Penelope

Reviewed by Lovell Estell III
Rogue Machine
Through August 17

RECOMMENDED:

There they are, dressed in speedos, their bellies protruding, gathered at the bottom of a derelict, empty pool with blood-stained walls, a barbecue pit and makeshift bar (starkly realized by designer Stephanie Kerley Schwartz), waiting, as they have for decades, for the inevitable.

Dunne (Ron Bottitta), Fitz (Richard Fancy), Quinn (Brian Letscher), and Burns (Scott Sheldon), are trapped in a Beckettian netherworld, tormented by their endless chatter and nightmarish expectations, while awaiting the appearance of Penelope (Holly Fulger), who will choose one of them as a suitor.

To label Enda Walsh’s tragicomedy as bizarre doesn’t quite hit the mark; it is a clever, grandly re-imagined slice of mythology, as well as a ritual of dark, über-manly foolishness that summons, captivates, puzzles and repels. Quinn is the bad boy of the lot, a mouthy bully who struts around stage showing his ample physique, frequently treating Burns as his lowly ass-wipe; Fritz is a doddering shell of manhood, who delights in his nimble linguistic skills and a book he continually reads; Dunne’s ample, hairy paunch is more noticeable than he is, and he is arguably the most vain. These men all have histories of a sort, lives that presumably were once marginally productive, but Walsh blights this distinction into chaff, and instead accents the endless waiting and futility of their condition, cleverly hinted at later with the story of Murray, a fifth gent, who committed suicide.

With Penelope’s appearance, these love-struck bulls go into a rut of gags, insults and passionate soliloquys, with each suitor making his case, highlighted by Quinn performing a humorous quick-change cabaret routine, where he costumes himself like Napoleon, Rhett Butler, and even Scarlet O’Hara, all done to the tune of Herb Alperts’ “Spanish Flea.”

As extravagantly off-beat as it all is, Walsh’s formidable skills as a wordsmith resonate, and the script delves into weightier philosophical matters, as well as probing the efficacy and limits of language. These are high-caliber performances under John Flynn’s smart direction, and even though this 90- minute piece drag in some places, it is nonetheless exceptionally well done.—Lovell Estell III

Rogue Machine, 5041 W. Pico Blvd., LA., Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 3 p.m.; through Aug. 17. (855) -585-5185, roguemachinetheatre.com