Are
there beings or spirits or entities that live inside us? It would seem so, especially in the
morning hours when we are beset with borborygmus, the wonderfully onomatopoetic
term for stomach rumblings. (Who the hell is in my intestines anyhow, making
all that racket?)
Most
of the time, however, we are untroubled by such disturbing thoughts. Not so the
three people in These Mortal Hosts, a
world premiere play by Cleveland playwright Eric Coble now being presented as
part of the often stimulating New Ground Festival at the Cleveland Play House.
In this 100-minute one-act, we meet three average people from tiny Dove Creek,
Colorado who have apparently had their bodies annexed by some force that they
can’t control. And we’re not talking about a craving for Reese’s Peanut Butter
Cups here because, as we soon learn, these unseen occupiers are pretty serious.
It
is a fascinating premise for a play by the preternaturally prolific Eric Coble.
He’s written more than 200 scripts of various kinds over the past 25
years--which computes to eight per year or one every six-and-a-half weeks. That
means Coble is writing a script more often than most of us attempt much less
challenging activities, such as rearranging our sock drawer. More power to him
for that.
For
the first half of Hosts, directed by
Laley Lippard, the idea of having an uncontrollable force inside our body is
compelling. In quick succession we meet middle-aged bank manager Phyllis, high
school student Meaghan and a veteran butcher named Earl. They are strangers to
each other, and they pretty much exist in their own silos as they address the
audience and share their current fixations.
For
all his cutting and slicing of animal carcasses, Earl is slightly amazed that
he’s never seen any of his own blood, even from a loose tooth as a kid. But one
day, he feels a pressure in his chest. Meaghan is mightily attracted to
schoolmate Troy at a party and evinces the usual teenage girl angst, until she
starts hearing a voice in her head. And Phyllis, single and childless, obsesses
over her two black cats, Inkwell and Mr. Mistoffelees, until she finds
something going on in her body to obsess about.
At
first, these people and their problems seem not all that significant. And Coble
treats them as such, using his proven ability to craft quips and amusing punch
lines with deft precision. In particular, tightly-wrapped Phyllis generates a
number of laughs as she talks about her life at home and at work, reveling in how
she positions her desk just right in the bank so she can see everything.
Trouble
is, she can’t see what’s happening inside her own body. And when she stops
having her period and finds she’s pregnant—without having had sex for more than
six years—the whole play flips upside-down. Let’s face it, no matter what else
happens in a play, when a virgin birth is occurring that means we’re talking
religion until the final curtain.
Aside
from abandoning a promising premise, there are other challenges this script
faces. By having the characters address the audience instead of each other (for
the most part), we get no real sense of what they have at stake as they experience
their physical, mental and spiritual changes. Sure, Earl talks lovingly about
his wife Helen, but we never hear from her, while Phyllis and Meaghan are off
on their own.
Coble
attempts to address this by having Earl visit one-time customer Phyllis in the
bank, bringing her offerings of liver and muffins. This relationship, aside
from any religious connotations, comes across as forced and manipulative. And
as Meaghan gradually makes peace with the voice in her head, she sees herself
as The Messenger who must Proclaim to the world and Shield those who do not
possess her vision. It’s not at all clear if this is supposed to be inspiring
or downright scary. If it’s up to the audience, I vote for scary.
The
climax of the play attempts to be shocking and disturbing, but since so much of
the play has been taken up with jokey asides, the impact at that point is
muted. Call it a death by a hundred quips.
Although
the play has issues, the cast delivers Coble’s words with passion and power. As
Earl, Fabio Polanco has a rough-hewn honesty and simple goodness, which helps
anchor a play that desperately needs it. Megan Medley conjures a number of
laughs as Meaghan, especially when she uses her newfound power to intimidate
some boys at school. And Amy Fritsche deftly portrays Phyllis as a coiled
bundle of nerves until pregnancy releases her in more ways than one.
The
mission of the New Ground Festival is to help new plays get launched, and that
is indeed an honorable and laudatory goal. So major props to CPH for this
effort! One hopes that the Festival thrives for years to come and continues to
feature emerging theatrical voices—not so much those playwrights who already (and
justifiably) enjoy consistent exposure of their fine work at multiple venues locally
and across the country.
These
Mortal Hosts
Through
May 20 at Cleveland Play House, Playhouse Square, 1407 Euclid Avenue,
216-241-6000, clevelandplayhouse.com.
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