Mark brings Christina closer to him in Natalie Palamides’s Weer at the Cherry Lane (photo by Cherry Lane Theatre/A24)
WEER
Cherry Lane Theatre
38 Commerce St.
Tuesday – Sunday through December 21, $89-$169
www.cherrylanetheatre.org
One of my favorite theatrical moments of the year happened in Natalie Palamides’s outrageously funny and insanely inventive Weer. Mark is making a critically important phone call, and I desperately prayed for Christina to quickly return to the stage and answer it. I looked to the far corner, anxiously waiting on the edge of my seat, hoping she would pick it up — when it suddenly hit me that Christina was already there: Weer is a one-woman show in which Palamides is playing both roles, the right side of her body Mark, the left side Christina. Palamides, a trained improv clown, had me believing there were two fully embodied characters in the extraordinary ninety-minute satiric, deranged rom-com like no other. I rejoiced, so thoroughly in love with my reaction.
I went into Weer knowing absolutely nothing about it; I didn’t know who was in it or what it was about. And that made it all the more memorable. The run, which was extended several times at the newly refurbished Cherry Lane, is sold out, so I don’t mind sharing the details of my experience here (spoiler alert!), but if you’re planning on trying to get rush or standby tickets, don’t read on until after you’ve given it a shot.
The Pittsburgh-born Palamides won the Total Theatre Award at the 2018 Edinburgh Fringe Festival for Nate — A One Man Show, a big success on Netflix two years later. In the wildly unpredictable and participatory performance, Palamides wrestles with male toxicity as she portrays Nate, a gruff, hirsute dude who announces early on, “I guess I get to do whatever I want . . . to whoever I want . . . in this room.”
Weer takes place during a New Year’s Eve gathering in 1999, complete with worries that all hell might break loose at midnight, when Y2K threatens to destroy the world. But for ninety minutes, all hell does break loose onstage, as the narrative shifts to 1996, when Mark and Christina meet-cute, and then back to the party, where the couple faces several challenges. Palamides’s awesome costume (by Ashley Dudek) and over-the-top makeup feature a flannel shirt, a bushy mane, a beard and mustache, and chest hair on one side, a belly-revealing red knit top, long hair with colorful clips, jewelry, and a woman’s shoe on the other, positing Mark and Christina as old-fashioned gender stereotypes; he has a deep, gravelly, full-throated voice, while she has a softer, more compassionate tone.
Natalie Palamides plays both roles at the same time in Weer (photo by Cherry Lane Theatre/A24)
Palamides, who also wrote and directed the show, expertly flips sides — or individual body parts — as Mark and Christina talk, kiss, dance, argue, shower, drive, and have sex on Gabriel Evansohn’s wonderfully scattershot set, which is filled with surprises that arrive with the pull of a rope or a step on an odd prop (designed by lucas a degirolamo). Word of warning: You will be provided with a plastic poncho if you’re in the first row, and not just because water might be sprayed.
There is no official script; the sturm and drang is all in Palamides’s head as she incorporates the audience into the controlled mayhem, mugging to the crowd, tossing out knowing glances, and asking a few people to join her onstage or speak from their seats. She has us eating out of her hand every step of the way, at least when we’re not practically rolling on the floor laughing. She has a ton of fun toying with the physical concept, sharing such self-reflexive dialogue as “She’s like my other half” and “Weer never gonna be separated like that again,” as well as the psychological approach, exploring the elements of masculinity and femininity in each of us.
Palamides, who does a lot of voice work on cartoons (Bob’s Burgers, Duncanville, Haunted Hotel) in addition to playing Mara in the Progressive insurance commercials, is irresistible as Mark and Christina, whether she is clothed or unclothed, baring her body and soul in uproarious ways. She also includes an apt Gen X soundtrack, with such songs as Aimee Mann’s “Save Me” (“If you could save me / From the ranks of the freaks that suspect / They could never love anyone”), Smash Mouth’s “All Star” (“Well, the years start comin’ and they don’t stop comin’ / Fed to the rules and I hit the ground runnin’ / Didn’t make sense not to live for fun / Your brain gets smart, but your head gets dumb / So much to do, so much to see”), and Pearl Jam’s emotive car-accident cover “Last Kiss” (“Oh, where, oh, where can my baby be?”).
The title, Weer, comes from how Mark’s family ridiculously pronounces the word deer as if they were Elmer Fudd — the hunted animal figures prominently in the show — and how both Mark and Christina are not able to exactly figure out their relationship through the years, often repeating to each other “Weer,” as in “We’re . . . ,” but unable to finish the thought.
I have to admit that when I first entered the Cherry Lane, I was extremely concerned. Purchased in 2023 by the film company A24, the theater has a smaller lobby area where ticket holders battle for space with diners waiting to go into the new, upscale Wild Cherry restaurant. There was a long, roped-off line for the restrooms, and a concession stand was selling popcorn and drinks as if we were seeing a movie. (Notably, it is now a for-profit venture where it previously was a nonprofit, making its location on Commerce St. rather apt.) Popcorn at the theater? The smell and noise had me on the brink of a conniption. Fortunately, Weer is so engaging, and the laughter so continuous, that those anticipated distractions melted away quickly, as the audience had no time to eat or drink. I do wonder what will happen during a quiet, dark drama, but that’s for another day.
Even the program gets in on the entertaining absurdities, with whimsical art, an advertisement in which Palamides offers relationship advice via email, and a spread that asks, “Whose side are you on?”
I know whose side I’m on.
[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]