—or—
It’s only Amateur Theater until it offends someone… then it’s ART!
Note to self: Read the director’s notes in the program, no matter how lengthy, or how late you are getting to your seat because you just had to have that last bite of the sumptuous stuffed avocado from your favorite local Latin eatery one block over. We are not sure if this would have helped with this strange play, but we would have been alerted to its dated political overtones (complete with overblown English-major assertions of the rich, symbolic symbolism of its many symbols) and it would have clarified the backwards-in-time thing Sam Shepherd did, with the first half of the play taking place after the second half. (“Sheesh,” The Phantom mutters to himself. Okay, that ploy worked with “Momento,” but lesser mortals than The Phantom had to see it twice to figure it out. “Really,” The Phantom grouses, “who would be so dim as to write a play that runs backward in time? Isn’t that just silly?”) This play was weird enough, but the playwright had to throw in the time switch. Honestly, by the time we got to the second half, jaws agape and wondering if our absence would be noticed (yes, yes, it would have), we gave up trying to collect coherent meaning from the hallucinogenic stream of consciousness being painstakingly performed before our tired eyes.
The play opened in what seemed to be a motel room. Being remarkably quick, The Phantom noted that there was a sign on a door stage left that said “Do Not Disturb” in Spanish. Aha, we’re not in Kansas anymore. A door stage right has another sign: “Cuarto del Baño.” The Phantom took enough high school Spanish with Ms. Hill to know that is the door to the bathroom. Oh, clever Phantom. Oh, odd staging. Since when do hotel rooms hang signs on the bathroom door? We deduce—The Phantom has seen his share of “Monk” and “CSI,” thank you very much—that the signage is for the audience’s benefit alone. And that proves to be the only help the audience is going to get. And off we go…
Our leads were familiar to local theatergoers, but we had never been this familiar with them, with each sitting up in a twin bed, wearing only their underwear and bad sunburns. There was talk of sunburns, there was talk of diarrhea, there was mention of this being a vacation and there was long banter and long complex monologues/duologues that defied description. Kent was animated. Kent was in character. Kent did a good job, and The Phantom says this despite not knowing the job description. Salem, our female lead, was fine. She was a tad rote but she had a lot to say and was also in character. . . we think. But then we didn’t quite understand what was going on or not going on, or what would happen or not, or why we were there burping avocado, when the door burst open to reveal a young man (played by a young woman) who seemed to be a shoe shine person and who so frightened our male lead by launching a high flying loogie into his face that he (the male lead) [we think] fled into the Quarto del Baño, cowardly leaving his partner/wife/sister/whatever in her bed with only her underwear and the sunburn. (It was a third-degree sunburn.) [See? We were paying attention.] Okay, so now it gets weird. Go ahead, laugh. You weren’t there, were you?
While hiding in the bathroom, Kent makes the discovery that his malaise is indeed due to a bad case of Montezuma’s Revenge. He sounds pretty proud of himself. And aren’t we all? However, Salem, hiding under her sheet, is struggling with what to do with the unexpected shoe shine person, who will not go away. Salem starts rifling through her luggage in search of dinero to offer our young entrepreneur. Speaking of entrepreneurs, the “boy” has perched him/herself on the edge of the stage in front of some patrons who are undoubtedly now questioning their choice of seats [C’mon Hillary, let’s sit up front. I can’t see around this pole. No, I don’t want to move, Bill, the front row makes me feel conspicuous. Aww, Hill, that’s just silly. This is theater. All eyes will be on stage.] From this vantage point, Shoe Shine Boy proceeds to go into a repertoire of faces, gestures and eyebrow lifts that taken separately would be quite impressive. The shouting continues in the background.
Then it gets Weird.
Our hero comes out of Quarto del Baño and collapses on the floor, stage center. We discover that Shoe Shine Boy speaks English, a witch doctor is summoned (complete with busy sidekick), random monologues are performed, including one involving the audience (who, to a person, is now horrified that this may turn into a full-blown audience participation piece of performance art [except for that one guy in the third row, left center, who was pulling miscellaneous props out of a mysterious black bag that he had previously shoved under his seat. This guy came prepared!]). We think we remember that Salem did a very nice job on her “Boy for Sale” monologue, but we are no longer sure of anything. We remember thinking there was a lot of business going on. We’re pretty sure we remember some sacrificial papier-maché poultry. We remember being astounded at the sheer volume of words being spoken with evident purpose and we think we felt rather uncultured (as astonishing as that may seem) [See? The Phantom was rattled.] {Yes, he does feel better now. Thanks for asking} at having very little idea of what the heck it all meant. (We do remember getting over that feeling pretty quickly.) While our minds were a raging torrent, flooded with rivulets of thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives, with apparently—no, evidently—yea, manifestly—no end in sight, the lights came up. Mercifully, it’s intermission.
It took a full 13.6 minutes to clean up the stage.
Second Act. This got really weird, and The Phantom now thoroughly regrets not reading the director’s notes. Back in time, our intrepid couple is in another motel room, this time in the U. S. of A. How can we tell? The same signs are now written in English. But what’s this? Our hero, Kent, seems to be suffering from some sort of arcane illness. A medico is summoned (and it’s the same guy who played the witch doctor—but this time he is thankfully clothed head-to-toe in what is clearly meant to be Full-Texana Regalia). His assistant is played by none other than our elastic-faced shoe shine boy, now dressed as a young gringo. (Far out, man!) There are more monologues about illness, and a large photograph of our hero in a Speedo is produced and hung upstage left (clap, clap to Kent for bravery in this regard). Then, speechifying by the doctor, speechifying by the assistant, speechifying by Salem. (Do we have a clue? Nope. Not one.) Kent is healed enough to go on the most impressive rant of the evening, accompanied by some 60s electric guitar that some of the older patrons had hoped to leave sealed away in their collective repressed memory vaults. (Right on!) And then it was over. Jaws agape, the ever-polite audience (good for you Brazos Valley) clapped politely (except for that one guy, who was weeping tears of joy born of complete comprehension and epiphany).
Yes, it was weirder than Weird. And if this is the path StageCenter wishes to go, then we applaud StageCenter’s pluck, we pledge to read the director’s notes and, ah, we’ll occasionally stay home. One could argue that the hidebound Brazos Valley needs (no, cries out!) for “alternative” art, and that it is the duty of our artistic organizations to expand the public’s horizons. Others will respond that the oldest community theater in the Brazos Valley does not deserve to die a painful, lonely death pursuing lost causes. Bring back some of the old standard plays, they will say, and reintroduce good drama to a hungry new audience. The Phantom, being magnanimous and tolerant, does not wish to take sides in this debate. Perhaps sides need not be drawn. Nonetheless, the StageCenter Board may wish to include some old classics in its line-up so that the theater doesn’t wither from the bland disinterest—or the righteous indignation—alternative theater is sure to receive from the Valley’s conservative citizenry.
Other than that, it was great.
The Phantom
