Johanna Day, Katie Broad, and Reg Rogers in
the world
premiere of “Oblivion.” Photo by Carol Rosegg
Dialogue evolves from character.
Whether it’s “To be or not to be,” “I have always depended on the kindness of
strangers,” or “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” you know when you hear
the words that this character, in this situation, is speaking his or her truth,
or at least what he or she believes truth to be. Then there are words, be they
ever so well written, that are spoken by an actor on stage that just don’t seem
to be coming from the character speaking them. You can sense what you are
hearing is the playwright’s voice, not the character’s. Such is the case with
many of the lines delivered in “Oblivion,” a humorous and, at moments,
insightful play by Carly Mensch receiving its world premiere at the Westport
Country Playhouse. Parts work. Yet, the whole is less than the sum of its
parts.
The
play, directed with a good sense of pacing and character interaction by Mark
Brokaw, deals with a nuclear family consisting of a father, Dixon (Reg Rogers),
a burnt-out lawyer now ostensibly writing a novel that will expose the evils of
the legal profession (a la Grisham), a mother, Pam (Johanna Day), a television
producer, their rebellious daughter, Julie (Katie Broad), and her high school
friend, Bernard (Aidan Kunze), an erstwhile filmmaker with a fixation on the
film critic Pauline Kael.
Katie Broad and Aidan Kunze. Photo by Carol Rosegg
There’s trouble in
the family, ostensibly because Julie is a teenager and, well, by definition…but
it goes deeper than that, for Mom and Dad are freethinkers, of a sort, and
Julie has just discovered religion…actually, she’s just discovered Jesus, via
Bernard, who is, himself, not too sure about the whole religious thing but is
willing to go along for the ride because he loves Julie.
Conflict
abounds…Mom and Dad have different views on parenting, and different views on
Julie’s sudden fascination with religion, and different views on, well, just
about everything, and Julie, well she has shifting views on her parents and God
and sex and love and kissing and…well, just about everything a teenager might
fixate on…including the kitchen sink. No, sorry, she has no thoughts on the
kitchen sink…or, at least, if she does, they aren’t expressed.
As the atoms in
this nuclear family whirl about each other, Mensch creates many moments that
ring true and elicit laughter, but it soon becomes clear that the playwright is
taking on a bit too much: too many themes, too many roads down which her
characters half-travel but never arrive at a clear destination. There’s
religion and teenage angst and rebellion, mid-life crisis and ennui, marital
infidelity (real or imagined)…and filmmaking, both its theory and practice. In
the end, which has Bernard screening his first film, there is supposed to be
some kind of resolution, the nature of which remains to be seen.
Katie Broad and Johanna Day. Photo by Carol Rosegg
The show, however,
by and large works, and that is to the credit of the four actors who work well
together and generate more steam and heat than the dialogue often allows. Broad
gives the audience a perfect example of a teenage girl in faux crisis, with
appropriate facial expressions and body language that convey her disdain for
anything her parents might suggest, and Day and Rogers are a believable
middle-aged couple trying to find again the reasons they once came together.
Most of the heavy, playwright-thinking dialogue falls upon Kunze to deliver,
and he does what he can with it, but you sense that no teenager, no matter how
cinema-smitten, would ever utter these words (or not know that his idol, Kael,
has gone off to the big screening room in the sky).
“Oblivion” makes
several strong rushes down the runway but never truly lifts off. That is
perhaps because the play is unsure of its destination, which was obvious from
the audience reaction when it finally realized, “Well, that’s all folks.” Yes,
but what about God and religion and…well, everything else that was on Mensch’s
mind when she sat down to write her play? All answered with a black-out, which
might be translated as a cop-out.
“Oblivion” runs
through September 8. For tickets or more information call 203-227-4177 or go to
www.westportcountryplayhouse.org.
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