Every
playwright who has ever put pen to paper (or finger to computer key) has wanted
in some way to encapsulate the mystifying contradictions of the human
experience in these United States: love, rage, hope, despair, compassion,
betrayal, etc. This is a noble and just calling, and we who observe their works
are, generally, the better for it.
Trouble
is, by trying to do everything in a single script, many playwrights succeed in
doing nothing much at all. American Falls
by Miki Johnson, now at Cleveland Public Theatre (and seen by this reviewer at
a preview performance), lands where most of these highly ambitious plays end up—in
the mushy middle ground between memorable and forgetable.
There
are seven adult characters on stage (and one young boy, played by Anthony
Sevier, who only appears briefly), and they have stories to tell about their
lives. They are inhabitants of the eponymous town, a name for both the play and
the town that is an almost-too-perfect summation of the theme at hand. The
actors remain onstage for the duration of the 90-minute show, but they rarely
interact with each other as they occupy little silos of light deftly designed
by Jakyung Seo.
On
the plus side, playwright Johnson and director Raymond Bobgan craft two really
extraordinary characters, embodied in a couple riveting performances. Samantha
is a worn-out woman who has boozed and fucked her way through life but, you
know, not in a good way. As she says, “None of my kids turned out,” comparing
them to failed Easter eggs. Despite almost Kabuki-level dollops of aging
makeup, Chris Seibert is darkly comical and compelling as Samantha, mastering a
raspy Marlboro growl and a defeated mien that feels like a festering, pulsing
bruise on a tired soul.
Equally
attention-getting is Adam Seeholzer as Samuel, a man who is so distraught by
recent events that he turns himself inside out and into a new person. Seeholzer
beautifully underplays this role, maintaining a steadily dark through-line that
feels weirdly lyrical.
There
are two other major roles that come across with varying degrees of success.
Darius Stubbs plays the American Indian, Billy Mound of Clouds, and garners
some of the biggest laughs as he discusses his job at Payless Shoe Store and
his ability to intuit the future through his discount kicks. Stubbs lands these
humorous asides with quiet style, but it’s hard to get hold of what Billy’s
mindset really is.
This
may be a problem with the script, since Johnson also underwrites the role of
Lisa, who is dead after having committed suicide. The captivating acting talent
of Faye Hargate is largely wasted in this character, since Lisa is called upon
to deliver monotone, “Our Town-lite” faux-philosophical
commentaries from the afterlife, without fully coming to grips with her actual
life.
Three
other characters, played by P.J. McCready, Ryan Edlinger and Dionne D. Atchison
have shorter stories to tell as they gather in a bar. But none of these lives
gain any traction and feel like an unnecessary digression from the four main
characters. Sure, there are interconnections, but they are a bit faint and
flimsy as portrayed here.
In
this production, director Bobgan hews closely to the script, without his
trademark layerings of movement and sound. And that is a wise choice, since
Johnson is a playwright who manipulates words with panache. But a clearer focus
on the really interesting characters would make American Falls a more satisfying journey.
American
Falls
Through
December 20 at Cleveland Public Theatre, 6415 Detroit Avenue, 216-631-2727.
No comments:
Post a Comment