There is a saying in film school, "Film only records that which can reflect light." Fortunately, the theatre is more illusory, in that much of its subject matter is what isn't said - the subtext.
The three one-acts by Andrès J. Wrath presented by Sage Theatre and 2B Theatre Company were studies in a style of writing that exploits subtext to its limits - and often beyond them. When Wrath applies the technique judicially, the results are powerful. When he eliminates so much connective tissue that the audience has trouble figuring out who the characters are and why they're on stage, the underlying drama falls apart.
The Miracle is about the return of Alan (Benjamin Bauman) to the home of Elaine (Susan Barnes Walker) and Michael (Jon Stuart Freeman). The biological relationships among these characters weren't clear (was Alan the prodigal son? Elaine's younger brother?), though the jealous hatred of the older Michael for the younger, and gay, Alan was clear. In the course of several scenes, some shorter than the intermissions between them (in which actors got up out of character and became stagehands under blue light), Michael made an unclear but apparently obscene remark to Alan (in which Michael dropped his pants), Alan said to Elaine (presumably of Michael) "he did it!", and Elaine kicked Alan out. End of play. No doubt a fine reading of the script would reveal the subtleties missing in this bald summary, but this performance took place in real (well, almost real) time, and not every expositional arrow found its mark.
Sunday Brunch Thingy is a series of brunch meetings between two women (Sue Dora Galloway and Goia De Cari), who talk about their respective spouses, with whom they have extremely dysfunctional relationships. The stock situation was not without laughs, especially when De Cari attempted (in an interlude scene) to act out the positions of a porno video her husband gave her. The punchline is that Galloway complains it isn't fair that she has to entertain her husband's gay lover while pretending she doesn't know the score. Unfortunately, that plot tidbit was given away earlier.
Fab & Ren redeemed the evening. It is about a young woman, Fab (Kyle Senor), whose car breaks down outside Ren (Laura Raynor)'s farmhouse. Fab is from New York, on her way to her mother's house in San Francisco to escape an abusive husband, Reggie (Benjamin Bauman). Ren, who has a lover (not allowed to spend the night), has no intention of falling into conventional relationships. When Reggie shows up, the women kill him and bury him next to Ren's husband. Ren and Fab (it has already been established that they have no overriding sexual interest in each other) decide to stay together on the farm.
Despite a few questions (even Fab, who is supposedly a stock trader, couldn't be so stupid as to run to her mother or keep using Reggie's charge cards), the suspense built well until the very end. The story provided a base on which to mount the jewel of the evening, Raynor's performance as Ren, a creation of subtlety and complexity that made the deficiencies of the other two plays fade into insignificance.
The other actors created workmanlike performances, frequently milking the opportunities offered by the pauses between lines. The lighting (Alan Kanevsky), which attempted to illuminate at least four different stage areas with too few instruments, left actors in the dark or harsh half-light much of the time. These defects were especially true in Miracle. The scenery and costumes were workshop-production fare. The sound (Marcus Rodreguez & Oh! Studio), emanating from a boombox at the back of the house (apparently the house sound was nonfunctional), was a sometimes obtrusive alternation of music and sound effects like heartbeats and radios being tuned.
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Fab & Ren |
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Copyright 2001 John Chatterton