A Retrospective: Undermain Theatre’s ‘Whither Goest Thou America: A Festival of New American Plays’, March 2022
—Jill Sweeney; Jan Farrington; Martha Heimberg
Undermain Theatre’s annual festival of new plays, this year presented as both live and streaming productions, introduced us to some intriguing and varied voices we hope to hear from again. Each work was given a staged reading, with actors (and “readers” for the playwright’s stage directions).
As expected, it was left to the audience to consider whether a connecting theme or emerged as the four one-act plays were presented—Hey, America, whither goest thou?—or if each one should primarily be considered as a stand-alone speaking to some aspect of this moment in American life and thought. Both avenues can be interesting….
Undermain’s Jake Nice produced the series, with Anthony L. Ramirez assisting. Onstage NTX sent three of our theater writers to one or more of the staged readings, and here’s some of what they had to say:
Incarnate by Parker Davis Gray
--Jill Sweeney
It’s a testament to the effectiveness of Parker Gray’s Incarnate, the initial offering of Undermain Theatre’s festival of new American plays, that a staged reading alone—bare stage, two actors and a reader—can give you the shivers. Gray’s taut, tightly-plotted thriller may need its hair mussed a bit before being ready for a full production, but displays a confidence and emotional depth lacking in many new works.
We are (briefly) introduced to Rosamund (Kristen Lazarchick), a self-described “old soul” whose opening monologue quickly spirals from the imagination and confidence of a gifted child into darker, more anxious imaginings as she grows up—prescient thoughts, really, for twenty-four year old Rosamund is then abducted by a Man (Adrian Churchill), a former artist grown twice obsessed, both by his father’s death by drowning, and his belief that his father’s spirit tried to communicate with him in those final moments.
Incarnate is a marathon for its two actors, even as a reading, and while both actors (under the thoughtful direction of Gray’s longtime colleague Jenna Burnett) rose to the challenge, Lazarchick’s performance was a standout. Asked to portray a dizzying range of emotions—terror, rage, empathy, disgust, and beyond—she rose to the challenge beautifully, giving a fully realized performance even with the limitations inherent to a reading. Her physicality in portraying the character was often startling, especially in moments where Rosamund’s body is seemingly beyond her control.
The role of Man/Peter, while perhaps less showy, is still a difficult study in contradictions. He is fully aware of how wrong his actions are but selfishly consumed with his own ends, empathetic to Rosamund’s suffering but enraged when it interferes with his goals. Churchill navigated the emotional heel-turns well, at times soft-spoken and self-effacing, then suddenly menacing.
Gray’s script is inherently a balancing act: between a man and a woman, between horror and humor, between skepticism and belief. With all these competing elements at play, the script displays a maturity and control rare in a new playwright, and despite some autobiographical elements from Gray’s own life (his father’s death by drowning in 2017 was the impetus for writing about grief and how to escape it), the play doesn’t wallow or allow itself to be bogged down by the question of grief, but instead uses it to raise more questions for the characters: What actions can grief justify? And if grief explains one’s actions, does it excuse them?
Your mileage may vary as to whether the script goes a step too far towards certain horror movie tropes around young women in peril. But overall, Incarnate is a strong, atmospheric work from a new voice, and definitely something to look forward to seeing produced in full.
Spaced Out by Erin Malone Turner
--Jill Sweeney
It’s creeping in, whether you call it sci-fi or the more elevated “speculative fiction”. Either way, it’s finding its way from books, movies and TV screens—and onto the stage. Works like Qui Nguyen’s She Kills Monsters and Fight Girl, Battle World; Anne Washburn’s Mr. Burns, a post-electric play; Joe Tracz’s Be More Chill—they all strive to make the leap. Maybe it takes a human element at the core to really keeps the successful pieces grounded. And although Erin Malone Turner’s new work Spaced Out (directed by Lisa Cotie and presented as part of Undermain Theatre’s “Whither Goest Thou America: A Festival of New American Plays”) keeps the drama human despite the play’s fantastical elements, the human element may just be what keeps the play from achieving all it can—yet. With most festivals, plays arrive at all stages of development: from first drafts to works in progress, from “still writing” to “ready to pitch to producers.” Playwright Turner has a lot to work with and develop here.
Eighteen-year-old Ollie (Brett Landin) is struggling; her older sister Haven (Meagan Harris) has recently passed away, and she and her mom (Jacie Hood) can’t seem to connect anymore, not even through sign language, which became a bond between them when Ollie’s Mom began to lose her hearing when Ollie was younger. Ollie’s escape is gaming. But when her mother presents her with a new virtual reality game (Ollie and a handful of other gamers are getting the chance to test it out), her escape may have become a trap.
The play explores how we process grief, and how we discover that the things we truly need to “move on” may be entirely different than we’d imagined. Kudos to Landin’s quicksilver mood changes as she moves from the sullen teen of her present to the shy, bubbly younger Ollie. The play’s primary trio was played overall with some nicely lived-in chemistry by Landin, Harris, and Hood. Mac Welch’s VP, the curiously lifelike avatar and guide accompanying Ollie through the game, was the source of most of the play’s laughs, and Welch played the character with just the right dash of smarm. Meli Burke’s Minnie was cutely detached, but her character’s “arc” might benefit from more work.
The most interesting element of the piece was the incorporation of American Sign Language, utilized by Landin and Hood, sometimes accompanied by speech, sometimes silently with their signs interpreted vocally by Harris and Burke. While speaking to the larger issues of communication between mother and daughter, it was nice to see deafness incorporated not as a major plot element, but allowed to simply exist and be represented onstage on its own terms, as simply a part of these characters’ lives rather than a defining characteristic
Parent, Legal Guardian, Angel, Other by Zander Pryor
--Jan Farrington
I won’t soon forget Zander Pryor’s touching, tough, and sometimes lyrical play Parent, Legal Guardian, Angel, Other, a coming of age story that shares some of the usual elements of that genre, but digs deep into the experience of growing up, acknowledged or not, in the LGBTQIA+ community.
Pryor, who’s acted on professional stages in Dallas and Fort Worth, says he “makes a point of including queer characters and relationships” in his writing, in part to “make space for more people like him in theater.” He’s won playwrighting awards both locally and in Los Angeles, and is a student at Sarah Lawrence College outside New York City.
Between the vivid dialogue of his play and the finely detailed work of the cast—sensitively directed by Chris Sanders—Pryor seems poised to create work that will engage audience minds and hearts.
Ash (Ave Fooshee) is a trans teen who loves longtime friend Luke (Miguel Perez). Luke’s evangelical Christian parents Misty (Dayna S. Fries) and Peter (Dante Martinez) would have the fit of all fits if they knew their son’s gender identification (and love life) was in flux. They believe “Ashley” is their son’s girlfriend. Heather (Caroline Rivera) is Ash’s mom, who seems more open to whatever Ash decides to tell her.
Finn (Dominic Pecikonis) is a nonbinary hospital nurse/aide who’s taken in Angel (Tyler Viator), a trans teen who has been tossed out by their family. Finn is a healer, a rescuer, played with great warmth and style by Pecikonis. “I’m too old for you,” they tell Angel with a gentle smile. Neither one may believe that completely, but for now….
The knowledge that both the playwright and several of the actors onstage, many of them not yet (or barely) out of their teen years, are “of” the LGBTQIA+ community lends special weight and poignance to Pryor’s work. We learn about the characters’ various life stories in a time-shifting way; scenes flow from past to present, from present to past—and sometimes in and out of a “liminal” space called The Closet, where time stops and truths are told.
There is joy and despair here, love and fear, depression, and the thought of ending the pain. Pryor knows what he’s writing about, feels these characters in his bones—yet the script, which breaks the heart more than once, doesn’t beg for our empathy. It tells the stories, with intelligence, often surprising dialogue, and a deep sense of the endless, intricate complexity of human relationships.
And that’s all. For more, wait and see if some smart producer doesn’t pick this show up for a full staging someday soon. Best of luck in NYC, Zander—but come back home to show us your stuff once in a while!
The Punk Pan-Indian Romantic Comedy by Gregg Deal
--Martha Heimberg
Undermain closed its festival with a witty, moving, ear-blasting punk-rock enhanced performance piece by Gregg Deal that asks how indigenous people living in America in the 20th and 21st century can hold onto their tribal identity in modern society. Answer: Beg, borrow and invent any tools you can lay your hands on to forge critical links between your native heritage and the western colonial culture that also shapes your voice and view. Deal sculpts, paints murals, makes films and even pulls in the tacky sterotypes of so-called Indians in Hollywood westerns to convey the true history of indigenous tribes on the North American continent.
The Punk Pan-Indian Romantic Comedy, an autobiographical piece he first performed in 2020, is quite a trip. Deal, a member of the Paiute Tribe, grew up as a poor kid in a Salt Lake City suburb where he was called a “prairie ni***r” and other ethnic slurs by his white classmates. Smiling but angry inside, Deal says he finally found messages that made sense to him in the outraged beat and lyrics of punk rock bands like Public Enemy and Rage Against the Machine.
Wearing a Black Flag jacket and dark jeans, he paces the small stage, looking at the audience only rarely, in Dylan style, and punctuating his telling performance with family photos or sudden blasts from songs like “Rise Above” while lyrics appear on a dark screen behind him: “We are tired of your abuse/Try to stop us; it’s no use.” His speech softens speaking of his beautiful native American mother, and hardens as he talks of his white father, a bright, angry man from Tennessee who never got to college and ran a super strict household. By the time his 80-minute piece is done, we know where this man is coming from—and have a much better grip on the struggles and joys of other native Americans living beside us.
Gregg Deal’s The Punk Pan-Indian Comedy is streaming from now through April 3. For information: undermain.org
