REVIEW OF EMBRACING THE UNDERTOAD
Produced by This Woman's Work Theatre Company
at Chashama in New York City, May/June, 2005
by Reed Bernstein May, 2005
"Ah shit." That was my first thought. I knew (or at least felt I did) on the two-hour train ride into the city that it was going to be one of those nights of earnest but horrible theater, and that I was there only to offer myself up in support of a very good friend as a member of the sacrificial audience. So back to "Ah shit." About six or seven minutes into "Embracing the Undertoad," written by Robin Rice Lichtig, directed by Sherry Teitelbaum, and produced by the dubious sounding "This Woman's Work Theatre," I felt like a coyote with his leg caught in a trap.
The theater was a converted coffee house in far-east midtown. I was prepared to be peppered with a two-hour dissertation on why men suck. On top of that, the play opened with Deshja Driggs Hall playing Madeline, a frustrated alcoholic writer fretting to her lesbian lover, Agnes, played by Kate Cox, about not having enough inspiration to complete her novel/book about spelunking. That's right: an alcoholic lesbian cave dweller. Agnes, her lover, is an overweight, put-upon, short order waitress, who has just returned from a sexual assault at work. I'm thinking I got to get out of here, and I would have gnawed off my arm for a friggin' valium. The symbolism was painful to consider and I was trying my best not to sigh dismissively, while still looking comfortable and open-minded.
Then something unexpected happened. The play turned out to be quite wonderful.
The writing became excellent. In the first act, Madeline was desperately trying to get some kind of handle on her girlfriend, who at first glance seems to be a not-so-bright simpleton. I was wondering why Madeline, who happens to be real hot in her wife-beater tank top and black bra, is so enamored and frustrated by the corpulent Agnes, who is unable (or unwilling) to open up and share any details about her past.
Then something strange happened. It turned out that Agnes is quiet complex. She is the cave. She is that dark place that only reveals itself in small pieces, one that only a focused beam of symbolic light can expose. The acting between these two girls was so effective that all that stupid crap I was thinking (and ashamed to admit) about Kate Cox's weight drifted away. (By the end of Act I, I couldn't decide which of the two actresses was more attractive.) All the women actors were truely talented. I personally would be honored to work with any of them.
The play was sort of like Tennessee Williams meets Edward Albee, as it relied on a lot of dialog-driven sense memory. Madeline's character was like a literate Stanley Kowalski, down to the wife-beater shirt. Another flourish was that the play took place in the South and had that lazy reminiscent quality of a work about the horrors of personal identity.
The third member of the cast, Bella, played by Candace Reid (who just so happens to be this girl I used to have this massive crush on but now we're like best friends - the reason why I went in the first place), appeared as a sort of hippie Blanche DuBois. The younger sister of Agnes - she was an unwelcome presence, like an evil spirit whose weapon is touchy, feely, spiritual, granola kindness that brought the most laughs from the audience. Her entrance was grand. It seemed as if something other-worldly had entered. Bella was the catalyst. She watched as the lives of the other two characters unfolded and unraveled. At this point I was completely engaged in what was going on: I'm a fly on the wall, a voyeur from next door. Ennunciations were perfect; concentration was focused. Except for some lags in the southern accent, there was rarely a blurred moment in the piece.
We study acting, be it good or bad, see these modest plays, learn from failures to develop a critical eye. It was refreshing to be so wrong about a play. It was exhilarating to see small theater work the way it should.
Bravo.
