Rite of Seymour

Review by Jenny Lower

Photo Courtesy Son of Semele Ensemble

This fifth outing by Drive Theatre Company, which is written by Allison Volk and directed by Doug Oliphant, presumes that evolution doesn’t necessarily move things forward.

On the eve of an important dinner to connect her poet husband with an influential publishing magnate, a 1950s housewife is distraught to discover that her better half has devolved into a species of hominid not seen on earth for millions of years. The local MD (Bilal Mir) — who also happens to be an evolutionary biologist — informs the distressed Helena Gray (Mary Ellen Schneider) that her husband Seymour (Robert Paterno) has set on an irreversible trajectory that will almost certainly result in his reduction to an iguana, then an amoeba, and so forth. The intrepid Mrs. Gray is not to be dissuaded, and the party proceeds, albeit not quite as planned.

As farces go, this one is fairly lucid and bolstered by a strong cast. Deborah Jensen stands out as Helena’s brassy neighbor, with Paterno offering an impressively lifelike turn as the spiraling Seymour. Schneider does convincing work with a part that demands a steep change of attitude.

Volk skewers 1950s social anxiety (what will the bridge club say?), absolutist notions of progress, and the expansive drivel that passes for art appreciation. The production pokes fun at those who would clutch their pearls at our evolutionary lineage, positing that it’s not such a bad thing: Among the boors onstage, it’s Seymour who retains his humanity, stirring our sympathy with his sweetness.

The production falters in its pacing. Early on, the doctor engages in a protracted soliloquy comparing himself to Igor Stravinsky, whose atonal, inelegant Rite of Spring had Paris up in arms in 1913. The speech stalls the momentum, but it also seems an odd choice of metaphor, given the character’s established distaste for poetry’s inutility. Once the meal gets underway, there’s a fair bit of sitting, and the two set changes to transform Ryan Siebrasse’s stylish design seem to take eons. In the lulls, we’re given time to ponder the script’s occasional confusing inconsistencies: Why is an evolutionary biologist prominent enough to earn an award also maintaining a family medical practice? How long has Seymour been receiving pills to regulate his condition?  

Volk’s thesis seems to be that in the battle between poetry and science, neither really comes out ahead—the animating force of love trumps them both. But the rebukes are never too sharp. This clever play has a sweet finish that, though too pat, warms us even as it avoids settling its own intellectual debate.

Drive Theatre Company at Son of Semele Theater, 3301 Beverly Blvd., Los Angeles; Thurs.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 4 p.m.; through March 30. (213) 351-3507; sonofsemele.org.