Noon to 1:00pm – The Reviews

Quick note: They usually sell copies of a bound printed collection of all the plays, and I was planning on purchasing a copy this year to help jog my memory and so I could make note of great lines, etc. Sadly, according to the lady at the counter, they’re still working out where they’re going to get the books printed and so they were not available. So I shall be relying exclusively on my chicken scratch notes written in a dark theater. May God help us all.

Grass Hog by William Donnelly, directed by Christopher Scully, presented by Battleground State

A man named Levesque (Michael Kaye) walks out on the empty stage, active lawn trimmer in tow (seriously, it was plugged in by a long extension chord), minding his own business when another guy named Bettencourt (Kevin LaVelle) crosses, yelling at him to stop. The grass he’s about to cut abuts the property line and while he may like his own grass trim and tidy, this guy prefers his yard less manicured. Actually, the grass itself belongs to neither man as they’re both tending the property of each of their elderly fathers.

The men, it turns out, both went to high school together, though only Bettencourt seems to remember it. “I can’t believe you don’t remember me!” he says. Of course high school was over twenty years ago, and to be fair Bettencourt is admittedly a few pounds more and a few hairs less the man he used to be.

The two men are very different. Bettencourt is a out of work disability fraudster, a divorcee, and a man who has barely left town. Levesque, known as the “walking brain” back in high school, went away to study Environmental Science at Harvard, a place Bettencourt points out that invented, “Facebook, the Unibomber, and the Vietnam War”.

But more than the superficial differences, it becomes clear that both of the men represent two distinct attitudes toward the law of entropy. They both recognize that their home town has gone to seed, but where Levesque sees a controllable project, Bettencourt sees the futility. He has a splendid monologue halfway in which he describes in morbid detail the unstoppable march of decay and mortality of the universe, ending with a big pause and a “Well, that took a turn.”

The play was well written and performed with honest non-chalance by both performers, and it probably has to be among the most amusing meditations on Nihilism I’ve ever witnessed. See, despite Levesque’s accomplishments and success, it’s hard not to ultimately see truth in Bettencourt’s resignation. The play ends on what could be called it’s thesis statement: the two having reluctantly bonded, Levesque offers to trim the ragged grass anyway. Bettencourt shrugs and says, “If you think it’s worth it.”

Reassurance – by Alan Brody, Directed by Emma Baar-Bittman, Presented by Emerson Stage

The only thing worse than a narcissist is a neurotic narcissist. Enter Walt (played by Matt Ryan), an insufferable actor fresh off an opening night performance nitpicking every moment of the production. Accompanying Walt is his clearly long suffering girlfriend, Suzanne (played with mordant wit by Erin Schwall) who constantly gives him assurance after assurance as he second guesses everything from the lack of audience laughter when he was looking at a telephone to whether his impromptu choice of changing his makeup offended the director. The man it seems is literally incapable of talking about anything but himself and noticing anything outside a two foot visual radius.

This hyperbole is made manifest when Suzanne announces that she’s leaving him, to the at first puzzled and then completely shocked Walt. This “blind-siding” is all the more baffling when she literally packed up all her stuff in front of him before the play, but so consumed he was with mentally preparing himself for his role that he completely missed it. “You didn’t see it coming?” she asks. “No,” he responds. “That’s why I’m leaving you.”

It’s impossible to disagree with her. The only mystery remains what on earth could have attracted her to him in the first place. While amusing and certainly ably performed by both actors, as a piece satire the target seemed… uncontroversial, to say the least. I’ve certainly known neurotics in my life, and I’m probably equivalently oblivious as the main character here (I could teach a master class on losing things), but there’s no attempt here to make Walt human or even understable. His emotional reaction to Suzanne’s departure shifts from bafflement to mild annoyance. I will admit to greatly liking the exchange near the end in which she explains that the one way he can get her back is to tell her he loves her. He pauses and then explains that he’s already tried that a million times. “It’s an impossible line.”

To Walt the entire world is a performance, but for a man so neurotically obsessed with how his performance is perceived by his general audience, he is astonishingly unaware of how he comes across to those he actually “close” to. But then, it doesn’t really matter to him. As soon as she leaves, he’s on the phone to his director, asking for more reassurance, not about himself or his failed relationship, but of course his makeup.

Machsom Watch by Toby Armour, Directed by Lu Lapides, Presented by Lau Lapides Company

Okay, first off I have to admit that I was a bit confused (especially in the early goings) by this play. Moreover the actors are heavily (though credibly) accented, which made it sometimes difficult for me understand what was going on. But here’s the story as I understand it:

An older-to-middle aged Israeli couple are drive down to one of the Palestinian border checkpoints in Jerusalem. It becomes clear that this is a ritual that Dorit, the wife (Jennifer Gjulameti in a very emotionally connected performance) partakes on a semi-frequent basis: a pilgrimage to witness the “sins” of her homeland. The husband, Ami (Dan Yonah Ben-Dror Marshall), is less connected both to his country and to its politics and the ramifications thereof. He wants release. He wants to retire and live his life somewhere else, somewhere less violent, somewhere less morally complicated, somewhere freer.

This is not an option for Dorit and this tug of war between the two of them has apparently been a long running if slowly simmering battle for a long time. So perhaps it shouldn’t be a surprise when Dorit demands to know if he plans on leaving her, and after grabbing her face with both passion and tenderness admits that, yes, he is leaving her. It’s a terribly surprising moment, because up until that point they seemed to a relatively happy, if bickering, older couple.

Dorit is devastated and shrieks and wails and pushes him with righteous fury… or at least that’s what I imagine the stage directions say. Here we get to one of my qualms about this production. (note I did not say “play”) The blocking was… uncomfortably awkward. Even during that final confrontation, Jennifer Gjulameti is clearly giving it her all. Tears are streaming down her face. And yet when she goes to push him, it has all the realism and kinetic force of a bocci ball drifting to its resting point. This was stage combat as staged by anesthetized sloth. Moreover, the pair of them shift together on stage, but almost always remained awkwardly turned out which sadly seemed to force a certain leaden quality to the scenes, I don’t think the script warranted. This was definitely a play I wish I could have gotten my hands on to compare the script itself with the way it was staged.

One final note, throughout the entire play, a lone Palestinian (played with dignity by Ari Jacobson) shuffles through a snaking line behind them, waiting to be processed. It was a bold choice and effectively conveyed a background of despair and injustice on what was ostensibly a family drama. In general, I really liked the play, but I found the staging to be distracting to a fault.

Cake by Sherry Kramer, Directed by Allison Olivia Choat, Presented by Moonbox Productions

This is not the first play I’ve seen with anthropomorphic dogs. It probably won’t be the last. I will however be surprised if I witness a more committed dog than Cristhian Mancinas Garcia’s Paco, a full blooded Chihuahua, the only breed, he is quick to tell us over and over again, whose sole purpose is to “love”.  This is a delightfully over the top but completely earnest portrayal of a dog and a dog’s unconditional love for his owner. Cristhian shakes as his owner rubs his belly. He constantly scratches his ear with his foot (Moonbox was lucky to get such an agile perfomer!). He even drinks from his water bowl, and believe me, I was right near the lip of the stage where he slaked.

But more importantly was the utter sincerity of love that poured out of Paco’s every utterance. Cats can have irony, but dogs are utterly committed to their urges, and even Paco’s urge to pee on the oriental love is interpreted as a gesture of deep affection. Another dog, Samsara (Allison Russell) is also included in the family, a Greyhound-Chihuahua mix that seems a bit more level headed. She’s the one who urges Paco to finally listen to the terrible “Cake” story.

See, Paco’s owner is Scott (played irascibly by Matthew Zahnzinger) and we understand that the Cake Story is the only instance in which his wife Lily (Jackie Coco) actively hated him. It’s a weird tale which tl;dr: He tells her he’s bought her an inscribed cake for valentines day, but the cake isn’t inscribed at all. Why this is so horrible is… a bit beyond me frankly. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Scott is dying. The revelation was handled very well. Matthew sits reclined in a lazy chair and ottoman for the entire play, and it wasn’t until about halfway in that I realized he had barely moved his body. Perhaps the fact that he didn’t use the opportunity to put into physical words his love for her while he had the chance to reflected her private grief in losing him… or something. Frankly I felt like the titular aspect of the play fell flat.

But only that, frankly. I found most of the play delightful and there were fun and committed performances by all. It is not easy to do comedy from such an unflappably earnest perspective. There was never a nudge or a wink to the audience. We were not supposed to laugh at Paco; we were supposed to enter into his exceptionally foreign world perspective, and on that count the play was extremely successful.  

Lies by Michele Markarian, Directed by Jamie Carrillo, Presented by Fort Point Theatre Channel

A man and woman sit back to back at two adjacent coffee tables and begin to have a clandestine conversation. But very quickly the conversation turns very overt and I couldn’t help but wonder why if these two characters were going to be so openly talking with each other didn’t they bother sitting at the same damned table. This is among the first of many issues I had with this play.

First, the casting: For an ostensibly wealthy and well to do businessman who has been carrying on a long-term affair for at least two years, Michael Knowlton looks like a young Clark Gable, fresh from University. It’s not that he was bad per se, but the character frankly needed to be much older. The same could probably be said about the other two actresses (a perfectly acceptable Sara Schoch and Alexandra Truppi), but it became particularly niggling with his character.

But I can’t blame the actors, when the script is one giant cliché seemingly ripped from a short story in a 1950’s New Yorker Magazine: Woman is beguiled by wealthy handsome (but married) man. They carry on a furtive affair, as she increasingly sees the superficiality of their relationship, until, in a witty and chance encounter with both he and his wife, she manages to both scare the living bejesus out of him, but manages to impose some sort of financial consequence on the bastard.

Frankly, I’m guessing about that last part, because once the pair are discovered by his immediately suspicious wife, Muffy (…yes, Muffy) Sally makes up a story about having recently been to Machu Picchu and suggesting to two take an exorbitantly expensive trip there. I’m assuming there was a joke here I was missing, and perhaps that’s on me. (though in my defense, not many in the audience seemed to get it either) But at the same time, I didn’t have much difficulty following most of the other plays of the competition (All the Way to Wonderland being a NOTABLE exception), so I’m guessing my confusion was a collaborative effort on the part of myself, the director and the writer.

Regardless, I have to say, I’m sad to give a bad review so early in the process, but I’m just trying to give honest feedback, feedback that is pretty idiosyncratic to my tastes and tendencies. There’s an upcoming film noir themed play in which clearly the playwright sat down at his computer and said to himself: “How I can combine all of the elements Brooks Reeves loves and condense them into a ten minute play?” What I’m saying is we all have our biases and please, everyone, take my comments with the truck load of rock salt they’re worth.

Going Viral by Brandon M. Crose, Directed by Danielle Lucas, Presented by Boston Actors Theater

A mother and father sit their daughter down. They’re clearly both anxious and nervous. Are they announcing their divorce? Is the daughter in trouble? Are they revealing the existence of a missing sibling who now remains locked in the attic? Of course not! Set probably a decade into the future, the parents are proud to present their fourteen year old daughter with her very own… Facebook Profile!!

The daughter blinks. “What’s Facebook?” She asks.

What proceeds is an increasingly ridiculous (in the very best sense of the term) satire in which the refreshingly ignorant daughter discovers that the Facebook profile created by her parents are the tip of a social media iceberg her parents have gleefully created for her since her birth fourteen years prior. Every single photograph of her photograph has been shared with her family and friends, and friends and family of those friends, ad infinitum. Indeed she discovers that when she younger and suffered from a speech impediment, her parents posted a fleetingly popular video of her titled “Drunk Lawyer” that went viral for a while. “You used to be someone” her father plaintively acknowledges.

The conceit may not have translated without the utterly game performances by Laura Menzie and Brett Milanowski as the shameless parents, both blinded by internet fame to see anything wrong with their actions. Their perfectly synchronized mania is wonderfully offset by the dead pan reactions of the Barbara Woodall, playing the teenager with the put upon air of the classic straight man. It is the juxtaposition of all three actors which lends the play a loopy gusto that I found invigorating throughout.

I found it to be an effective indictment on our current obsession to document and reveal every part of our lives. What starts as narcissistic exhibitionism takes a dark turn when we drag our family members, too young to give consent into the spotlight as well. I can’t be the only person who watched this play to have recognized myself in the utter glee with which Mom and Dad express their joy and capturing and curating the online profile of their daughter. It’s not even a profile that reflects reality, as they’ve apparently created online friendships and even relationships with other “children”s profiles, profiles that it’s assumed are also controlled soley by their “fan-fic” loving parents.

Indeed, as much as the play shines a bright glare on this facet of contemporary culture, it’s most striking in the optimistic way it portrays the future generation. Upon finding out that the bullying and name calling she received when she was a small child was undoubtedly due to the popularity of the viral video, the daughter makes an understated observation: “You’re both monsters. You know that, don’t you?”  While I think it’s sort of brilliant to portray both youtube and facebook as these things that are only cared about by the older fuddy duddy generation, I did wonder how this daughter raised by such social media junkies could have grown up so completely ignorant of its existence.

But then this isn’t a play based on realism or logic. It’s a finely sketched skit, that takes the germ of an idea and pushes it as far as it can go. The play ends with the daughter bluntly telling her parents that she’s going to have to take a moment to deal with the news, and then she’ll decide on their punishment. It’s not that she’s angry with them, she explains, it’s that she’s disappointed. If only I had the confidence that the next generation will be more mature than the current one. Our track record isn’t looking terribly good…