Rorschach Fest, Inkblot C
Reviewed by Deborah Klugman
Open Fist Theatre Company
Through April 5 [NOTE: Remaining performances suspended due to COVID-19]
In a Rorschach test, an individual is presented with a series of abstract images and asked what they see. Their answers are used by the administering psychiatrist or psychologist to gain insight into that person’s state of mind.
Open Fist Theater Company’s current production is titled Rorschach Fest. Presented as three separate programs, it’s a series of short plays by John O’Keefe, Harold Pinter, Daniel MacIvor and Caryl Churchill — four playwrights widely recognized for the distinctive style and/or content of their work.
“Inkblot C” features two plays by Churchill, a writer I’ve always admired for her strong feminist themes and razor-sharp deconstruction of Establishment hypocrisies. Open Fist has staged several of Churchill’s plays over the years, memorably so, in my opinion. These productions — of Cloud Nine, Fen and Mad Forest — are mentioned in the program by Martha Demson, the company’s artistic director and the director of the first play on this program, This is a Chair. Demson notes how these past productions coincided with her own personal milestones and those of the company.
Unlike these full-length works, This is a Chair, the first half of this program, consists of a series of brief sketches, each portraying two or three people interacting in an everyday situation — but accompanied, rather enigmatically, by a title referencing some major event or trend in the world at large. For example, a couple (Alexander Wells and Debba Rofheart) meet up for a date that’s swiftly aborted when the woman informs the man (who, anxious to please, has brought flowers) that she’s gotten her days confused and must leave for her date with someone else. This sketch is labeled (with chyron on the back wall) “The War in Bosnia.”
Or, two thuggish men (Neil Oktay and Schulyer Mastain) come after their sister’s (Emma Bruno) boyfriend for no discernible reason other than pure malice (“The Labour Party’s Slide to the Right”). In another, two women (AlgeRita Wynn and Carmella Jenkins) discuss an outpatient medical procedure and whether it’s better to use an anesthetic or no (“Animal Conservation and Third World Economies: the Ivory Trade”). In a fourth, a husband (Art Hall) and wife (Dionna Veremis), their frustration palpable, attempt to persuade their child (Jenkins) to eat (“Pornography and Censorship,” but when the scene is replayed, the title is “The Peace Process in Northern Ireland”).
Under Demson’s direction, the acting, presented on a spare set (Jan Munroe) is able but uninvolving: The piece is fragmented and the individual segments don’t begin to approach a catharsis. As for the cryptic chyrons, as with most Rorschach images, I have no idea what they mean.
Here We Go is an edgy play about death that’s directed by Matthew McCray. It’s a cogent work but undermined by haphazard staging — the actors’ movements appear random and improvised — and by a weak pivotal performance. There are three segments. In the first, a group of people gather at the wake of a newly deceased acquaintance and engage in social palaver and personal reminiscence, not all of it kind. Their conversation is broken up by brief statements from each individual who, stepping away from the group and speaking directly to the audience, recount how and when he or she died.
The second part (from a literary standpoint, the most striking element of the program) is an extended monologue, an imagining of the experience of a person (Alberto Isaac), who has just died, beginning with the sensation of tumbling down a long tunnel (lighting in red and gold hues by Matt Richter, accompanying sound by Tim Labor) through a series of ruminations about the vagaries of living and uncertain thoughts about what lies ahead (would there be reincarnation and if so, into what?). It’s a wonderful piece of writing but unfortunately it’s “performed” — there’s no eye contact with the audience nor any sign that the performer has internalized his role in any way — something that’s up to the director to address.
The final sequence is an affecting delineation of the debilitation of old age, as Isaac wordlessly portrays a solitary infirm old man struggling through his daily routine — sad intimations, for many of us, of what’s to come.
Atwater Village Theatre, 3269 Casitas Ave., Atwater; for performance schedule, go to www.openfist.org; [NOTE: Remaining performances suspended due to COVID-19]. For tickets: https://openfist.secure.force.com/ticket. Running time: approximately 55 minutes with no intermission.
