Taylor Gilbert and Andrew Elvis Miller (Photo by Lizzy Kimball)
Reviewed by Iris Mann
Broadwater Studio Theatre
Through November 24
RECOMMENDED
Presented in a particularly tiny space, this world premiere packs a powerful punch while establishing
an admirable sense of intimacy. The production is an example of how dynamic theater can be achieved under some of the most restrictive conditions. In this case, the small space has been cleverly outfitted and is utilized to maximum effect.
Playwright Shem Bitterman has fashioned a fascinating and meaningful tale, a drama with a growing underpinning of apprehension. In the play, an unusually heavy storm forces John Pine (Andrew Elvis Miller), famous host of the morning radio program, Lonesome Voice of the Prairie, to be stranded in a midwestern motel room with stranger, Ann Carlson (Taylor Gilbert), who considers herself his biggest fan. (These characters are simply named Man and Woman in the program for the play.)
The ensuing conversation between the two is full of twists and turns, and there is a subtle back and forth, with the emotional power in the exchange tenuously going from one to the other. She lives vicariously through what she knows of his life. At first, he is almost baiting her and projects an air of condescension but, at other times, he is friendly and understanding. As the seemingly ordinary talk progresses, secrets are revealed and confessions are extracted.
He acknowledges that most of the products he pushes on his radio show, for which she and her friends have spent hard-earned money, don’t really fulfill expectations. He adds that he gets paid for promoting certain merchandise. “And I’d have to have a sizable cut of the action,” he discloses. “See, that’s how that works, Ann, in my world no one — and I mean no one — gets anything for free.” She forgives him.
After a certain amount of coaxing, she confesses that she feels guilty for having failed to tell Becky, her drug addicted friend, that Becky’s fed- up husband was leaving for good with her two children. That was the last time she saw her friend outside of a coffin. He encourages her to forgive herself.
As the revelations become more and more disturbing, there is an atmosphere of tension, even dread, while at the same time the dialogue is laced with occasional humor. Structuring the surprises in the play so that they slowly build to a crescendo enhances the work’s overall impact.
The scenario touches on a number of themes. For one, it suggests that the heartland of America, the
country’s backbone, is decaying, because the lure of success and money is contaminating even the formerly pure at heart. “I send my voice out, but all I hear on the far end is silence,” the radio host laments. “No trust, no love. The people out there, the people on the prairie, I don’t know who they are anymore.”
Other themes include remorse, the unthinkable, forgiveness, covetousness, a surrender to prevailing and superficial values, and a hunger for connection.
It turns out to be fortuitous that the play is performed in such tight quarters. Being so close to the performance gives one the feeling of sitting in a room at the motel, watching two guests through the window of another room.
Director Ann Hearn Tobolowsky does a masterful job of navigating her actors and using the set so that
the spectator gets the sense that there is more expanse than there actually is. She also controls the action, allowing the tension to build slowly, yet definitively.
Both actors inhabit their characters effortlessly, and they listen attentively to each other. Taylor is every inch the midwestern, salt of the earth, woman. She has a particularly expressive face and fully commits to a panoply of emotions. She also astonishes the viewer as her character morphs from credulity to a totally unexpected cunning.
Miller, with chiseled features, easily exhibits the smooth quality his character, originally a country boy, has managed to acquire. Without giving anything away, the actor subtly conveys the sense that the man he portrays is sitting on an explosive secret, which he finally reveals with a certain pain and guilt, but without overt melodrama.
Particularly impressive is the sound design by Christopher Moscatiello. His thunder and falling rain effects help to create the feeling among audience members that they, too, are shut in during an especially violent storm.
The Broadwater, 1076 Lillian Way, Hlywd.; opens Fri., Oct. 18, 8 pm; perfs Fri.-Sat. 8 pm; Sun., 3 pm; thru Nov. 24. https://theciviltwilight.ludus.com. Running time: 90 minutes with no intermission.
