A View from the Bridge at The Waterfront Museum

If “Death of a Salesman” deals with economic whiplash and “The Crucible” warns of religious frenzy, Arthur Miller’s “A View from the Bridge” reckons with the tidal force of sexuality. Brave New World Repertory Theater in Flatbush does memorable justice to the classic, now running through June 24 and directed by Alex Dmitriev.

It’s mid-1950s Red Hook, and according to lifelong resident and lawyer Alfieri (Joe Gioco) the Sicilian population has calmed down over the years. Alfreri, by turns narrator and cast member, roves the length of the smartly designed stage is, at The Waterfront Museum, literally floating on a barge. The naturalized citizens have traded in their pistols for the rule of law. But there’s one recent exception.

Eddie Carbone (Rich O’Brien) works at the Brooklyn Navy Yard and lives with his wife, the mostly compliant Beatrice (Claire Beckman, who also produced the show). The couple haven’t had sex in three months and that probably has something to do with Beatrice’s niece, Catherine (Maggie Horan).

As Catherine approaches her 18th year, Eddie doesn’t like that he’s losing control of her. Grudgingly, he accepts that his quasi-niece wants to work as a stenographer, but emotionally and morally he keeps a firm grasp on her, chastising her to stop “walking wavy.”

A couple of Beatrice’s cousins land in New York to illegally work in the country. Eddie welcomes them in his home because he thinks of himself as a family man. But once one of them, Rodolpho (wonderfully played by Jacob Dabby) falls for Catherine, Eddie’s overtaken by envy. As the electricity between the young people intensifies (brought to considerable charge by Dabby and Horan) so does Eddie’s overwhelming repulsion of Rodolpho.

“Most people ain’t people,” Eddie says early on in the play. O’Brien brings out the sad fact that Eddie’s own maxims toward others will apply to himself. O’Brien wisely relies on his sonorous baritone to carve out the character of Eddie while keeping his face stolid, making the contrast between expression and the ineffable that much more taut.

Beckman convincingly plays the many levels of Beatrice: a woman who loves her husband yet wants independence from him, who erratically holds him accountable, who loves her niece but needs to see her go to save her own marriage.

When Eddie shouts at Alfieri “He’s stealing from me,” begging him to twist the law and expel his competition, this became a forceful and resonant production of an American classic.