Photo by Joan Marcus: Reed Birney, Deirdre O’Connell
Marty (Deirdre O’Connell) is conducting the beginning session of a community dramatics encounter group. There’s Marty and her husband, James, (Peter Friedman), plus newcomers Schultz (Reed Birney), Theresa, (Heidi Schreck) and young Lauren (Tracee Chimo), all in practice clothes, all shoes removed, the way they do in Vermont. They’re in a large rehearsal studio, one mirrored wall, one wall draped. No furniture, some mats, a big ball, a long bench with storage space beneath. The new ones do not know each other; Marty and James want them to. So the exercises begin. Marty’s obviously done these awareness and breaking down barriers trainings for years. Everybody is lying on the floor. They count off at random. When two of them say the same number they start over. And again. And again. But already, something is happening. Blackout.
In the next scene they’re starting to become engaged with each other, even though they’re still not sure Marty’s exercises are silly or worth doing. But they do them. Blackout. More interaction next session, more encountering, acting out each other’s identities without knowing any facts. Counting off on the floor. Chain mimicking. Grunting, yelling, hooting. Young Lauren is convinced they’re nuts but maybe if you want to be an actress this is what you have to do. Black out. And again. And again. And we have become more deeply involved as an audience.
Schultz inches up on making a pass at Theresa, which develops into something more torrid, Lauren goggle eyed. Because Schultz in one of the revelatory exercises talks about his recent divorce, how his wife got the big house and he’s in a crummy condo, how he split up with his boy friend. But his yen for Theresa remains fervid and reciprocated. In Theresa’s revelations, smiling, cheerful, she recounts an episode replete with bigotry against Jews, which trails through other exercises, all smiles. Jew Ess Ay. Jewlash goulash. Her jokes. She’s graceful, obviously a dancer, sweet as pie, sexy hula hoop demonstrator. A willing partner making Schultz happy. Until she cuts him off.
By the sixth week, they know each other better than they really intended. Marty and James are manifesting domestic distress. Marty continues leading the group, smiling, pleasant, and interested week after week. A bandage appears on her forehead. She remains smiling, pleasant. She reveals to Schultz that she fell out of bed, more than once. Schultz knows why: night terrors. And we, the audience, know why Schultz is saying what he’s said. And why Marty’s disturbed on too many levels. We are engaged, absorbed in their exercises, our exercises.
Playwright Annie Baker has a fiendishly calculating ear for the way people speak, a lancing eye for their behavior with each other as they train their senses in behalf of learning how to act. Baker sees more, deeper, scarier, funnier, puts it all in her play which, minimalist as it appears, accumulates, builds. Though we start with strangers, beginners, we end up with people who know each other well enough not to be friends or partners, even though Lauren still wonders what all this stuff has to do with acting. Only everything.
Director Sam Gold works his company masterfully. He has elicited amazing performances, especially from Reed Birney and Tracee Chimo in showier roles. Nevertheless, I was much impressed with Dierdre O’Connell and Peter Friedman and Heidi Schreck. Director Gold has to give them the basic exercise, however: to reach the back rows. Too often in their captivating intimacy they appear to forget the audience and the theater. Playwright Annie Baker deserves to be heard.
Playwrights Horizons, 416 West 42nd Street. Tickets: $50. Tue-Sat 7:30 pm, Sun 7 pm. Mats, Sat, Sun 2 pm.