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Hannah Mae Sturges and Michael Dempsey in Will Arbery's The Mongoose at The Road on Magnolia (photo by Michele Young)
Hannah Mae Sturges and Michael Dempsey in Will Arbery’s The Mongoose at The Road on Magnolia (photo by Michele Young)

The Mongoose

Reviewed by Deborah Klugman
The Road on Magnolia
Through April 17

In the opening scene of Will Arbery’s dark, roundabout dramedy, a family lounges in the living room of their grungy Dallas domicile, munching food and watching TV. The clan consists of Cole, the dad (Dirk Etchison), and his three teenaged kids. Kay Bailey (Arielle Fodor), the serious-minded middle sibling (and, we learn, the only family member in firm touch with an external reality) inquires if they’ll be going to church. After a brief discussion, the consensus emerges as no.

It’s the last you’ll hear of organized religion in this self-consciously wacky play (although Jesus is mentioned in an out-of-nowhere anecdote that Cole relates to his children, one about plaster statues of Christ endowed with large penises.)

Yes, instead of Jesus as savior, you have Jeff. Jeff is a mongoose and, according to Cole’s sweet and sprightly eldest daughter Maddy (Hannah Mae Sturges), a wise sage who’s inexplicably taken up residence inside the family’s walls. Maddy claims she’s in regular communion with Jeff, who serves as her life coach. This comes at an especially crucial time now that her mom, Leanne (Blaire Chandler) is holed up in a motel in Louisiana, with no special plans to return.

Leanne’s absence has impacted not only the discombobulated Maddy and the more mature and thoughtful Kay Bailey: It’s also affected her son Joe (Kevin Shipp), an aggressive overweight adolescent who smashes things when he’s displeased. One of the things he’s unhappy about is the presence in the house of Cole’s friend, Dave (Michael Dempsey), a paunchy balding man who first makes his appearance in the kitchen wearing nothing but his shorts.

While the characters may be colorful, it’s often hard to discern the game plan behind Arberry’s play, with its bland dialogue and idling narrative. Part portrait of a disintegrated marriage, the story wends its way through numerous phone calls between the self-exiled Leanne and the other family members. For some reason these interchanges with Leanne and whomever she happens to be talking to take place with the performers in near-proximity to each other — that is, both are on the main set, with no lighting or set piece to indicate that Leanne is inhabiting another space. It’s a confounding bit of staging, a distraction from whatever emotional impact the scene is trying to convey.

One element of the shifting dynamic is the gradual realization by Cole’s kids that Dave is Cole’s lover, and that he’s there to stay. That aspect of the story is a lot clearer and less irksome than, say, Maddy’s fascination with this invisible rodent, or Joe’s igneous flare-ups, never fully explained, just reacted to and exploited for (questionable) humor.

As directed by Michael Thomas-Visgar, and depicted by Etchison and Dempsey with subtle sensitivity, the scenes between these two shy, aging lovers play relatively well. As do most of the performances, for that matter. Though I wouldn’t want to live with her, Sturges’ perky Maddy is engaging to watch, while Fodor’s grounded portrayal acts as an effective conduit to the emotional heart of the story, such as it is. In short, the ensemble brings substance to its roles, turning the play into more than a hollow experience.

In the end, in fact, Albery does get around to saying something worth hearing about religion and faith and the need to believe, but I can’t tell you what that is without being a spoiler — only that the final scene builds to a very effective catharsis, and that it involves a confessional by Dave that Dempsey executes beautifully.

 

The Road on Magnolia in the NoHo Senior Arts Colony, 10747 Magnolia Blvd., NoHo; Thurs., 8 p.m.; Sat., 3 p.m.; Sun. 7 p.m.; through April 17. (818) 761-8838, roadtheatre.org. Running time: 2 hours and 15 minutes with a 15 minute intermission.

 

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