Contrary
to popular opinion, it is not necessary for everything to work in a theatrical
production in order for that production to be thoroughly captivating and
challenging. Case in point is this Tall Skinny Cruel Cruel Boys by Caroline V. McGraw, a play
that takes bold chances, jumping in and out of surreal moments.
Not
all of these jumps land on their feet, since one is never sure whether the play
is speaking literally or symbolically. But thanks to the muscular direction of
Jeremy Paul and a talented cast, you’re able to hang on to McGraw’s central
conceit and find some treasures in there.
Brandy
is a woman who makes her living as a clown for kids’ parties. But once she’s
out of her baggy pants and makeup, Brandy is a human clown-car that spills
forth with lots of dark secrets and sleazy behavior. She will apparently sleep
with any bipedal mammal with a Y chromosome, including high school student Jack
(Bryon Tobin) and multiple dads of the kiddies for whom she performs. She
prowls these men like a sexual scavenger, grabbing for any shred of warmth that
can hide the emptiness behind the forced gaiety of her painted-on smile.
Sure,
the clown thing is a cliché that has been trampled to death in many ways, but
here the usual baggage doesn’t really get in the way. Plus, there are
other characters that add welcome touches of both realism and magical thinking.
Nina (a wonderfully detached yet perceptive Lauren Joy Fraley) is kind of a
Brandy groupie, always with her small child (a stuffed doll) in her arms. And
Reverb (an amusing Ryan Lucas) is another clown, a down-to-earth version, who
finally seems to find a way to relate to Brandy.
Then
there’s The Un, a metaphorical (?) monster under Brandy’s bed, the one who
continually claws at her, leaving a dark red stain on her neck and chest. Fed
by Brandy’s insecurities , The Un seems unstoppable until confronted by Jack’s
high school gal pal Tash (Valerie C. Kilmer), who eventually pierces the
monster’s hold with her bold innocence.
An
almost naked Val Kozlenko plays The Un with genuine menace, and then somehow
changes while under the bed into normal clothes to play Jason, one of the
fathers who beds Brandy. In the latter role, Kozlenko is even scarier as he
corners Brandy and insists that she “perform” for him, in a scene that crackles
with his dominance and her desperation.
In
the daunting role of Brandy, Rachel Lee Kolis demonstrates a raw physicality
that gives her performance a mesmerizing quality. Although Kolis’ clowning skills
are marginal (some awkward juggling, etc.), she uses her body postures and
attitudes to define the various “shows” that her character is driven to stage. This
is a woman who, staring into the abyss of her own emptiness, is seeking to
equalize the pressure in her head by tapping into the shallow insubstantial fog
of masks and quickie sex acts.
Played
in the round on a set surrounded by white fabric panels, and augmented by
Benjamin Gantose’s lighting and original music by Eric M.C. Gonzalez, the piece
flows briskly.
Director
Paul seems entirely comfortable in this mash-up of themes and genres, all
suffused with McGraw’s sharp, take-no-prisoners dialog. And while some elements
don’t completely work—it all still does. Quite marvelously.
Tall
Skinny Cruel Cruel Boys
Through
November 14, produced by Theater Ninjas at the Near West Lofts, 6706 Detroit
Ave., theaterninjas.com.
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