Stan Mayer and ensemble (Photo by Meredith Adelaide)
Reviewed by Julia Stier
Coin & Ghost
Through December 10
An apt show to watch the night before Veterans Day, as I did, Mama Mama Can’t You See, directed by Zach Davidson and written by Stan Mayer and Cecilia Fairchild, is a movement-based exploration of Mayer’s own experience when he was caught in the May 7, 2005 firefight that occurred during the Iraq War.
A highly surreal piece, Mama Mama Can’t You See takes place in the millisecond between when an explosion ignites and its aftermath. The characters — four Iraq War marines, and four sex workers from the American Civil War — are all caught in a state of limbo, where everything that was, and everything that might be, collide.
Mayer writes from experience, having served as a US Marine himself, and having lost friends in that fateful firefight. He plays himself, and is joined by his comrades-in-arms: Lance (Ryan Nebreja), Jeff (Julián Juaquín), and Doc (Zack Rocklin-Waltch).
Aiding in the telling of this tale are Anita (Carene Rose Mekertichyan), Ellis (Marguerite French), Wanda (Hannah Trujillo), and Clem (Kathleen Leary). These four make up a civilian chorus, and cycle through different personas of women who get sucked into war’s orbit: mothers, wives, sex workers, girlfriends.
It’s a strong cast, who give as much emotionally as they do physically. Their synchronized moves — and even a little bit of breakdancing — capture the chaos of war. Such moments are then beautifully juxtaposed against intimate scenes between soldier and sex worker that are surprisingly tender.
Throughout the show, a big emphasis is placed on the concept of time. There is no “back then” — rather time is everything, right now. While in the moment, this concept makes certain aspects hard to follow: For example, one of the women portrays a mother of a soldier in the Iraq War, while another turns around later and asks what a “movie” is.
However, after the show, when I had a moment to reflect on this choice, I realized that for me, the collapsing of time sent the message that war hasn’t changed. Be it the Civil War or the one in Iraq, war still packs the same punch, metaphorically speaking.
Where this show finds its heart is in Mayer’s frank retelling of what he was feeling in the moment when his best friend Lance died in the firefight. He recounts an impossible choice he had to make — follow his retreating platoon, or try to recover his dead friend’s body.
At the time, Mayer was only 23.
This show is visually captivating, albeit a bit hard to follow at times. However, once you let go of needing to nail down names and dates, the show does deliver an emotional impact that will leave you thinking about it well after you leave the theater.
Coin & Ghost, Studio/Stage, 520 N Western Ave., LA. Thurs.-Sat., 8 pm, Sun., 7 pm, dark Nov. 23-26, thru Dec. 10. coinandghost.org. Running time: 95 minutes with no intermission
