Seeking refuge from the 17th century bubonic Plague of London, a 12 year old girl named Morse and a sailor named Bunce, sneak into the opulent home of William and Darcy Snelgrave, a well-heeled married couple of the aristocracy. The Snelgraves take pity. Considering the rampant, excruciating, degrading loss of life, respite seems little enough to ask. The Snelgraves clean them up, setting Bunce to wiping floors with vinegar, and giving Morse free reign. More or less. The only other human being they see is Kabe, a scavenger who runs a kind of black market, pilfering from the dead. He knows raunchy songs and barters with Morse for the privilege of kissing her leg.
Darcy and William have been married for awhile. They no longer make love since she was burned horribly in a fire. Despite her emotional and physical misery, William subjugates and degrades her. Bunce is a gentle soul, who’s had his fill of the navy. Morse is one of those kids who takes ghoulish pleasure in describing grisly, lurid details of the cadavers, and ubiquitous, dissolution of the doomed and infirm. Perhaps this is her way of processing, but she does go on a bit. Kabe is well aware of his place on the food chain, and not at all shy about how he subsists. An opportunist who’s happy to exploit the catastrophic. Like Mother Courage without scruples.
William explains, repeatedly, how distasteful his guests are, but his Christian noblesse oblige requires charity and compassion. His effete arrogance seems harmless enough, until we see him tormenting and harassing Bunce. He insists that Bunce puts on his shoes. Then, once he’s comfortable, demands that Bunce proclaim he’ll never be worthy of wearing them. In another incident, he salaciously asks the erstwhile sailor about supposed homoerotic adventures. Clearly William wishes to stoke his solitary, nocturnal recreation, but only fails to sully Bunce’s tender memories.
Playwright Naomi Wallace has taken intense, grueling content to explore atrocity, brutality, and amorality. It’s harrowing and draining to witness. In his essay: The Theatre and the Plague, Antonin Artaud posits the desperation of extreme circumstances, as an ideal paradigm for revealing humanity at its worst. If we find ourselves in dystopia, when society’s restrictions have essentially vanished, nothing is off limits. Ms. Wallace goes for the light touch, avoiding amplification. The circumstances are horrific enough. Anything else would be crass and manipulative. Wallace makes it clear that the Snelgraves are only as “Christian” as they need appear. They presume the indigent are decadent by divine design.
The humanity of Drew Wall’s Bunce is a marvel. Christie Vela carries quiet dignity and persistent disappointment, with frailty and resignation. Gregory Lush’s William is an intriguing blend of barely concealed pettiness and insipid rectitude. Carson Wright’s Kabe is incorrigible and savvy. He may be mercenary, but his unapologetic turpitude seems to work. Montserrat Rodriguez’s Morse has an enchanted, subversive feel. Her narratives are bleak, repugnant, yet fanciful.
Second Thought Theater’s production of One Flea Spare is meticulous, canny, disturbing. There’s an offhand, familial feel, that seems innocuous enough. But gradually, indirectly, the actual impact and despair comes through. It’s an odd mix of the tawdry and the brave. Hypocrisy and the sanctity of the unashamed.
Second Thought Theater presents One Flea Spare, playing October 26th-November 12th, 2022. 3400 Blackburn St, Dallas, TX, 75219. Bryant Hall, Kalita Humphreys Campus. (214) 897-3091. secondthoughttheatre.com