live performance

GLORY GLORY: LAURELYN DOSSETT AND BET WILLIAMS AT JALOPY

Who: Laurelyn Dossett, Bet Williams
What: Songwriting Studio and live concert
Where: Jalopy Theatre, 315 Columbia St. between Woodhull & Rapelye Sts.
When: Saturday, May 9, $60, 2:00; Saturday, May 9, $25, 8:30
Why: “There are secrets / Secrets I swore I’d never tell / But the ones that I loved are all good gone dead / So listen, children, listen well,” Laurelyn Dossett sings on “Run to the River” on her debut solo album, How Many Moons (August 28, Sycamore Road). The North Carolina native has written songs that have been recorded by Levon Helm and the Carolina Chocolate Drops and for the theater (Brother Wolf, Radiunt Abundunt) and has toured with Rhiannon Giddens, Alice Gerrard, and others, but she now takes center stage, joined by her longtime friend and Penn State college roommate, Bet Williams, who is currently recording a new LP, Magic Beauty Pain, the follow-up to such discs as Rose Tattoo, Elephants and Angels, and The 11th Hour. Williams and Giddens appear on How Many Moons, along with Sophia Catanoso, Kari Sickenberger, Charly Lowry, M. C. Taylor, and the Glory Glory Chorus, made up of friends and relatives singing on a family porch.

Produced by Taylor (Hiss Golden Messenger), How Many Moons is an intoxicating mix of Americana, folk, country, jazz, and blues, built around Dossett’s lovely voice. “Laurelyn Dossett is a songwriter and human that I find immensely inspiring. A survivor and a wonder-er. I know she has played a huge part in the lives of so many creative people, and I’m honored to have played a part in her new album,” Taylor said in a statement.

Dossett and Williams come to the Jalopy Theatre in Brooklyn on May 9, first for a two-hour Songwriting Studio workshop at 2:00 in which they will share their musical knowledge, giving advice on tunes that participants can bring with them. At 8:30 they take the stage for a reunion concert; despite knowing each other for four decades, they have never performed together before this tour. Expect a rollicking, poetic evening of gorgeous and camaraderie, as evidenced in the below brand-new video.

“It’s all about the music, yes,” Dossett explained about the record. “But I have pulled together some stuff, and some experiences, that come from me, my friends and family, and this beautiful place I call home. It’s all of a piece of me — the music, the people I love, the land, the river, the flora and fauna. And you, the listener.”

So listen, everyone, listen well.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer; you can follow him on Substack here.]

MAKING IT NEW: TALKING BAND CLIMBS THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN AT LA MAMA

Talking Band explores the magical world of Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain in latest production (photo by Maria Baranova)

THE DOOR SLAMS, A GLASS TREMBLES
La MaMa Experimental Theatre Club, the Downstairs
66 East Fourth St. between Second Ave. & Bowery
Wednesday – Sunday through May 9, $35-$40
www.lamama.org
talkingband.org

“All sorts of personal aims, hopes, ends, prospects, hover before the eyes of the individual, and out of these he derives the impulse to ambition and achievement,” Thomas Mann writes in his 1924 novel The Magic Mountain, which serves as the inspiration for Talking Band’s latest play, The Door Slams, a Glass Trembles. He continues, “Now, if the life about him, if his own time seems, however outwardly stimulating, to be at bottom empty of such food for his aspirations; if he privately recognizes it to be hopeless, viewless, helpless, opposing only a hollow silence to all the questions man puts, consciously or unconsciously, yet somehow puts, as to the final, absolute, and abstract meaning in all his efforts and activities; then, in such a case, a certain laming of the personality is bound to occur, the more inevitably the more upright the character in question; a sort of palsy, as it were, which may extend from his spiritual and moral over into his physical and organic part.”

Mann’s intellectual satire about time, love, and tuberculosis at the Berghof sanatorium in Davos in the Swiss Alps, influenced by his wife’s battle with the disease, forms the basis of the new play, written and directed by Paul Zimet and composed by and starring Ellen Maddow, cofounders of Talking Band in 1974 with Tina Shepard, who also appears in the seventy-five-minute intellectual satire.

The Door Slams . . . takes place in and around the Berghof. Marc (Jack Wetherall) and Clara (Maddow) live in the area, where they are visited by their son, Norm (Patrick Dunning), a teacher, and his wife, Jenny (Amara Granderson), who have recently had a baby, Abby. Also stopping by are friends Rick (Steven Rattazzi), a podcaster, and his wife, Rita (Lizzie Olesker), who teaches after-school programs, as well as Oona (Shepard), the town tax collector.

Their movements, particularly when setting the table for a meal, break out into exquisite dances choreographed by Flannery Gregg that make inventive, if repetitive, use of the table- and silverware. As the characters discuss the moon, memory, kairos, hummingbirds, loggers, pencils, tapeworms, and dementia and play charades, Anna Kiraly’s projections on the screen behind them switch from mountains to the forest to the sea. Dream sequences based on scenes from Mann’s novel add a love interest for Marc: his old flame, Anne (Delaney Feener), who becomes the mysterious Clavdia, with Joachim (Norm), Maryusya (Jenny), Dr. Leo Blumenkohl (Rick), Miss Robinson (Rita), Frau Stohr (Oona), and Fraulein Englehart (Clara).

“I used to love to walk along the shore,” Fraulein Englehart tells the doctor. “I could walk for miles with the waves rolling in, the clumps of seaweed on the sand, the vast grey-green water stretching to the horizon. Time drowns in the monotony of space.” The thought matches what Clara later opines: “I never thought we’d be here for so long. But I got used to it. The pace, the quiet, the routine. That’s what worried me. I felt I was becoming . . . dull.”

Meanwhile, Norm is the doomsayer, adding such dark lines as “Just another sign that we’re fucked.” and “I can hardly see the trees. Everything’s about to vanish.” When Oona says that Abby, noticing the baby monitor in her room, knows she is being watched, Norm replies, “Good preparation for the future.”

The Door Slams, a Glass Trembles takes place at a sanatorium in the Swiss Alps (photo by Maria Baranova)

Norm’s foreboding highlights the critical part of The Door Slams . . . that doesn’t work: in such recent triumphs as Triplicity, Existentialism, and Lemon Girls or Art for the Artless, Talking Band beautifully danced around didacticism while exploring the human condition. In The Door Slams . . . they make a number of comments about the Trump administration, without mentioning anyone by name, but the clearer they are, the more they stick out and call attention to themselves. For example, at one point Rick argues, “I tell Rose things could get a lot worse if we just sit on our butts and don’t do anything. Rita and I went to jail protesting nuclear weapons. We got teargassed demonstrating against the Iraq War. Rose just says, ‘And look where we are now.’”

In addition, the character of Anne/Clavdia feels out of place, and certain little touches, such as Norm and Rick wearing the same T-shirt, can cause confusion.

The narrative hits its stride whenever it finds its way into the poetic. “At my age there’s a lot of past in front me,” Marc says as the rain falls. When Clara is watching Marc looking out at the world from the porch, she narrates, “He’s watching dark clouds move across the sky from south to north and he thinks that’s curious. Usually they move from west to east, and then he thinks, What will happen if she dies before I do? What will I do to fill my life? He hears the rain approaching and wonders if he should close the windows.” It’s a stunning, gorgeous moment.

Even with its shortcomings, The Door Slams . . . is still unlike anything else on or off Broadway, exemplified by a brief conversation between Anne and Marc. “‘Make it new!’ Ezra Pound. That’s what I want to do, Marc,” she states. He asks, “Make what new?” She replies, “Everything. What I write, what I read, what I see.”

I can’t wait to see what Talking Band has in store for us next.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer; you can follow him on Substack here.]

GETTING DOWN TO NUTS AND BOLTS: RICHARD BARONE AND JAMES MASTRO AT CITY WINERY

Who: James Mastro, Richard Barone
What: Nuts & Bolts Revisited Tour
Where: The Loft at City Winery, 25 Eleventh Ave. at Fifteenth St.
When: Sunday, May 3, $30-$42, 7:30
Why: Forty-three years ago, Hoboken legends the Bongos went on the road in support of their EP Numbers with Wings, the follow-up to their breakthrough debut LP, Drums Along the Hudson. The tour included a memorable gig at Columbia University that you can listen to here. During that time, guitarist and vocalist Richard Barone and multi-instrumentalist James Mastro wrote songs that they recorded with Mitch Easter of Let’s Active in North Carolina; the result was the folk/power pop album Nuts & Bolts, with one side comprising songs by Barone, the other by Mastro. Among the tunes were the former’s “I’ve Got a Secret” and “Flew a Falcon” and the latter’s “Time Will Tell” and “Angel in My Pocket.”

Mastro is one of the hardest-working musicians in the business; he just can’t put down his guitar. He has played with Ian Hunter, Alejandro Escovedo, Patti Smith, Richard Hell, Megan Reilly, the Health & Happiness Show, Rachael Sage, and countless others in addition to opening Guitar Bar and art gallery/performance venue 503 Social Club in Hoboken. In February 2024, the consummate sideman released his debut solo record, Dawn of a New Error, to widespread acclaim. Meanwhile, Barone made such highly regarded albums as Cool Blue Halo, Primal Dream, and Glow, produced numerous tribute and benefit concerts, and wrote the memoir Frontman: Surviving the Rock Star Myth.

I’ve had a long connection with both of them; I’ve known Mastro since the late 1980s and have seen him play in many configurations. Around that same time, the woman who would become my wife won a signed copy of Cool Blue Halo that she presented to me, and then we went to see Barone perform a killer set at the Bottom Line, a seminal moment in our courtship.

Mastro and Barone, who have gotten together for Bongos reunions, are back on the road for a brief tour celebrating the rerelease of Nuts & Bolts on Iconoclassic Records, fully remastered and complete with such bonus tracks as a live version of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” from a United Nations gig. The tour started in Philly, Rhode Island, and Woodstock and comes to City Winery on May 3 before concluding in Freehold. The first set focuses on Nuts & Bolts, while the second features solo tunes from throughout their individual careers.

They’re both wonderful storytellers, so this is a terrific opportunity to catch what should be a very special show.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer; you can follow him on Substack here.]

LIFE IS NO PICNIC: YOU GOT OLDER AT THE CHERRY LANE

Alia Shawkat and Peter Friedman star as a daughter and father who reconnect in Clare Barron’s You Got Older (photo by Marc J. Franklin)

YOU GOT OLDER
Cherry Lane Theatre
38 Commerce St.
Tuesday – Sunday through May 3, $89-$189
www.cherrylanetheatre.org

Alia Shawkat makes an exciting theatrical stage debut as a single woman having “like the second worst moment of my life so far” in the stirring revival of Clare Barron’s You Got Older at the Cherry Lane.

After losing her job and her boyfriend at the same time — she was sleeping with her boss — the thirty-two-year-old Mae, a Minneapolis lawyer, has returned to the family home in a small agricultural town in eastern Washington State. Not only does she need a respite, but her father (Peter Friedman) has cancer of the larynx, so she can help out at least for a while.

Nearly everyone in their circle seems to be having issues with physical bodies. In addition to their father’s illness, Mae, who no longer has health insurance, has a lump in her throat and a large, ugly rash that requires special ointment; her sister Jenny (Nina White) has a pericardial cyst and can’t eat meat or gluten; her sister Hannah’s (Nadine Malouf) ex-boyfriend died of a rare blood cancer, and she thinks she may be passing bad skin, cancer, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and male pattern baldness to her son; her brother, Matthew (Misha Brooks), might have a weird penis; her old schoolmate Mac (Caleb Joshua Eberhardt) admits to liking pus, scabs, and flaky skin; Mae’s fantasy lover, Luke the Canadian Cowboy (Paul Cooper), has weeping lesions from his neck to his groin; and the entire Hardy family suffers from acidic mouths and body odor.

Mae wants to move forward but inner and outer forces seem hell-bent on preventing that. In addition to having to move back to the house where she grew up, she has been told by her dentist that she should use a child-size toothbrush, she’s horny like she way when she was in high school, and she sneaks Mac into her bedroom to hide him from her father. She also has a cat named, appropriately enough, Murphy, hinting that everything that could go wrong just might.

Mae (Alia Shawkat) and Mac (Caleb Joshua Eberhardt) share their likes and dislikes in revival at the Cherry Lane (photo by Marc J. Franklin)

“I hate it when I feel helpless,” she tells her father, who doesn’t mind occasionally not being in control. “I love it when you just get to lie back and let people take care of you,” he says to Mae, who can’t understand that.

When the whole family is finally together, Jenny proclaims, “It’s like we’re on a picnic.”

Not quite.

Barron (Shhhh, Dance Nation), who won an Obie for the play, wrote You Got Older after her father was diagnosed with cancer and she went through a breakup. In a program note, she writes, “This play was written and finished in the middle of a personal crisis — before anything was resolved. And so, for me it remains a kind of play without perspective. The characters are so far inside of something that they don’t know how to explain what’s happening to them. The result is a lot of avoidance.”

While there is plenty of psychological avoidance — most of the characters exist in their own private space — the act of physically touching occurs over and over again, whether it is the application of ointment, hugging a stranger who may be crying, or having sex. The father is the only one who likes to get his hands dirty, as evidenced by the garden he has started where he grows peppers and other plants.

Anne Kaufman (Mary Jane, The Nether) helmed the 2014 premiere, which included Obie winners Brooke Bloom and William Jackson Harper and Tony winners Reed Birney and Miriam Silverman, and she directs the revival as well, keeping things dark and mysterious, alternating between fantasy and reality as Mae tries to find her way in a world that’s letting her down but she can’t get back on track. The transitions between scenes on Arnulfo Maldonado’s ever-morphing set can be as bumpy as some of the subplots, but the challenging narrative makes it all worthwhile.

Shawkat (Arrested Development, Search Party) is alluring as a woman who is as unpredictable as she is appealing. Friedman (Job, The Nether) once again is masterful as a sweet man who remains upbeat as he faces the end, exemplified by the theme song he has chosen for himself, Regina Spektor’s “Firewood,” in which she sings, “Rise from your cold hospital bed / I’ll tell you, you’re not dying / Everyone knows you’re going to live / So you might as well start trying.”

Even as we get older, it’s never time to stop trying.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer; you can follow him on Substack here.]

HERE’S TO THE EXTRAS: WHAT HAPPENED WAS . . . AT AUDIBLE’S MINETTA LANE

Michael (Corey Stoll) and Jackie (Cecily Strong) are on a first date in revival of Tom Noonan play (photo by Evan Zimmerman for MurphyMade)

WHAT HAPPENED WAS . . .
Audible’s Minetta Lane Theatre
18 Minetta Lane between Sixth Ave. and MacDougal St.
Through May 28, $55-$236.50
www.audible.com

“It’s weird . . . sometimes when I’m on the subway and people are whirring by me — lots of them — or on a bus looking out at the crowded sidewalks — it’s hard to believe that I have a life like all those people — that I am going through all this stuff, you know — that we’re all just not like extras,” Jackie says in Tom Noonan’s What Happened Was . . . “You mean like on a movie?” Michael responds. Jackie answers, “Yeah, it’s like we’re not here — that we don’t really have lives.”

It’s a feeling most everyone has had at one time or another, especially in New York, where both Jackie and Michael, two unusual, lonely people, work at the same law firm, she an executive assistant, he a paralegal. Of course, they don’t really have lives; they’re characters that first appeared in a 1992 play that debuted in the round at the Paradise Theater, which Noonan founded, on East Fourth St., followed by a highly influential 1994 indie film that gained great acclaim. Both were written and directed by Noonan, who also starred as Michael opposite Karen Sillas as Jackie onstage and on the big screen.

Those roles are now being performed by Corey Stoll and Cecily Strong, respectively, in a sparkling revival at Audible’s Minetta Lane Theatre, part of the company’s collaboration with Hugh Jackman and Sonia Friedman’s Together, which began last year with Ella Hickson’s Sexual Misconduct of the Middle Classes and August Strindberg’s Creditors in repertory. This spring, What Happened Was . . . is running in repertory with Sexual Misconduct through April 30, then with Hickson’s New Born, featuring Jackman, Marianna Gailus, and Sepideh Moafi. All are directed by Ian Rickson.

What Happened Was . . . takes place in real time on one night. Jackie has invited Michael over to her apartment for dinner, a first date, although Michael seems a bit clueless initially. They gossip about people at work, discuss music, and talk about their apartments — Jackie’s studio has a great view on the west side, while Michael lives in a one-bedroom on the east side. She comes from a big family on Long Island, while he was raised in Westchester.

He is tightly wound, moving stiffly, complaining about words that bother him (ritzy, seafood), explaining how birds are dinosaurs, and grimacing when Jackie announces they’ll be eating frozen scallops she’s heating up in the microwave, leading him to describe just how the appliance works. He keeps his briefcase nearby and doesn’t seem to be comfortable in his own skin.

Corey Stoll and Cecily Strong are terrific in Audible/Together production of What Happened Was . . . (photo by Evan Zimmerman for MurphyMade)

Walking around barefoot, she is a freer spirit who shares what’s on her mind without a filter, although she wants everything to go right with Michael. She comments on how the suits he wears at the office make him look like a partner; meanwhile, in the corner opposite the kitchen are several racks of clothes, as if Jackie’s wardrobe is a theatrical costume room. (Brett J. Banakis and Christine Jones’s cozy set also features a pull-out sofa, a record player, wooden floors, small tables with lamps, a black chest, and a New York City Ballet Academy poster.)

As Jackie keeps pouring more wine, the two lost souls connect and disconnect as Michael goes into detail about the novel he is writing and Jackie is tempted to read her latest children’s story, which turns out to be utterly unforgettable. Having worked in children’s publishing for more than twenty-five years, I can say that I’ve never heard anything like it before.

Deftly directed by Rickson, What Happened Was . . . is a compelling adult tale boasting two outstanding performances; Stoll (Plenty, Othello), who chose not to watch the film version before doing the play, and Strong (Brooklyn Laundry, The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe) once again prove that they are among our finest actors, each adding small touches of nuance and detail that give depth to their characters. You have to watch them every second to catch it all.

It’s a shame that Noonan, who also made such films as The Wife and The Shape of Something Squashed and had recurring roles on such series as The Beat, Damages, and 12 Monkeys, will be unable to see the production; he passed away on Valentine’s Day at the age of seventy-four.

In the early scene cited above, Michael continues, “I would have thought you’d feel real and that everyone else was an extra.” Jackie responds, “Yeah, I guess, but not really.” A moment later Michael makes a toast: “Here’s to the extras.”

Amen to that.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer; you can follow him on Substack here.]

EVERY GRAIN OF SAND: A MOTHER AND SON EXPLORE THE PHYSICS OF DEATH

Physicist and professor Bulbul Chakraborty won an Obie for her performance in Rheology (photo by Maria Baranova)

RHEOLOGY
Playwrights Horizons, Peter Jay Sharp Theater
416 West 42nd St. between Ninth & Tenth Aves.
Through May 16, $53.50-$93.50
www.playwrightshorizons.org

When is a physics lecture not a physics lecture? When it’s also a genius theatrical meditation on family and death.

First presented last spring at the Bushwick Starr in association with HERE Arts Center and Ma-Yi Theater Company, Rheology is back for an encore run at Playwrights Horizons, where it is beguiling audiences with its intoxicating mix of science and multimedia art. Written and directed by Obie winner and Pulitzer finalist Shayok Misha Chowdhury, the ninety-minute play was created in collaboration with his mother, renowned theoretical physicist and professor Bulbul Chakraborty, who specializes in condensed matter and how nonthermal systems, particularly sand, respond to external stresses.

When the doors open, Chakraborty is already onstage, writing down formulas and equations across a long digital blackboard relating to field theory, Gauss’s Law, Faraday’s Law, and the rheology of fragile matter. In this case, the fragile matter is Chowdhury, who is seen in a photo as a child with his mother projected above the blackboard; the screen is also used to share scientific photographic and video information. In addition, a camera zooms in on an hourglass on her table, projecting it onto a side monitor, and a child’s sandbox beckons. (The video design is by Kameron Neal, Chowdhury’s partner, with set by Krit Robinson and live music by cellist George Crotty.)

As Chakraborty performs an experiment describing how the solid sand can behave like a liquid, she starts choking, bending over in distress. Several people in the audience began calling out to her, asking if they should contact 911; a woman sitting behind me was practically freaking out. I didn’t want to ruin the experience for her, but I felt I had to tell her that it was part of the show, that Chakraborty wasn’t dying right in front of us as we did nothing.

She suddenly stops, and a man in the audience asks her why. She explains that she usually pretends to choke longer but she could feel the energy in the room shift to genuine concern. The man then identifies himself as Chowdhury, and he describes what it was like growing up the only child of two physicists; as a bonus, his father, Partha Chowdhury, a graduate professor who specializes in gamma-ray spectroscopy and nuclear structure, was in the audience that night. Chowdhury talks about his nightmares about his mother’s eventual death — she is not ill, but we all die eventually — and so dreamed up this play to savor more experiences with her.

“The time we have left together is finite,” Chowdhury posits. “And it’s almost this . . . pressure I’ve been feeling, like I can’t be . . . in the moment when we’re together because I’m aware that each moment is a moment I’m supposed to be making the most of. Um . . . so . . . what I have done is forced her to . . . be in a show with me . . . so we can spend more time together . . . because as long as we’re doing this show she is literally . . . contractually obligated to be alive. . . . So what we’re doing here is a kind of exposure therapy for me. . . . Whenever I’ve expressed to her that I could not in fact survive her death, my mom is like: But how do you know that, that’s not a statement of fact, that’s a hypothesis, where’s the evidence? You need to gather evidence to support your hypothesis. And I was like: How do I do that? And she was like: I thought you did experimental theater? Why don’t you design an experiment to test your hypothesis? And I was like: You mean, kill you? And she was like: Could you do a simulation?”

And so they do an extremely realistic simulation in a way that regularly circles back to Chakraborty’s studies of the properties of sand, investigating them as both individual grains and how they react with other grains en masse, like a human being relating to other human beings, or to one specifically — for example, a loved one.

Misha Chowdhury faces his fears about his mother’s eventual death in deeply personal play (photo by Maria Baranova)

Not surprisingly, while Chakraborty accepts the facts that she, and the rest of us, are going to die, Chowdhury is far more emotional and dramatic about it, which results in a compelling dynamic between mother and son, scientist and theater maker. Beautifully presented, the show is likely to have each audience member considering their own relationship with death, be it theirs or someone close to them. For me, it instantly brought back memories of the deaths of my mother (at seventy-six) and father (at forty-seven) as well as that of my mother-in-law, who passed last October at the age of eighty-nine. In addition, it was fascinating to look over at Partha Chowdhury every once in a while and wonder what was going through his mind as he watched his wife “die” onstage and his son proclaim that he cannot go on without her.

Chakraborty, who won an Obie for her performance, is utterly charming and engaging playing herself; she appears to be a terrific teacher and a wonderful mother — and an expert improviser. Chowdhury (Public Obscenities, Prince Faggot) holds nothing back as he willingly, and entertainingly, shares his deepest, darkest fears with a combination of sadness and humor, emphasizing his fragility. It all comes together when he goes into the sandbox and attempts to build a castle, a powerful metaphor for everything that has come before it. Kudos should also go out to dramaturg Sarah Lunnie for the tight structure.

In his 1981 song “Every Grain of Sand,” which closes every concert on his neverending tour, Bob Dylan sings, “I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea / Sometimes I turn, there’s someone there, other times it’s only me / I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man / Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.”

Rheology also concludes with poetry, by Indian polymath Rabindranath Tagore, followed by a moving hypothesis that goes far beyond scientific theory and a lecture on physics.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer; you can follow him on Substack here.]

ADDING IT UP: AN EXPERIMENTAL REVIVAL FROM THE NEW GROUP

Mrs. Zero (Jennifer Tilly) has a lot to say to Mr. Zero (Daphne Rubin-Vega) in New Group experimental revival (photo by Monique Carboni)

THE ADDING MACHINE
Theatre at St. Clement’s
423 West 46th St. between Ninth & Tenth Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through May 17, $39-$135; livestream May 7, $39.99, 7:00
thenewgroup.org

At the heart of the New Group’s revival of Elmer L. Rice’s 1923 satire, The Adding Machine, extended at the Theatre at St. Clement’s through May 17, is humanity’s fear of displacement and extinction — not by another species but by our own creations.

Ten years ago, Israeli theoretical computer scientist Moshe Vardi said, “We are approaching a time when machines will be able to outperform humans at almost any task. I believe that society needs to confront this question before it is upon us: If machines are capable of doing almost any work humans can do, what will humans do?”

Technological unemployment has been on the minds of humans since ancient times; warnings about robots and machinery taking over have been posited by Aristotle, John Maynard Keynes, Isaac Asimov, Rod Serling, Philip K. Dick, and Stanley Kubrick.

Pulitzer Prize winner Rice’s (Street Scene) prescient work now features “experimental” revisions by Thomas Bradshaw that make it relevant to the current day, as AI threatens not only the future of a wide range of workers but of humanity itself.

As the audience enters the theater, a light shines down on an adding machine that boldly sits center stage; a sign of progress, it may not appear threatening, but to many it can be seen as a villain whose presence, in this case, will lead to violence and a journey into the afterlife.

Among the most important changes Bradshaw has made is the addition of a friendly narrator (Michael Cyril Creighton) who announces at the beginning, “You are about to witness a heart-warming tale about modern life crushing the human spirit. This isn’t a place where life is ‘lived,’ but rather ‘endured.’ A world of worn-out routines, frayed tempers, and dreams so thoroughly flattened that no one even remembers having them. . . . Listen, I know this all might sound depressing and why the hell would you even want to endure this, let alone pay for it, but fear not! I promise there’s plenty of humor in watching humans try to navigate a society that keeps nudging them toward becoming polite and obedient. You may even recognize a few things from your own life. If so, I apologize in advance.”

That opening is followed by a long, biting monologue in which Mrs. Zero (Jennifer Tilly), in bed with her husband, Mr. Zero (Daphne Rubin-Vega), lets loose a verbose diatribe about going to the pictures, getting older, and their failed marriage, exacerbated by Mr. Zero’s attraction to a young woman who lives in their complex, his inability to get promoted at his accounting job, and how “Captain Standish doesn’t stand at attention for me anymore.” Tucked under the covers, Mr. Zero barely moves, as if he’s dead, ignoring his wife, who is tired of playing second fiddle.

“What about me? Where do I come in?” she argues. “You think I don’t know what it’s like — going to that office every day, adding numbers till you feel like one. But I do. My office is this house, these same four walls. And I been adding, too. Adding the days, my gray hairs, and the silences you could bury a life inside. Adding and adding until the total’s too much to bear.”

Humans performing office work are doomed in The Adding Machine (photo by Monique Carboni)

The next day, Mr. Zero believes he is going to be celebrated at work for his twenty-fifth anniversary. He earns his salary writing down numbers that his longtime colleague, the efficient Daisy Diana Dorothea Devore (Sarita Choudhury), reads aloud from receipts. He talks down to her, making her angry.

“You make me sick,” he says. She opines, “I wish I was dead.” They bicker like an old couple. He admits that maybe he would marry her, while she notes that it might be too late for them to have kids. He cuts her off, declaring, “Can’t you slow up? What do you think I am — a machine?”

When the cold-hearted boss (Creighton) tells Mr. Zero that he’s being replaced by an adding machine, the disgruntled employee murders him. At a dinner party that night, during which the host Zeros discuss sports, health, voting, immigrants, and other topics with the Ones, Twos, Threes, Fours, Fives, and Sixes (all played by Creighton), Mr. Zero is arrested, unapologetic for what he has done. At his trial, he delivers a numbers-laden, racist, misogynistic tirade about the societal ills that led him to kill his boss. Soon he finds himself in the Elysian Fields, where he is met by a series of surprises.

In The Adding Machine, life is a boring numbers game that can’t be won. As Lt. Charles (Creighton) explains to Mr. Zero, “Before there were numbers, there was counting. Before there was meaning, there was routine.”

There is little that is routine about the play, directed by New Group founding artistic director Scott Elliott, who has previously collaborated with Bradshaw on Intimacy, Burning, and The Seagull/Woodstock; they are not afraid to take chances and challenge the audience. Although not everything works — several of the afterlife scenes are awkward — what does succeed takes things from the sublime to the ridiculous, or, perhaps, the ridiculous to the more ridiculous.

It begins with casting. In the long-forgotten, misguided 1969 film, Milo O’Shea played Mr. Zero, Phyllis Diller was Mrs. Zero, and Billie Whitelaw portrayed Daisy Devore. In the play, Tilly (Don’t Dress for Dinner, The Women) is like a one-woman band as Mrs. Zero, her alternately squeaky, gravelly voice littered with musical grunts and sighs. Choudhury (the New Group’s Roar, The Flatted Fifth, and Rafta, Rafta . . .) is elegant and alluring as Daisy, an excellent foil to Mr. Zero, portrayed as a short, squat, angry man by two-time Tony nominee Rubin-Vega (Rent, the New Group’s Everything’s Turning into Beautiful) in a bulky suit and mustache. Creighton (The Amateurs, Stage Kiss) is warm and welcoming as the narrator, a tour guide, a man who has committed matricide, the boss, the lieutenant, Judy O’Grady, and other characters.

Derek McLane’s set consists of file cabinets that turn into other pieces of furniture, a back wall with dozens of lamps and fans in their own cubbies, and an electric chair that takes the place of the adding machine. The costumes are by Catherine Zuber, with stark lighting by Jeff Croiter and sharp sound by Stan Mathabane.

There is plenty of debate on how AI will affect people’s jobs. According to Authentic Ventures partner Robin Bordoli, “I think what makes AI different from other technologies is that it’s going to bring humans and machines closer together. AI is sometimes incorrectly framed as machines replacing humans. It’s not about machines replacing humans but machines augmenting humans.”

Journalist Kevin Drum counters, “Sometime in the next forty years, robots are going to take your job. I don’t care what your job is. If you dig ditches, a robot will dig them better. If you’re a magazine writer, a robot will write your articles better. If you’re a doctor, IBM’s Watson will no longer ‘assist’ you in finding the right diagnosis from its database of millions of case studies and journal articles. It will just be a better doctor than you.”

In the play, the fixer (Creighton) from the claims department tells Mr. Zero, “The machine is quicker, it never makes a mistake, it’s always on time. It presents no problems of housing, traffic congestion, water supply, sanitation.”

That’s something that is going to keep being heard as long as humans are on this earth.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer; you can follow him on Substack here.]