Everything You Touch

Reviewed by Pauline Adamek

RECOMMENDED:
 

Sheila Callaghan’s compelling play examines the dysfunctional dynamic between narcissistic mothers and their daughters, as well as the grim misogyny that pervades the world of high fashion. In so doing, and in a markedly un-naturalistic style, it studies the corrosive effect of residual anger.

Everything You Touch presents incisive dialogue and passages of brilliance, along with some confusing moments. For example, there are scene changes between two decades. These time-shifts, however, are strategic, in order to keep a vital plot point under wraps. However, the delicacy of the play’s non-linear timeline and trickster plot gets undermined by some heavy-handed foreshadowing.

That said, director Jessica Kubzansky gives the play an exceptional world premiere. In addition to extracting superb performances from almost all of the players, Kubzansky orchestrates her team of award-winning designers to implement tech elements that both elevate and demonstrate her deep understanding of Callaghan’s play.

Francois-Pierre Couture’s scenic design is deliberately neutral — a mostly light grey box set with a wall of white screens upstage. Upon those screens, when needed, play shadow puppetry and Adam Flemming’s subtle projection design. Additionally, an assortment of contorted mannequin body parts are assembled into furniture-like props that disturbingly invoke the Korova Milk Bar of Stanley Kubrick’s 1971 film A Clockwork Orange. Scenically, Jeremy Pivnick’s transformative lighting does all the heavy lifting, at times enclosing actors in prison-like oblongs of light, at other times providing ebbing washes of color. John Zalewski’s music and disconcerting sound designs selectively incorporate the shrieks of a predatory animal ravaging its prey.

Extravagant, theatrical catwalk scenes of models sporting wild animal-inspired high fashion outfits occur throughout. (The stunning costumes are by Jenny Foldenauer, complemented by Stephen James’ dramatic “Safari Collection headpieces.”)

At the play’s start, we momentarily meet the heroine, Jess (Kirsten Vangsness), as a slobby, overweight, greasy-haired computer geek whose mere appearance onstage — awkwardly scratching her bottom — signals the inevitable makeover that eventually ensues. Jess is then chased offstage by a procession of three skinny fashion models who sashay down the catwalk and parade in various outlandish outfits. This story also centers on Victor (Tyler Pierce), a sneering, arrogant yet visionary NYC clothing designer who aspires to break into the world of haute couture. When one of the fashion models stumbles mid-catwalk on her impossible, ridiculous shoes, she finds herself on the receiving end of Victor’s blistering tirade. His forceful screed sets the tone of vicious misogyny that pervades the play.

Soon we return to Jess, and fortunately there’s a whole lot more to her journey than some trite transformation from ugly duckling to swan. First, she needs to take a road trip back from New York to her hometown in the Midwest, to bid farewell to her hateful, dying mother.

En route, Jess hooks up with Victor, who — inexplicably — agrees to come along for the ride. Is this a fantasy? Is this a flashback? It’s disconcertingly unclear, yet everything gels by the play’s satisfying conclusion.

The three aforementioned clotheshorses who sashay and stomp expertly down the catwalk are actually professional models, but their primary purpose here is to help with the scene changes, during which they slink onstage and smirk at the audience. Always clad in those awkward, towering shoes, at times these models are the props; one is hilariously garbed as a working gumball machine – eye-candy indeed. Another time, the trio assemble themselves as a motorcar, complete with a blinking booty. Amidst such humor comes scalding dialogue that leaves you reeling.

The trio’s acting chops barely match that of the actors, yet the models do shine in a scene where they voice a barrage of insults heaped on poor Jess. Here, Callaghan exposes the damaging internal monologues some women have that stem from their hyper-critical mothers. It’s brutal.

Despite its flaws, Everything You Touch tackles some essential themes that are as much about femininity as feminism. That alone makes this an important play to see.

Theatre at Boston Court, 70 N. Mentor Ave., Pasadena; Thurs.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m. (added perf. Wed., May 7, 8 p.m., all tickets $5, no advanced sales, cash only at the door); through May 18. (626) 683-6883, www.bostoncourt.com

Late Nite salon follows May 9 perf.