JC, Amaté @ Ochre House Theater
Photos by Chinem McCollum
—Martha Heimberg
Carla Parker’s new play JC, Amaté, a creator/creature parable directed by the playwright, is set in a posh pigsty with fluffy gold cushions stacked on hay bales, and a rustic bar stocked with vodka and pickled eggs. Of course, the show is onstage at Ochre House Theater, where Parker is a longtime company member, and the bizarre set is designed by founder and artistic director Matthew Posey. Followers of Ochre House, now in its third decade of presenting original work, totally count on the unexpected.
JC (Omar Padilla, in alluring bully mode) is terrified of other people and won’t leave his room, so he whiles away the hours folding origami animals from recycled paper. (Amaté is Spanish for paper; hence, this JC is Lord of the Paper.) Isolated and lonely, he literally makes friends for himself, opening the show by telling the tiny folded red bird in his hand how many hours it took to make him. (Hey, that’s mother guilt, JC.) The helpless bird tells him he needs to get out more.
When done for the day, JC throws his paper animals in an old cigar box and flips the lid closed. Then, lo and behold. The screens surrounding the stage glow with comets, then a flurry of images and whirring noises—and JC’s creations spring to life as human-size animals. Whoa! Two cats seat themselves right away at the music stand: Justin Locklear on keyboard and guitar, and Sarah Rogers on cello, violin and bass, both very, very good.
A snortin’ stallion named Boxer (high-struttin’, rarin’-to go Chris Sykes) takes his place behind the bar. Three female pigs, all called versions of Mary, enter with fleshy snouts firmly attached and perch up front on the hay bales. Ah, but we soon learn each pig has her own particular style and name variant. Elizabeth Evans is Mari Kari, the querulous rebel feminist; Monét Lerner is Merry Katurah, the dumb party blonde who oinks when she laughs; and Cassie Bann is the dutiful JC worshipper Mary Kalai. All the lady pigs can shake it to their soft rock song, urged on by Boxer and his maker in one of the show’s several musical take-outs.
The first act runs 45 minutes, and is the most fun. The newly animated origami creatures adore their creator, as he urges them to do. “Call me Jay,” says the friendly paper folder, glad for the company. But he’s soon demanding that they all kneel and hear the word: “I gave you life; you owe me all.” Way familiar. The critters don’t know anything, so they pretty much do as they’re told. The lady pigs dust their pillows, and gossip about other females in the stall, while Jay and Boxer drink and talk about climate change and the survival of the fittest. You know, guy talk.
Padilla’s JC has a lovely tenor voice, and sings “I’ll Take Care of You” as he strums a toy guitar. Adoring Mary Kari (Evans) swoons to the lover-as-savior song. Parker wrote the telling lyrics, and Locklear composed the music in the show.
After a 20-minute intermission, the 35-minute last act finds Mari Kari (Evans) circling a pole at the rear of the stage, urged on by Jay to run faster and faster—and to recall her “moral obligation” to the others. All this to a tune called “Runaround Rundown,” the gist of which is pretty obvious.
The images of restless, exhausted creatures, and the songs mocking evangelicalism and the pointlessness of any notion of a future are familiar to anybody with a smart phone. Pigs bitch on and on about their missing pillows. The dialogue gets thinner, and the unhappy animals say things like, “The closer you are to crazy, the less you fear it,” apropos of nothing in particular. Jay is getting meaner, and says no to just one day off. Jesus. Even the once hot-to-trot Boxer is clutching his egg-jar and looking for a way out. Before he got so busy behind the bar, he called out, “I need content.” Really. Now he’s just drunk.
The question of what the creator owes the created is a toughie for any playwright, and Parker flails around in some Eastern catch phrases and advice before the ending. Salvation? Apocalypse? Neither?
No spoilers here, but there’s gotta be a light show and some gigantic props before it’s all done. Because it’s Ochre House, that’s why. Parker likes to take on big questions, and her conceptually satisfying and funny first half and clever finale make JC, Amaté worth seeing.
WHEN: Through February 25
WHERE: Ochre House, 825 Exposition Avenue (Fair Park area)
