this week in theater

GO PUBLIC! THE COMEDY OF ERRORS AND MORE

PUBLIC THEATER MOBILE UNIT: THE COMEDY OF ERRORS
Multiple locations in all five boroughs
May 28 – June 30, free (no RSVP necessary)
publictheater.org

Last year the Public Theater’s Mobile Unit presented Rebecca Martínez and Julián Mesri’s terrific bilingual adaptation of William Shakespeare’s The Comedy of Errors. The production is back for the 2024 summer season, on the road May 28 through June 30, making stops in all five boroughs: the New York Public Library/Bryant Park, Wolfe’s Pond, J. Hood Wright Park, Hudson Yards, Roy Wilkins Park, A.R.R.O.W. Field House, the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine, Sunset Park, Travers Park, Maria Hernandez Park, Astor Place, St. Mary’s Park, and the Peninsula at Prospect Park.

No advance reservations are necessary, but you should get there early if you want to get up close and personal with the show; last year I caught it in the Richard Rodgers Amphitheater in Marcus Garvey Park, where some audience members sat on the stage, surrounding the action. If you’re not familiar with the Mobile Unit, you need to be; the program is now in its thirteenth year of bringing free Shakespeare to all five boroughs, presenting works in prisons, shelters, and underserved community centers as well as city parks.

With the Delacorte undergoing renovation, the Mobile Unit is part of “Go Public!,” a festival of free Shakespeare events that includes The Comedy of Errors, outdoor screenings of Kenny Leon’s 2019 Shakespeare in the Park production of Much Ado about Nothing starring Danielle Brooks, Chuck Cooper, Margaret Odette, and Billy Eugene Jones, online streaming of that show as well as 2021’s Merry Wives, 2022’s Richard III, and 2023’s Hamlet, and a block party on July 28.

Below is my review of The Comedy of Errors from last year; I cannot recommend it highly enough.

A fab cast sings and dances its way through exuberant production of The Comedy of Errors (photo by Peter Cooper)

PUBLIC THEATER MOBILE UNIT: THE COMEDY OF ERRORS
Multiple locations in all five boroughs
Through May 21, free (no RSVP necessary)
Shiva Theater, May 25 – June 11, free with RSVP
publictheater.org

The Public Theater’s Mobile Unit touring production of The Comedy of Errors is the most fun I’ve ever had at a Shakespeare play.

The Mobile Unit is now in its twelfth year of bringing free Shakespeare to all five boroughs, presenting works in prisons, shelters, and underserved community centers as well as city parks. On May 13, it pulled into the Richard Rodgers Amphitheater in Marcus Garvey Park, where part of the audience sat on the stage, on all four sides of a small, intimate square area where the action takes place; attendees could also sit in the regular seats, long concrete benches under the open sky.

Emmie Finckel’s spare set features a wooden platform and a bright yellow stepladder that serves several purposes. Lux Haac’s attractive, colorful costumes hang on racks at the back, where the actors perform quick changes. Music director and musician Jacinta Clusellas and guitarist Sara Ornelas sit on folding chairs, performing Julián Mesri’s Latin American–inspired score; Ornelas is fabulous as a troubadour and musical narrator, often wandering around the space and leading the cast in song. The lyrics, by Mesri and director and choreographer Rebecca Martínez, who collaborated on the adaptation, are in English and Spanish and are not necessarily translated word for word, but you will understand what is going on regardless of your primary tongue. As the troubadour explains, “I should mention that most of / this show will be performed in English / though it’s supposed to / take place in two states in Ancient Greece. / But don’t be surprised / if these actors switch their language.”

Trimmed down to a smooth-flowing ninety minutes, the show tells the story of a pair of twins, Dromio (Gían Pérez) and Antipholus (Joel Perez), who were separated at birth. In Ephesus, Dromio serves Antipholus, a wealthy man married to the devoted Adriana (Danaya Esperanza) but cheating on her with a lusty, demanding courtesan (Desireé Rodriguez). The other Dromio and Antipholus arrive in Ephesus and soon have everyone running around in circles as the mistaken identity slapstick ramps up.

Adriana (Danaya Esperanza) and Dromio (Gían Pérez) are all mixed up in The Comedy of Errors (photo by Peter Cooper)

Meanwhile, the merchant Egeon (Varín Ayala) is facing execution because he is from Syracuse, whose citizens are barred from Ephesus, per a decree from the Duchess Solina (Rodriguez); the goldsmith Angelo (Ayala, to be played in 2024 by Glendaliris Torres-Greaux) has made a fancy gold rope necklace for Antipholus but gives it to the wrong one; the Syracuse Dromio is confounded when Adriana’s kitchen maid claims to be his wife; the Syracuse Antipholus falls madly in love with Luciana (Keren Lugo), Adriana’s sister; and an abbess (Rodriguez) is determined to protect anyone who seeks sanctuary.

In case any or all of that is confusing, the troubadour clears things up in a series of songs that explain some, but not all, of the details, and the Public also provides everyone with a cheat sheet. Again, the troubadour: “In case you missed it / or took a little nap / Here’s what’s been happening / since we last had a chat / We’ll do our best / but we confess / this plot is really putting our skills to the test.”

It all comes together sensationally at the conclusion, as true identities are revealed, conflicts are resolved, and love wins out.

Martínez (Sancocho, Living and Breathing) fills the amphitheater with an infectious and supremely delightful exuberance. The terrific cast interacts with the audience, as if we are the townspeople of Ephesus. Gían Pérez (Sing Street) and Joel Perez (Sweet Charity, Fun Home) are hilarious as the two sets of twins, who switch hat colors to identify which brother they are at any given time. Esperanza (Mary Jane, for colored girls . . .) shines as the ever-confused, ultradramatic Adriana, Lugo (Privacy, At the Wedding) is lovely as Luciana and the duchess, Rodriguez is engaging as Emilia and the courtesan, and Ayala (The Merchant of Venice, The Taming of the Shrew) excels as Angelo, Egeon, and Dr. Pinch.

But Ornelas (A Ribbon About a Bomb, American Mariachi) all but steals the show, switching between leather and denim jackets as she portrays minor characters and plays her guitar with a huge smile on her face, words and music lifting into the air. Charles Coes’s sound design melds with the wind blowing through the trees and other people enjoying themselves in the park on a Saturday afternoon. There are no errors in this comedy.

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

THE FRIEL PROJECT: MOLLY SWEENEY

Rufus Collins, Sarah Street, and John Keating star in Irish Rep revival (photo by Carol Rosegg)

MOLLY SWEENEY
Irish Repertory Theatre, Francis J. Greenburger Mainstage
132 West Twenty-Second St. between Sixth & Seventh Aves.
Wednesday – Sunday through June 30, $60-$95
212-727-2737
irishrep.org

Early on in Irish Rep’s riveting revival of Brian Friel’s 1994 three-character play Molly Sweeney, Mr. Rice (Rufus Collins), an ophthalmologist, recounts his first meeting with Molly Sweeney (Sarah Street), who has been blind since she was ten months old, and her husband of two years, Frank Sweeney (John Keating). “I liked her. I liked her calm and her independence; the confident way she shook my hand and found a seat for herself with her white cane. And when she spoke of her disability, there was no self-pity, no hint of resignation. Yes, I liked her,” he tells the audience. “She had a full life and never felt at all deprived.”

He then describes the irrepressible Frank’s constant interruptions, insisting that there was some hope to restore her eyesight because she could detect shadows when Frank passed his hand in front of her face. Mr. Rice recalls agreeing with Frank, saying, “If there is a chance, any chance, that she might be able to see, we must take it, mustn’t we? How can we not take it? She has nothing to lose, has she? What has she to lose? — nothing! — nothing!” But they come to this conclusion without Molly’s input, two males deciding what is best for a woman.

At a party the night before her surgery, Molly realizes that she is not doing it for herself. “With sudden anger I thought: Why am I going for this operation? None of this is my choosing. Then why is this happening to me? I am being used,” she says. “Of course, I trust Frank. Of course, I trust Mr. Rice. But how can they know what they are taking away from me? How do they know what they are offering me? They don’t. They can’t. And have I anything to gain? — anything? — anything?”

In her 2019 Missouri Medicine article “Hear Me Out,” Amelia Cooper explores the controversy over cochlear implant devices; while some members of the deaf community and their families celebrate, in online videos, people being able to hear for the first time, others find them “oppressive and offensive. For these critics, deafness is not defined by the lack of ability to hear, but, rather, by a distinct cultural identity of which they are proud.” Much like deaf people who get implants and regain at least some of their ability to hear, Molly realizes that if she were to regain at least some of her sight, she may have plenty to lose, something that Mr. Rice and Frank could never understand.

John Keating again proves himself to be one of New York’s finest actors in conclusion of the Friel Project at Irish Rep (photo by Carol Rosegg)

In fact, the play was inspired by a real-life case that British neurologist Oliver Sacks documented in his May 2, 1993, New Yorker article “To See and Not See,” later included in his 1995 book An Anthropologist on Mars: Seven Paradoxical Tales. He writes, “The rest of us, born sighted, can scarcely imagine such confusion. For we, born with a full complement of senses, and correlating these, one with the other, create a sight world from the start, a world of visual objects and concepts and meanings. When we open our eyes each morning, it is upon a world we have spent a lifetime learning to see. We are not given the world: we make our world through incessant experience, categorization, memory, reconnection.”

Molly’s father had taught her how to experience a world they thought she would never see. He encouraged her to touch and smell objects, especially the plant species Nemophila, better known as Baby Blue Eyes. “I know you can’t see them but they have beautiful blue eyes, just like you. You’re my nemophila,” he told her. She remembers the smell of whiskey on his breath, which made her giddy; she does not feel the same when she smells whiskey on Mr. Rice’s breath.

In the second act, the bandages are taken off Molly, and she, her husband, and her doctor each has a different reaction to what happens next.

Molly Sweeney concludes Irish Rep’s four-part Friel Project, preceded by lovely productions of Translations, Aristocrats, and Philadelphia, Here I Come! The company previously staged Molly Sweeney in person in 2011 with Jonathan Hogan, Geraldine Hughes, and Ciaran O’Reilly and virtually in May 2020. Like those versions, this revival is intricately directed by founding artistic director Charlotte Moore (Aristocrats, The Streets of New York). (A 1996 Roundabout production starred Catherine Byrne, Alfred Molina, and Jason Robards.)

Molly (Sarah Street) dreams of a better life in Brian Friel’s Molly Sweeney (photo by Carol Rosegg)

Charlie Corcoran’s set consists of three chairs on a fake stone-paved floor, each with a slightly different rectangular wall and window behind it; Mr. Rice’s has a chest with folders and a bottle of whiskey, Molly’s has a vase of flowers on the windowsill, and Frank’s has a shelf with books and random objects. Linda Fisher’s costumes are in a muted Irish palette. Michael Gottlieb’s lighting is razor sharp; while focusing on one character, the others are bathed in shadow. In addition, abstract projections in blue, red, and purple morph on the rear horizontal wall, evoking what might be going on inside Molly’s head. Hidenori Nakajo’s sound envelops the audience in Molly’s auditory realm.

The actors are exceptional. Collins (Translations, The Quare Land) brings a cool serenity to Mr. Rice, who has not had an easy life; his wife left him for another ophthalmologist, and he eventually found himself working at a small hospital in Ballybeg in County Donegal, the fictional town where many of Friel’s plays take place. When Mr. Rice speaks, he stands up, sometimes holding a book or folder, and talks succinctly.

New York City treasure Keating (Translations, Autumn Royal) gives the unemployed Frank a harried demeanor, his tall, wiry frame flitting about as he relates his fondness for getting involved in charity cases — he’s been asked to supervise a food convoy in Ethiopia — but he has no conception of how he can help his wife.

Sitting in between them is Street (Aristocrats, Belfast Girls), who gazes into the audience, making eye contact when she or the others speak, as opposed to Collins and Keating, whose characters appear to rest their eyes or doze off, not listening to what Molly is saying; they choose, essentially, not to see or hear her and concentrate on their own future. Molly shares her story matter-of-factly, not getting wrapped up in emotion but not cold and distant either.

She could be any woman, fighting for personal freedom of any kind in a country that was still struggling with women’s rights in the late twentieth century. It’s a complex performance in a complex play that will make you think twice before offering certain types of medical advice to friends and loved ones.

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

THREE HOUSES

Dave Malloy’s Three Houses takes place inside a magical nightclub (photo by Marc J. Franklin)

THREE HOUSES
The Pershing Square Signature Center
The Romulus Linney Courtyard Theatre
480 West 42nd St. between Tenth & Eleventh Aves.
Tuesday-Sunday through June 16, $59-$115
212-244-7529
www.signaturetheatre.org

In Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812, composer, writer, performer, and orchestrator Dave Malloy took audiences inside one section of Leo Tolstoy’s epic 1867 novel, War and Peace. In Octet, he invited everyone into an intimate meeting of internet addicts. In his latest work, Three Houses, he welcomes visitors to an open-mic night where the children’s fable “The Three Little Pigs” is reimagined as an adult parable about emerging from the pandemic, with the Big Bad Wolf salivating at the door.

In the “Pleasure Principle versus Reality Principle” chapter of his 1976 book The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales, Dr. Bruno Bettelheim writes, “‘The Three Little Pigs’ teaches the nursery age child in a most enjoyable and dramatic form that we must not be lazy and take things easy, for if we do, we may perish. Intelligent planning and foresight combined with hard labor will make us victorious over even our most ferocious enemy — the wolf!”

The dots collective has turned the Romulus Linney Courtyard Theatre at the Signature Center into a dark, cozy nightclub with the audience sitting on three sides. In the back is a bar on a raised platform, surrounded by framed pictures, animal heads mounted on a wall, and other homey objects. A small chamber orchestra plays at the four corners of the floor: conductor Mona Seyed-Bolorforosh on piano and organ, Yuko Naito-Gotay on violin, Blair Hamrick on French horn, and Maria Bella Jeffers on cello. Wolf (Scott Stangland) makes the drinks and runs the open mic; two waiters (Henry Stram and Ching Valdes-Aran) serve the customers, each of whom will get their chance to share their personal saga in long, dramatic songs, taking them back to the houses, seen in projections behind the bar, where they stayed when the world closed down.

Susan (Margo Seibert) recounts her escape to her grandmother’s house in the Latvian woods, Sadie (Mia Pak) moves to her aunt’s adobe home outside Taos, and Beckett (J. D. Mollison) finds a tiny studio basement apartment in a red brick building in Brooklyn. Each song begins with a similar opening, first by Susan: “during the pandemic, / when the lockdown hit, / i had just separated from my husband / and i had fled to the baltics. / i was alone in a new home: / my grandmama’s giant ranch house / in the middle of a white forest in latvia. / so this is the story / of how i went a little bit crazy / living alone in the pandemic.” Sadie goes a little bit crazy with an online game, Beckett with online ordering, hearkening back to the obsessions in Octet.

As one of them sings, the other two sit at their tables and watch, participate, or dance. At several points, all three sing in unison: “declining social and professional opportunities / with a vague whisper of retreat and interiority: / i’m in a quiet place right now”; “99.4% of the population / wiped clean. / burn it all down, / start anew”; and “that’s death out there!”

They find ways to occupy their time: organizing bookshelves, drinking wine, playing video games, engaging in physical activity, developing rituals to fight loneliness, and encountering their grandparents (Stram and Valdes-Aran) in flashbacks. Each of the protagonists is accompanied by one of James Ortiz’s puppets: Susan’s is a slinking Latvian household dragon named Pookie (voiced and operated by Pak), Sadie’s a cushy badger named Zippy (voiced and operated by Mollison), and Beckett’s a giant marionette spider named Shelob (voiced and operated by Seibert) after the Lord of the Rings creature.

It all comes to a head when Wolf starts knocking at Beckett’s door, representative not just of covid but of the scary world outside, pandemic or not. Shelob lays it out: “the wolf slowly circled, / devising various schemes / to try to get in and devour beckett whole.”

Beckett (J. D. Mollison), Susan (Margo Seibert), and Sadie (Mia Pak) share their pandemic stories in Signature Theatre world premiere (photo by Marc J. Franklin)

In “Pleasure Principle versus Reality Principle,” Dr. Bettelheim also writes, “The story of the three pigs suggests a transformation in which much pleasure is retained, because now satisfaction is sought with true respect for the demands of reality.” In their third collaboration, following Octet and Ghost Quartet, Malloy and director and choreographer Annie Tippe blend fact and fiction, fantasy and reality as three human beings struggle to survive in an apocalyptic scenario. Alone with their memories, they are desperate for connection but terrified of where that may lead. “look, we need access, buddy!” the Wolf shouts at Beckett through a locked door; Beckett responds, “go away go away go away!”

The hundred-minute Three Houses is filled with pleasure. Haydee Zelideth’s costumes, particularly Susan’s gorgeous green dress, are nightclub-chic, while one of the Wolf’s sweaters is a true delight. Christopher Bowser’s pinpoint lighting moves with a compelling rhythm that matches Nick Kourtides’s enveloping sound. Or Matias’s music direction and supervision of Malloy’s lovely score is beautifully lush and visceral.

Mezzos Seibert (Octet, The Thanksgiving Play) and Pak (Suffs, In the Green) bring an infectious warmth to Malloy’s doomsday lyrics, while baritone Mollison (Octet, Iphigenia 2.0) serves as an exceptional anchor, not unlike the third little pig. Stangland (Cyrano, Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812) is temptingly charming as the hirsute Wolf, who, in case you didn’t know, has ulterior motives. Stram (The Elephant Man, The Hairy Ape) and Valdes-Aran (Aying, Mother Courage) provide fine support in multiple roles.

There might not be any “Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin” or “Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in,” but there are still morals to be found in this adult fairy tale, starting with the need for courage enough to venture outside, especially to see such dazzling works as Three Houses.

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

AXIS: TWELFTH NIGHT

Axis puts a dark spin on Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night (photo by Pavel Antonov)

TWELFTH NIGHT
Axis Theatre Company
One Sheridan Sq. between West Fourth & Washington Sts.
Wednesday – Saturday through May 25, $11-$44, 8:00
866-811-4111
www.axiscompany.org

I described the last two productions I saw of William Shakespeare’s 1601–02 Twelfth Night as “light and lively,” “ecstatic,” “a joy to behold,” and “a pure delight.” I would not use any of those words to describe Axis Theatre Company’s streamlined new production, but that won’t stop me from heartily recommending it.

Shakespeare professor Marc Palmieri’s adaptation focuses on the darker side of this mistaken-identity romantic comedy about unrequited love, which has been trimmed to a fast-paced ninety minutes. David Zeffren’s lighting remains dim throughout on director Randall Sharp’s haunting stage, where actors are surrounded by large rectangular blocks and shadowy entrances; in one corner, guitarist and sound designer Paul Carbonara and pianist Yonatan Gutfeld (the keyboards are embedded in one of the blocks) perform Carbonara’s subtle Baroque-like score. Karl Ruckdeschel’s costumes — men’s suits and long coats, women’s gowns — are muted grays, lavenders, and earth tones; even Malvolio’s socks are a subdued yellow, not as garishly ridiculous as usual.

“If music be the food of love, play on / Give me excess of it,” Duke Orsino (Jon McCormick) declares as the show begins. The story is familiar to Shakespeare aficionados: In faraway Illyria, the wealthy countess Olivia (Katy Frame) rejects all suitors, including Orsino, who is in love with her. Her loyal steward, Malvolio (Axis producing director Brian Barnhart), also harbors a secret passion for the noblewoman. Twins Viola (Britt Genelin) and Sebastian (Eli Bridges) survive a shipwreck and wash up onshore, each ignorant that the other is still alive. One of the duke’s gentlemen, Curio (Robert Ierardi), explains to Viola, who has now disguised herself as a man named Cesario, that Olivia keeps repulsing Orsino’s advances. Viola quickly decides that she will convince Olivia to see Orsino in order to secure a place for herself in the duke’s employ.

Sebastian was rescued by Antonio (Jim Sterling), a sea captain who requests to be his servant. Believing his sister to be dead, Sebastian disguises himself as Roderigo and heads to the court of Orsino, where Antonio is not welcome.

Meanwhile, a group of conniving drunks hover around Olivia: her uncle, the raunchy Sir Toby Belch (George Demas); Sir Toby’s friend, the faux-elegant squire Sir Andrew Aguecheek (Andrew Dawson), who Sir Toby presents to Olivia as a potential suitor; Olivia’s chambermaid, Maria (Dee Pelletier); Olivia’s fool, Feste (Spencer Aste); and her servant Fabian (Brian Parks). “You must confine yourself within the modest limits of order,” Maria warns Sir Toby, who replies, “Confine! I’ll confine myself no finer than I am: these clothes are good enough to drink in; and so be these boots too.”

Axis Theatre Company’s Bard adaptation continues through May 25 (photo by Pavel Antonov)

After Malvolio chastises them for their ill behavior, Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, Feste, and Fabian, under Maria’s lead, concoct a plan to embarrass Malvolio in front of everyone. Maria explains, “Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind and affectioned ass / the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks / with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith / that all that look on him love him / and on that vice in him will my revenge find / notable cause to work.”

It all comes to a head in a grand finale that, while not as boisterous as in other iterations, is as satisfying in its exactitude.

Axis refers to Twelfth Night as “Shakespeare’s most painful comedy,” and that’s just what Sharp, Palmieri, and the superb cast deliver. The company’s dungeonlike space on Sheridan Square is tailor-made for eerie, chimeric stories bathed in gloom, doom, and gothic and apocalyptic humor. In such previous works as High Noon, Dead End, Last Man Club, and Worlds Fair Inn, Axis founding artistic director Sharp has presented stark, compelling productions heavy in dark atmosphere but not without comic moments.

In this Twelfth Night, Olivia is fretful, often edgy with anxiety. She has no friends, only those who want her wealth or favor. Many of the characters, from Malvolio and Olivia to Feste and Sir Toby Belch, have a slightly pathetic bent to them. When Sir Andrew proclaims, “Shall we set about some revels?” and Sir Toby replies, “What shall we do else?,” the revelries that follow are not exactly a fanciful, fun frolic. Feste sings “O Mistress mine where are you roaming?” and “When that I was and a little tiny boy (With hey, ho, the wind and the rain)” and Carbonara and Yonatan Gutfeld’s music ramps up, accompanied by Lynn Mancinelli’s period choreography, but it’s not quite a royal ball. A subtle cloud of desperation hangs over the festivities. In fact, sometimes it feels like a night on the Bowery. Even the revelation scenes are kept relatively low key.

Twelfth Night demonstrates precisely what Sharp and Axis do best, whether offering an original play or a fresh take on an old chestnut. As always, they also include a related window display at the bottom of the theater entry stairs, this time providing added ambience and some shipwreck Easter eggs but no cakes and ale.

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

STAFF MEAL

Mina (Susannah Flood) and Ben (Greg Keller) explore a possible relationship as doomsday approaches in Staff Meal (photo by Chelcie Parry)

STAFF MEAL
Playwrights Horizons, Peter Jay Sharp Theater
416 West 42nd St. between Ninth & Tenth Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through May 24, $71-$91
www.playwrightshorizons.org

Abe Koogler’s Staff Meal kicks off with a tasty amuse bouche, continues with a delicious appetizer, then serves up a tantalizing main course before getting off track with a few awkward sides and an erratic dessert. But that doesn’t mean it ultimately isn’t a meal worth savoring.

Written between January and April 2020, just as the pandemic was starting to take hold of the world, Staff Meal is set in an absurdist time and place where lonely people are desperate for connection. Mina (Susannah Flood) and Ben (Greg Keller) meet-cute in a coffee shop, where they slowly begin speaking with each other while working on their laptops. The first day, Ben says, “Hey,” and Mina answers, “Hey.” The second day, Ben says, “Hey!” and Mina answers, “Hey!” The third day, Ben says, “Hey,” and Mina answers, “Oh hey!,” adding, “All’s well?”

Their less-than-scintillating conversation — Ben: “We had a dog who I used to throw the ball to a lot.” Mina: “Hey, I had a dog too! We used to throw the ball to him too.” — gets a little longer each day until Ben doesn’t show up, which worries Mina. On a trip to the bathroom, she asks an audience member to keep an eye on her computer. A nattily dressed vagrant (Erin Markey) appears from the theater aisle and tries to snatch the laptop just as Mina returns and stops her, shooting the audience member/guard a nasty look. The fourth wall has been broken — and will be again and again — in a nontraditional play overstuffed with convention-defying moments that range from brilliant and hilarious to baffling and confusing.

Ben and Mina decide to grab a bite and wander into a strange restaurant where no one comes to take their order as they delve deeper into who they are. Discussing past lives, Ben says he believes he was a passenger on a ship like the Titanic, but definitely not the Titanic, that sunk around the same time, while Mina thinks she was the rat in the animated film Ratatouille. The waiter (Hampton Fluker) eventually shows up, but only to deliver a monologue to the audience about the restaurant’s mysterious owner, Gary Robinson, and the expansive wine cellar, which is far away in a kind of hellish basement dungeon.

The action then shifts into the past, to the waiter’s first day, when he sat down with two other servers (Jess Barbagallo and Carmen M. Herlihy) to have a staff meal made specially by the chef, Christina (Markey). They rave poetically about the fabulous spread, even though it is clearly only green grapes.

The servers give the waiter advice on how to do his job, including not offending Christina — oops, too late — while the waiter wants to know why everything takes so long to happen in the restaurant, especially the journey to the wine cellar. The servers explain that the establishment is based on Flights of Fancy followed by Acts of Service dedicated to making connections, clear metaphors for life itself with indirect references to the Bible. Gary Robinson is referred to as a “legend” no one ever sees, like a supreme being, with Christina — it’s unlikely the first six letters of her name are mere coincidence — as the earthbound figure precisely following the recipes in his books.

In fact, the servers call out iterations of “Oh god” four times while partaking of the duck, which is actually grapes, the biblical fruit about which Jeremiah said, “But every one shall die for his own iniquity; every man who eats the sour grapes, his teeth shall be set on edge.” It also evokes how the public can lift a chef to godlike status and their restaurant to a kind of holy space, complete with scallop shell wallpaper, the emblem of St. James that relates to the physical and spiritual aspects of the human condition.

In case you’re getting lost at this point, Rita (Stephanie Berry) declares, “I’m sorry, WHAT IS THIS PLAY ABOUT???????!?!?!?!?!”

Things only get more bizarre and existential as the characters seek “sweet relief” in a city endangered by e-commerce, empty streets, and the breakdown of the social contract as everything literally falls apart around them.

Chef Christina (Erin Markey) serves up a meal of biblical proportions in Playwrights Horizons production (photo by Chelcie Parry)

Early on, Ben asks Mina if she eats out a lot. She responds in a way that captures how so many people feel all the time about going out anywhere — to a restaurant or even the theater itself — and not just during a pandemic: “I do!” she says. “I mean, no not really; it’s often hard to hear, and the food is often overpriced, and I often feel disappointed, and a big part of me honestly wishes we were just at someone’s house being hosted warmly by someone who was making us all different kinds of food and there was sort of a fire and wine was passed around to the sound of laughter and I was sort of sandwiched on the couch after dinner between two close friends and there was a third kneeling in front of me who I could rustle their hair.”

Jian Jung’s set morphs from the spare coffee shop to the fancy restaurant to an apocalyptic scenario as Masha Tsimring’s lighting grows ever darker and Tei Blow’s sound becomes more ominous, with illusions by Steve Cuiffo. Kaye Voyce’s costumes include everyday casual wear, restaurant uniforms, and the vagrant’s ratty clothing.

Koogler (Deep Blue Sound, Fulfillment Center) and director Morgan Green (School Pictures, Minor Character) keep the audience on its proverbial toes for most of the hundred-minute show before going haywire in the end, overfilling the plate with an abundance of effluvia. When Rita asks, “Do you ever get this feeling with young writers, or early writers, writers who are developing . . . do you ever wonder: When will they develop?” Koogler is an established playwright, but Staff Meal could benefit from some further development.

Keller (The Thanksgiving Play, Shhhh) and Flood (Make Believe, The Comeuppance) are adorable as the young couple who may be falling in love, while Barbagallo (The Trees, Help) and Herlihy (The Apiary, Scene Partners) are cryptic and charming as the servers, Markey (Dr. Ride’s American Beach House, A Ride on the Irish Cream) chews up the scenery in her two roles, Berry (On Sugarland, Sugar in Our Wounds) devours her soliloquy, and Fluker (All My Sons, Esai’s Table) is cool and calm as the waiter, who is a stand-in for the audience’s psyche.

Although dealing with issues that were exacerbated during the coronavirus crisis, Staff Meal is not a pandemic play. It’s a funny and frightening satire about attempting to make connection and build community even when the planet might be in a doom-spiral, about humans needing nourishment by being with others, in coffee shops, restaurants, or a theater. Like life, it’s not perfect, with its ups and downs, but it provides fine fare that may not go down easy but feeds the soul in these harried times.

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

THIRD LAW: AN INTERACTIVE THEATRICAL GAME

Nothing happens in Third Law without audience participation (photo by Paris Marcel)

THIRD LAW
Culture Lab LIC
5-25 46th Ave.
Thursday – Sunday through May 26, $28.52
www.culturelablic.org
www.wwtns.org

Investigative theater company What Will the Neighbors Say? goes back to the beginning of time in the world premiere of Third Law, but its unique take on the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden needs the audience to help it progress. Continuing at Culture Lab LIC through May 26, the forty-five-minute experience is part escape room, part choose-your-own-adventure in which the audience must band together in order to keep the narrative going.

Approximately twenty people remove their shoes and enter a small installation where six actors in sackcloth are lined up on a platform along a wall. Projections on the floor, wall, and two benches lead to how the play will unfold, involving sound, light, and movement. The more the audience learns about the prompts, the more it can influence what happens; thus, each performance is unique, leading up to three possible endings. As Isaac Newton’s third law of motion states, as interpreted by NASA, “for every action (force) in nature there is an equal and opposite reaction. If object A exerts a force on object B, object B also exerts an equal and opposite force on object A. In other words, forces result from interactions.”

The show was devised by Shani Matoaka Bekt, Sam Hood Adrain, Megan Mariko Boggs, Pablo Calderón-Santiago, James Clements, and Melannie Vásquez Lara, who play Adam and Eve as they discuss the Creator, eating fruit, and loneliness. Much of the dialogue relates to the audience and the world outside the play as well.

Six actors portray Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden in interactive production at Culture Lab LIC (photo by Paris Marcel)

“I can’t imagine being apart. What was it like when you were alone?” Eve asks. Adam replies, “It’s hard to toil by yourself.” Third Law is activated only when everyone toils in harmony.

“Would you like to be Creator?” Eve asks Adam, who responds, “To be Creator? Is that allowed?” Eve answers, “Why not?” The Creator is not only the mysterious supreme being but the cast, director Coral Cohen, lighting designer Jacqueline Scaletta, sound and video designer Cosette Pin, set designer Miles Giordani, costume designer Elizabeth Shevelev, and the audience, which wanders around the space, figuring out how and how much it can guide the action while staying out of the way of the actors.

At its heart, Third Law, a melding of art and technology inspired by gameplay, is all about the choices humans make, individually and as a group. “We should be able to choose for ourselves,” Eve says. But as we know from real life, every choice comes with consequences.

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

STILL

Mark (Tim Daly) and Helen (Jayne Atkinson) go over old times in Lia Romeo’s Still (photo by Joey Moro)

STILL
DR2 Theatre
103 East 15th St. at 20 Union Sq. East
Extended through May 23, $36.50-$90
www.coltcoeur.org/still

During the pandemic, I watched Lia Romeo’s lovely Zoom play Sitting & Talking, in which a pair of septuagenarians, a gruff divorcé and an elegant widow, portrayed by TV favorites Dan Lauria and Wendie Malick, respectively, try to make a connection online. Romeo’s latest, Still, is a lovely in-person play in which a pair of sexagenarians, a gentle divorcé and a never-married writer, portrayed by TV favorites Tim Daly and Jayne Atkinson, spend one night sitting and talking, trying to reconnect and, perhaps, rekindle an old relationship.

Continuing at the intimate DR2 Theatre through May 23, the seventy-five-minute Colt Coeur production takes place in a hotel, where Mark (Daly) and Helen (Atkinson) meet for the first time in decades. Mark is a sixty-seven-year-old bank lawyer who has just gotten divorced after twenty-nine years of marriage; Helen is a sixty-five-year-old bestselling novelist. He has two daughters; she has no children.

Their conversation in the lounge ranges from past memories to current dreams to aging and ailments. “You know what I’ve heard?” Helen begins. “The cells in your body completely renew themselves every seven years. I mean they’re all renewing themselves all the time, obviously, but after seven years you’re a completely different person. On a cellular level.” It’s a potent comment about how people change over time, no matter how much they might think they are the same, shortly followed by this poignant exchange:

Mark: You haven’t changed much.
Helen: You don’t think so? I was scared, getting dressed, that you’d think I looked so —
Mark: No, no, you look great.
Helen: Great for my age, maybe, but I look terrible for forty. How old are you in your head?
Mark: What do you —
Helen: Like when you picture your face — and then you see your real face — do you get surprised?
Mark: I think maybe I’m fifty.
Helen: I think I’m even younger than that. I think I’m probably around the age when you last saw me.
Mark: You don’t look that different.
Helen: You didn’t know me.
Mark: What?
Helen: When you first came in — I was sitting here, you walked right past the table. I had to say “Mark!” —
Mark: It was dark!
Helen: You thought — who’s that shriveled-up woman. That little old woman — that can’t be Helen —
Mark: That’s not what I thought!
Helen: It’s okay. I thought you looked old, too.
Mark: You did?
Helen: Not in a bad way. Men age better than women.
Mark: That’s bullshit.
Helen: I know! I know it is, but I still feel it.

They discuss dating, Tinder, poetry, being sick, happiness, who broke up with whom all those years ago, and why they hadn’t stayed in touch. He says, “Sometimes I feel like everything could have been different. I mean — if you and I — I know we wanted different things —” She replies lightly, “Yeah, I wanted you, and you wanted someone else.”

But after Mark asks Helen to come upstairs to his hotel room, a disagreement — about the immediate future and the book Helen is currently writing — places a potential roadblock in their relationship.

Tim Daly and Jayne Atkinson excel in moving play about love, loneliness, and aging (photo by Joey Moro)

Romeo (Connected, Green Whales) has crafted a tender, insightful work that explores what was, what is, and what still might be, directed by Adrienne Campbell-Holt (Dodi & Diana, Eureka Day) with a graceful delicacy even as things heat up. Alexander Woodward’s sets are cozy, with soft lighting by Reza Behjat and warm sound by Hidenori Nakajo, inviting the audience into the caring story; Barbara A. Bell’s costumes are naturalistic at first but then grow bold in the second half.

Mark and Helen are believable, well-developed characters in relatable situations. They’ve been through good times and bad, now wondering if they might be able to have the future they once considered so long ago. Emmy nominee Daly (Coastal Disturbances, Downstairs) and two-time Tony nominee Atkinson (The Rainmaker, Enchanted April) give beautifully nuanced performances as two proud individuals taking stock of their lives, wondering what comes next and whether they are still prepared to take chances and make changes to their relatively comfortable existence as senior citizens.

“It’s all kind of a crapshoot, at our age,” Mark says.

But Still wisely shows us that it doesn’t have to be.

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