months. For a post-war crowd, it was probably too depressing.

Stephen Daldry’s revival in the 1990s, both in London and then on Broadway, brought the play out of mothballs. With unions currently in deep decline, with economic disparity on the political radar, “An Inspector Calls” has the same relevance it did when Priestley wrote it. Last month, BBC aired its 90-minute film version.

You’ve got to hand it to director Sarah Hunnewell for staging a play that would make any of the one-percenters who might be in the audience here uncomfortable. She chose well.

“An Inspector Calls”

Remaining cast includes Chrissie DePierro as Edna, the maid. Costumes by Teresa Lebrun. Lighting by Sebastian Paczynski. Set décor by Diana Marbury.

The production will stage through Sunday, November 8, on Thursdays and Fridays at 7 p.m., Saturdays at 8 p.m., and Sundays at 2:30 p.m. Tickets are $30, $25 for seniors, except Saturdays, and $10 for students under age 21. For more information, call (631) 653-8955, or visit hamptontheatre.org.