Gender Anarchy, Dancing Rhinos and Despair in 21st FIT

This summer the annual Festival of Independent Theatres featured short plays addressing the theme of Coming of Age. The six I attended were: Leos Ensemble – small hours (Directed by Nick Leos) Lily & Joan Theatre Company – Marilyn, Pursued by a Bear (Directed by Emily Burgardt) Imprint Theatreworks – Dirty Dirty Night Squirrel (Directed by Taylor Mercado Owens) WingSpan Theatre, Co – Jo & Louisa (Directed by Susan Sargeant ) The Very Good Dance Theatre – The 1^st Annual Gay Show (Directed by William Acker; Choreographed By Danielle Georgiou) Audacity Theatre Lab – The Beast of Hyperborea (Directed by Brad McEntire). Some evinced better than others, though just as in past summers, each had its particular quirks, its peculiar charms.

Lucy Kirkwood and Ed Hime’s small hours opens upon a petite Scottish woman in a parka, huddled on a couch in her living room, not exactly spotless but not gone to ruin. This frail spirit is so obsequious she’s nearly lost among the various furnishings: boom box, coffee table, vacuum cleaner, television, floor lamp. She’s very still but she’s frantic. When talking on the phone (to her mother?) she insists she’s fine, though clearly there’s some intense urgency lurking beneath the surface. There’s almost no dialogue as we watch her carefully apply makeup, channel surf, watch news about a severe blizzard, drink from a bottle of coke. When a commotion arises from another room, she turns on a vacuum cleaner to drown it out. What begins as a kind of reverie slowly morphs as we see a soul lost in misery. It takes a bit to find our bearings, but small hours is wrenching. Meticulous in execution and implacable in its elegiac culmination. Barrett Nash is stunning.

Nicole Neely’s Marilyn, Pursued by a Bear, finds us in a mental institution, bearing witness as Marilyn Monroe is sequestered, presumably after a failed suicide attempt. She is surrounded by individuals (clad in black) who mock and torment her, often articulating her doubts, regrets and utter lack of self-esteem. They deprecate her, using words like: “slut, whore, stupid, murderer, spoiled…” As Marilyn settles in, she realizes she’s being set up for some crucible, to test her will and resolve to persevere. Her mother and grandmother, also relegated to the same confinement, try to help her confront episodes from the past that left her devastated and degraded. Marilyn is an admirable effort, though language, here, I think, is a problem. Crucial revelations summoned to exorcise self-loathing get little traction.  C. C. Weatherly is quite affecting as the tortured Norma Jean.

Cameron Casey’s Dirty Dirty Night Squirrel is a whimsical take on a day when a teenager takes grandmother on an outing to the zoo. The two are equally dejected, as one is going to a retirement home and the other evicted by an obnoxious girlfriend. Night Squirrel turns on the idea that unattractive creatures are far more intriguing and valuable than they appear to the outside world. There are marvelous touches such as dancing rhinos and the grandmother herself, who long ago learned audacity and the understanding that we’re never obliged to compromise ourselves. Loopiness of this kind is always dicey. If we consider comparable pieces like Albee’s The Sandbox or Mamet’s Revenge of the Space Pandas, any lessons are slipped in almost as an afterthought. When strangeness is the keynote everything else must tiptoe.

Jo & Louisa by Isabella Russell-Ides treats us to a conversation between Louisa May Alcott and the heroine of Little Women : Jo March. The two carry on a robust dialogue, reflecting on the widespread influence of Alcott’s most popular novel, Jo March herself, and risque’ content in light of gender identity in the 21^st Century. Jo was the unapologetic tomboy of the vivacious, long-suffering March household, given to reckless proclamations such as: “I wish I was a boy,” and “If only I could marry Meg.” Before the end they cavort in convincing male drag. There’s a sweet playfulness to the chemistry between Alcott and Jo, and a beguiling hook to the unspoken possibilities of Jo March’s sexual anarchy. We know, for instance, that the notorious George Sand, Marlene Dietrich, and Katharine Hepburn, were apparently glad to sport men’s attire. But then, they were also comfortable making love to other women. Which may be the problem with Jo & Louisa. It flirts and flaunts with the idea that Jo March was an iconoclast, when it came to gender expectations, but it’s little more than peekaboo. Nobody believes that all tomboys are lesbians, but Jo & Louisa seems endlessly fascinated by speculation.

Colby Calhoun and William Acker’s The 1^st Annual Gay Show is set in a pageant for contestants who all, in one way or another, belong to the tribe of Queer Folk. The familiar tropes of beauty competitions are here. The talent, the personal details, the dancing, the posing in bathing suits and gowns. At one point, a token straight man is yanked from the audience and conscripted. The Mistress of Ceremonies has a booming voice and presence to match. As the show commences and moves through various events, elements of pain and anger slowly emerge, which the MC hastens to extinguish. We’re all here for frivolity and light-hearted, camp hi jinks. Eventually, anecdotes of humiliation and deprecation are shared. Gay Show aims, it seems, for a juxtaposition of hilarity and pathos. If you’re queer, sometimes the best strategy is to play the light-as-air fairy (or perhaps the butch brute) leading us to scorn and merriment. But one way or another, it’s still about self-diminishment.

Brad McEntire’s The Beast of Hyperborea features an accountant who is horns-waggled into a trip to a remote island in search of a legendary monster. Like poor Bilbo Baggins, he’s not the least interested in risking physical and/or emotional harm for the sake of mind-bending adventure. Beast is a fairly traditional narrative souped up by McEntire to appeal to contemporary audiences. There’s a strong, able-bodied lady, who smokes cigars, and embraces danger with gusto. There’s a misogynistic, stuffy buffoon, a Baron proficient in the martial arts, and a Captain who’s more about canny nerve than bloviating. McEntire knows how to blend the touching with the fanciful, the astonishing with gravitas. While he sometimes seems to be winking at us, at other times his credulity gives this vivid monologue substance and humanity.

The Bath House Cultural Center presents: The 21^st Annual Festival of Independent Theatres: Coming of Age, playing July 12^{th _} August 3^rd, 2019. 521 East Lawther Drive, Dallas, Texas 75218. 1-800-617-6904.       www.festivalof independenttheatres.org