Марні троянди (Futile Roses) @ Ochre House Theatre
—Jill Sweeney
“The Theatre of the Absurd attacks the comfortable certainties of religious or political orthodoxy. It aims to shock its audience out of complacency, to bring it face to face with the harsh facts of the human situation as these writers see it. But the challenge behind this message is anything but one of despair. It is a challenge to accept the human condition as it is, in all its mystery and absurdity, and to bear it with dignity, nobly, responsibly; precisely because there are no easy solutions to the mysteries of existence, because ultimately man is alone in a meaningless world.”—Martin Esslin, Introduction to Absurd Drama
Theater of the Absurd, an artistic movement that focused in part on the inadequacy of language to encompass the incomprehensibility of human existence, emerged in the wake of World War II as a sort of primal scream response to the general state of the world. It’s no surprise, then, that our own perpetually indescribable times might give rise to a new wave of Absurdist works.
Ochre House Theatre’s production Марні троянди (Futile Roses), a new play written by Kevin Grammer (who also directs the piece) as part of the company’s “In the Garden” series, is an Absurdist look at modern warfare. Though not explicitly named, the specter of the Ukrainian conflict is palpable throughout, from the Voice that spits threats in Ukrainian to the Ukrainian graffiti on the walls of the set. As with many Absurdist pieces, the production is more mood than plot, and the effect is difficult to describe—an action-packed Waiting for Godot?—but with the cumulative effect of the stellar ensemble, the brilliant set design, and the wrenching multimedia projections, the piece is a true gut punch.
A family—Brian Witkowicz as Sergei, Carla Parker as Natasha, and Quinn Coffman as Kiki—converge in a ruined town square in Eastern Europe. The town is under fire from an unknown military force and, in the space where they shelter, they are haunted by a Voice (Ukrainian actor Denys Lyubinov), who alternately pleads for help and forecasts their doom in ominous script projected on the walls. In the remnants of a broken statue, a red rosebush blooms, right next to the pipe from which the Voice seems to emanate. The trio gravitate around the pipe and around each other, lamenting their pasts and striving to make some sense of the world around them as the danger mounts.
The characters spend the early parts of the play mostly in their own separate orbits, occasionally intersecting with one other as they wander the square, terrified but aimless. Kiki speaks urgently to someone (seemingly a rebel faction) on a walkie-talkie, but her coded language grows more and more nonsensical, and she never receives a reply. Each separates from the others and opens up for a moment to give a glimpse of their shattered state. Parker’s Natasha mourns the loss of her garden (“my temple”) and her peace. (The projected image of a field of yellow daffodils under a blue sky as she reminisced was striking, for obvious reasons.) Witkowicz’s Sergei feels helpless to save his family. And Coffman’s Kiki is adrift in a field of stars, mourning almost in verse for her former life. (“I crave for crowds, and loud to-do’s…,” a line that hit precisely as intended in these pandemic times). The threat around them grows, culminating in a final and appropriately absurd crescendo as the family finally takes what action they can—to declare their humanity in the face of inhumanity.
It's difficult to know which actor to praise first, as they’re all compelling, and function so organically as a unit—a credit to Grammer’s exceptional direction. Parker’s Natasha moves steadily from the blankness of shock to a ferocious rage with exceptional control, and she and Witkowicz have the lived-in chemistry of a long-married couple. Coffman gives Kiki just the right hard edges: love for her parents blends seamlessly with rage at how their inaction gave rise to the violence around them. In keeping with Absurdism’s frustration with the inadequacy of language, a fair amount of the action is wordless, but this trio finds many ways to get their emotions across.
Grammer’s spare but poignant script and the cast’s expressive performances would be enough on their own to make the experience of the play worthwhile, but the one-two punch of Matthew Posey’s impeccable set design and Justin Locklear’s powerful multimedia concept elevate the material even further. The brick walls of the set, covered in graffiti, consume our attention as Locklear covers them in images of war and death, and the projected words the Voice speaks grow in physical size with his intensity, overlapping and filling the walls as his violence and frenzy reach fever pitch. Looming behind the action is a mural depicting an older peasant woman, her face a rictus of grief and terror, fleeing with her belongings behind her in a cart, strikingly juxtaposed with the incongruous (and futile?) roses of the title.
All the elements of the production blend seamlessly to create a remarkable theatrical experience. And the kicker? They pull it all off in forty-five minutes. Ochre House’s four-play “In the Garden” series is being filmed, thankfully, but this piece screams to be seen in person. And given that Ochre House only seats fifty? Run, don’t walk, to get your tickets for the show’s closing weekend.
WHEN: April 27-30
WHERE: 825 Exposition Ave. Dallas, TX 75226
