Bliss

Reviewed by Deborah Klugman
Moving Arts at Atwater Village Theatre
Through December 2

Although Bliss (Or Emily Post is Dead!), is set in North Orange, New Jersey in the 1960s, a rudimentary knowledge of Greek mythology is helpful in fathoming the themes of Jami Brandli’s ambitious but muddled satire, directed by Darin Anthony.

Brandli’s premise is that each of her four female characters represent, in their plight, an infamous female figure in Greek mythology or literature. Maddy (Jacqueline Misaye), like Medea, has a husband named Jason whom she desperately loves but who’s planning to leave her for a woman who can advance his career. Her pal Clementine (Ann Noble), also has issues with her philandering spouse Arthur — although she, like the Greek matriarch Clytemnestra whom she’s supposed to be modeled after, is also adulterous and contemplating divorce in order to hook up with Dr. Smith (Andrew Carter), her pill-dispensing doctor/lover, The teenage Antonia (Becca Gordon), under the thumb of a controlling uncle, can be likened to Sophocles’s Antigone, and is fighting a youthful battle for justice and the right to her own voice. The fourth female character, Cassandra (Jasmine St. Clair), is plagued by psychic powers that enable her to predict the destinies of those around her but leave her helpless to alter them.

While the first three women inhabit North Orange exclusively, Cassandra remains in touch with the gods, specifically Apollo (Andrew Carter) who’s still trying to angle her into bed all these thousands of years after she first rejected his advances. An arrogant and supercilious deity, he struts about near naked in gold lamé, and cannot understand why this mortal woman in dowdy dress continues to resist his seductive (in his opinion) wiles.

One notable detail about this prophetess is that she’s African-American. She’s introduced into Maddy’s home by the friendly Antonia, who meets Cassandra at a bus stop. Maddy, who’s from Hawaii, is half non-white, but she’s taken aback by Cassandra’s presence in her house, and only her fealty to Emily Post compels her to be courteous and invite this darker-skinned stranger to stay for tea.

Maddy’s prim and proper reverence for etiquette, and her and Clementine’s addiction to the green pills supplied by Dr. Smith, provide the fodder for burlesquing mid-20th century pre-Gloria Steinem housewives. Injecting the issue of racism into the plot is a well-meaning effort to add political relevance.

But the play’s satiric targets are familiar ones, and the comic riffs surrounding them aren’t particularly fresh. The most novel aspect of the piece is the effort to line the characters up with famous literary figures, but even here the parallels drawn by the playwright are rough and random.

Nor does it help that the performances, under Anthony’s direction, are too broad and over-the-top. This comedic style works well when actors manifest a kernel of truth beneath the folderol — but such inspiration is missing, to varying degrees, in each performance except Carter’s. Misaye as the propriety-obsessed Maddy is especially given to excessive mugging. Among the quartet of women, Gordon (with the least complex role) comes off best in her honed caricature of a naïve teen coming into her own.

Carter, by contrast, is in crisp comic form as the arrogant Apollo, and he’s equally good in the less showy role of Clementine’s smoldering swain. The comedy takes off whenever he appears on stage; his final scene with Cassandra elevates both St. Clair’s performance and the production, in a satisfying showdown between a phony self-obsessed male “divinity” and an honest down-to-earth mortal.

The production also benefits from designer Amanda Knehans’ comely uncluttered set, with its gauzy white curtains suggesting American suburbia and a woman’s touch, and its elevated nook from which Apollo parades his shenanigans. Ebony Madre’s lighting design adds more colorful dimension and hints of an otherworld — a tinge of magic that the rest of the show falls short of.

Atwater Village Theatre, 3269 Casitas Ave., Atwater; Fri.-Sat. and Mon., 8 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m.; through December 2; www.movingarts.org or call 323-472-5646. Running time: approximately two hours and 20 minutes with an intermission.