Look out below: RTC’s delirious Drop Dead

 

It’s the last dress rehearsal before the opening of Drop Dead. Chaz is not doing well, in his role as the longtime Barrington butler. Another keeps stumbling over the name, “Penelope”. The wealthy producer keeps pressuring the director, and deferring to his daughter (Candy) the “ingenue”. The set leaves much to be desired, the guy playing the detective feels uninspired, and Candy has the range of a popgun. Mona, the former star, is temperamental and contentious, and the grand lady of the stage is all but stone deaf. The lofty, eccentric playwright, Alabama Miller, keeps showing up on set, blasted and out of control. The show is imploding, and solutions seem elusive and unreliable.

Sometimes the names of characters can tell a lot. Chaz Looney: the loopy rookie actor. Candy Apples: the insipid, erstwhile porn actress. The vain, pompous director: Victor Le Pew. P.G. “Piggy Banks”: (tehe) the wealthy, bossy producer. Drop Dead is a kind of play within a play. A woebegone production, cursed by mishaps, incompetence, a shoestring budget (for starters) finds itself under attack by an actual murderer. It’s the kind of comedy that makes death the punchline. Playwrights Billy Van Zandt and Jane Milmore exploit the often overlooked absurdity of bodies piling up. A fact often ignored in say, Hamlet and The Lieutenant at Inishmore.

Drop Dead, a spoof of familiar “whodunits”, takes the story of a sinking production, and stitches it to murder mystery, blurring the lines between the fanciful onstage, and grisly backstage events. Director Leigh Wyatt Moore has risen to the occasion, with confidence and aplomb. The gags: physical, verbal, practical and ridiculous comes thick and fast. A corpse under a sheet might be subject to rigor mortis. A “dying” actress can’t keep her knees together. Chaz and Candy are a snogging machine. And Mona is busy preserving her precious ego. Moore keeps the blocking tight, the pace moving and the timing impeccable. She manages this spirited, versatile, adroit cast with the precision of an orchestra conductor.

If ubiquitous chaos and calamity have been kicking your tuchas, why not pay a visit to Richardson Theatre Centre, where punchy, preposterous shenanigans are on the loose? You know you want to.

Richardson Theatre Centre presents Drop Dead, playing February 4th-20th, 2022. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080. 972-699-1130. richardsontheatrecentre.net

Haywire. ACT’s God of Carnage

Alan and Annette Raleigh and Michael and Veronica Novak have come together to resolve an incident between their two sons: Henry and Ben. It seems Ben hit Henry in the mouth with a stick, when he called Ben “a snitch.” Veronica’s arranged this meeting to settle the particulars, and reach a civilized agreement. Everyone is gracious at the outset, commenting on the calla lilies, the pastry, the regrettable encounter. In a moment of metaphoric stage action, Annette, upset by an eruption of truculence, gets sick on a rare book of art history. Civilization is no match for the chaos of battle.

It doesn’t take a psychic to surmise that four adults, expected to behave like grownups, will go sideways fairly soon. After all, theatrical friction never came from people playing nice. Despite an encouraging start, the Raleighs and Novaks find their plans for an amicable treaty gradually deteriorating. Should the parents be there when Ben and Henry meet? Is Ben the only culpable party? Are boys just naturally prone to brutality? The charitable gathering turns to comic exchange. Then, things take a dark tone. There are recriminations, personal attacks, oversteps.

Playwright Yasmina Reza has (at the end of the day) fashioned an allegory on the ugliness of violence. Altruism versus self-interest. Spirituality versus the visceral. God of Carnage is a cunning drama that masquerades as humor. The characters act out (if you will) the contradictions and perils that come with fixing any loaded issue. Such as protecting our sons. And the compulsive (if unconscious) need to train warriors in a world that would gobble them up. Our need to be the best humans we can is at odds with the impulse to fight or get the hell out. God of Carnage blindsides us with a 180. We drop our guard and get cozy with humor, before we see how vicious conflict can get.

The remarkable cast: Joe Barr (Alan Raleigh) Molly Bower (Veronica Novak) Kevin Moriarty (Michael Novak) Megan Tormey (Annette Raleigh) under the keen eye of director Jennifer Stephens Stubbs, have proven their chops for tumultuous, nuanced, unnerving and wonderfully entertaining performance. One can only imagine the rigorous, challenging and dedicated work behind such a glorious production. This is theatre gone haywire. And it’s amazing.

Allen Contemporary Theatre presents: God of Carnage, playing January 28th-February 13th, 2022. 1200 East Main Street #300, Allen, Texas 75002. 844-822-8489. www.allencontemporarytheatre.net