Mason McCulley (Photo by Jeff Lorch)
Reviewed by Steven Vargas
Skylight Theatre
Through November 10
RECOMMENDED
Mason McCulley says the opposite of grief is a glimmer, which he describes as a small memory of joy. Throughout his one-man show, Carole Cook Died for My Sins, McCulley finds the perfect balance between his griefs and glimmers as he outlines his friendship with the late Broadway actress.
The show, shaped into an 80-minute sermon, tells the true story of McCulley as he navigates addiction, sex and his relationships with his mother and Carole Cook before their deaths. He begins the tale by stating that he wrote the show thinking about porn, then goes on to talk about everything but. He shares how he befriended Cook — his longtime idol — and the nights that led him to dark benders or revolutionary hookups.
It begins with a trip down memory lane. He recalls how he fell for Cook’s artistry and allure, seeing her in Hello, Dolly!and alongside Lucille Ball in Here’s Lucy. He retreats behind the centerstage doorway and returns with a container of memorabilia, from VHS tapes to a Playbill. This element cements the authenticity of his story which feels less like a theatrical triumph and more like an intimate story time. It works because it helps McCulley achieve his goal of memorializing a beloved star and his mother.
McCulley is a master of finding the right details to lead his stories. When it comes to his mother, he builds up her Southern persona with an accent and affinity for euphemisms. She used to call him “creative,” which was her way of saying there was something queer about him. His use of details also has a strong impact when he reflects on the years leading up to his sobriety. He recalls Cook and her spouse Tom Troupe driving him to West Hollywood after a show, passing an AA meeting. McCulley pats his hand as Cook did and recites her words: “Hopefully you don’t have to go there.” He sprinkles details like these at the right moment to bring out a laugh or tear.
The best parts of Carole Cook Died for My Sins are when he recounts the sexual encounters with men who altered his outlook on life, from a shroom trip with a man in New York to an unexpectedly continuous fling with a grief therapist. His performance reaches a peak when he tells the story of a firefighter who self-identified as straight but had sex with McCulley often. The actor switches positions on stage to replicate conversations with the firefighter, depicting how simple and dumb he could be. But underneath his air-headed mentality was a wise soul. After constant quips and laughs, the conversation McCulley replicates on stage takes a dark turn when the firefighter shares that his approach to life changed after he witnessed a child’s brain scatter on the ground while on the job. The laughs stop. It’s somber. But McCulley helps dig us out of the darkness by putting this story in context with his grief, explaining that the firefighter’s love for anal sex, sky diving and risky activities was his way of coping with the atrocities he witnesses. If he gets closer to death, he can feel more comfortable and cooler when he encounters it on a call.
The direction by Cameron Watson works best when McCulley can easily swap characters. However, there are some moments where it is unclear when he is speaking and when one of the many voices of his tale speaks. Clear ones include his tale of the firefighter and a conversation with a stranger about going to therapy. Others tend to lack clarity as he stands in one position only partially changing his voice. The set designed by Tesshi Nakagawa helps alleviate this issue by bringing in new voices through the form of letters he pulls from a stack of papers upstage
The conclusions of his sermon come forth when he reaches the final minutes of his show, but McCulley ensures that you don’t forget that this is still theater. In a final fit of emotional confusion, he allows the dark voices to emerge. He panics, frantically shaking his hands as he breaks down all the wrong turns he can take. The lighting design by Jared Sayeg adds to the moment, dimming a spotlight on him to embody the hole that he digs. He snaps out of it, and the lights fill the stage again. The moment is a beautiful unison of performance and light.
The sermon’s theatrical setup is incredible and makes McCulley’s concluding remarks land with incredible weight. He’s good at a setup but doesn’t know when the story ends. He closes the show by reminding us that he wrote it thinking about porn. But the real ending is Cook’s late-night dream with McCulley’s mother. After all, this show is about glimmers. Of them all, this is the best one.
Skylight Theatre, 1816 1/2 N. Vermont Ave., Los Angeles. Fri.-Sat., 8 pm, Sun., 3 pm; thru Nov. 10. https://www.skylighttheatre.org/carole-cook-died-for-my-sins Running time: 80 minutes with no intermission.
