Repulsively Riveting
Directed by Louis Lopardi
With Duvall O'Steen and Thomas Francis Murphy
The Big Little Theatre141 Ridge Street
Produced by Michael Horn and The Michael Chekhov Theater Company
Equity Showcase (September 13 - October 12) closed
Review by Alyn Hunter 10/12/06
In a neighborhood torn between the indigenous population of the life-long impoverished and down-trodden, and the invading hordes of philistine developers and their sycophantic up-scaling wannabes quietly sits a pocket-sized theater that bears no marquis, no sandwich board display plastered with flyers. One and a half inch tall red letters on a brick wall that can be seen only when standing directly in front of the theater is the only public declaration of it's presence on the Lower East Side of Manhattan.
This unimposing, almost anonymous, storefront pulled me in with unexpected warmth presented both by upbeat jazz spilling from within and enthusiasm dripping from the people I spoke with at the door. Within, I felt the claustrophobic confinement of the lobby (though, honestly, there was only room to say "lob") and the 10-foot wide and deep blackbox stage might be so confining as to impinge on my enjoyment of the play.
I was wrong. Overall, I found the actors and the script entrancing. Within minutes of the lights rising on the sparsely decorated set I was transported. Transported to Shangri-La's antithesis. The entire 55-minute one-act takes place shortly after bedtime for a married couple that has yet to figure out their union has been so de-sanctified that it already lay burning below the precipice it repeatedly throws itself over.
Terry Quinn's succinct and well-written original script, often knife-sharp, speaks directly to anyone that has had an intimate relationship fail horribly, making the story almost universally accessible. We begin with the husband pretending to be asleep as his wife is coming to bed. She calls him on it, demanding he talk to her about that evening's dinner party. He tries to quiet her insistence, but fails. He turns indignant, evasive, and angry when she does not yield. She lays out an accusation of specific infidelity that they have apparently discussed (by his perception) ad nauseam. His denial falls on her unbelieving ears and he eventually goes on the offensive. We see their interactions develop into what I can only describe as an alternate history for Edward Albee's George and Martha, without the buffering provided by a Nick and Honey. Absent that obscuring insertion of another couple the stark, streamlined juggernaut took no real detours. I was presented with inescapable discomfort at watching the recognition in their eyes, body language and dialogue as they revealed to the audience, as well as each other, what had already destroyed their marriage.
The solely verbal first two thirds of the play gives way to the introduction of physical, as well as verbal, intercourse that carries the audience almost through to the very end of both the performance and their marriage. Yes, I said physical intercourse. One might think that such simulated carnal behavior on stage might have been gratuitous, but it served both the script and the audience's naturally voyeuristic immersion into the scene. The playwright, actors and director all adeptly handled the intimacy.
Richard, played by Thomas Francis Murphy, at first came across as an emotionally weary man worn down by the stress caused by his overly sensitive and suspicious wife. As the back-story unfurls we grow aware that he has secrets unhealthy for his relationship with his spouse. These hidden things weigh him down enough that when his wife first tries to seduce him, Richard refuses (though earlier on he tries to physically comfort her). Ultimately, we learn by his own declaration that he is indeed guilty of what Leah accuses him. Murphy is not trapped by the weariness of his character. Rather, he carries a presence about him that electrifies his character. He's comfortable and natural in such a small acting space, and gives the impression that he would equally command the vastness of a much larger, mainstream venue. I sympathized, condemned, and finally sympathized, again, with his character at the last because he effortlessly took me to those places.
Leah, played by Duvall O'Steen, was a pitiable character made highly accessible by O'Steen's emotion-laden performance. At the start we feel we are on her side against Richard. Prior to the first line of the play she presents an obvious quandary balancing her discomfort with her husband's proximity and her unavoidable need to confront him. When she does engage him, our allegiance shifts to the husband for a short while. After we witness his reactions to her accusations and his attempts at deflecting them, she earns credibility. Her final statements clearly affected the audience around me, though it was predictable. O'Steen's own strength shines through her character's seemingly weak and meek personality, bringing with it nuance and a multitude of color.
Louis Lopardi's directing skills directly complimented the dexterity brought to the stage by his two actors. Normally I would question keeping the only two actors on stage bed-ridden for 45 minutes but considering the material and the space it was an ideal choice. It trapped the characters into a dense and intense confrontation of accusations, denials, counter-accusations and, finally the truths that have already destroyed their marriage. Having such a tight and intimate space to maneuver his actors, he held unyielding reign on their broadness, allowing the audience to respond quietly, introspectively, on what many must have recognized in their own pasts (If not the circumstances, certainly the emotions).
The stage, necessarily sparse due to the theater's dimensions, was asymmetrically decorated with a few set pieces or props. This allowed our attention to remain where it belonged: on the story and its tellers. The minimal lighting was designed as well as possible, given the aforementioned limitations of the space. The sound lent an almost wistful feel to both the beginning and the end of the play, as if it was heard only in the mind of the wife as she missed a less-complex, more loving time in their lives.
Simply: A good play, a good director, two good actors.