Review: In a Dark Dark House

Neil LaBute should thank his lucky stars for Fred Weller. In lesser hands (cough-Jason Patrick!-ahem), In a Dark Dark House could be an exercise in the pointless, overwrought, and predictable. The incisive, electric performance from Weller (and the other two cast members) acts as a bonafide defibrillator, creating palpable excitement and intrigue whenever the script gets thin.

Here's MCC's summary of the proceedings:

On the grounds of a private psychiatric facility, two family members find themselves brought face to face with each other's involvement in their traumatic past. In court-ordered rehab, Drew calls on his brother, Terry, to corroborate his story of abuse. Drew's request releases barely-hidden animosities between the two; is he using these repressed memories to save himself while smearing the name of his brother's friend and mentor? In Neil LaBute's powerful new play, these siblings must struggle to come to grips with their troubled legacy, both inside and outside their dark family home.

I'm quite of two minds about the show. It's an interesting set-up, and explores the ceaselessly relevant and scary topic of how exactly human monsters are made. Also, it's an interesting sort of cousin of Blackbird, telling the male side of the complexities of abuse, as Blackbird more directly explored a comparable story in which the victim was a girl. However, the "twists and turns" are often predictable from the moment of initial set-up. The interesting topic is articulated in a way that's too foggy and vague, and I admit that I'm generally not a fan of LaBute's tone. It kind of makes me feel dirty and unpleasant, which is doubtless what he's going for, but it still leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

But on the other hand, this cast totally rocks, and succeeds at making a clunky play kind of riveting. Ron Livingston carefully navigates a character who is both a self-interested, corrupt lawyer and a softie, pussyfooting younger brother, making Drew layered enough to be both compelling and condemnable. Louisa Krause is fantastic, playing 16-year-old Jennifer (aka "Buddy") with a rare and realistic combination of tough sophistication and naiveté. And Fred Weller's performance is unbelievably smart and agile, maneuvering each twinkle of the character's shifting motives with ease and incredible specificity. Watching the three of them is a pleasure, and they completely succeeded in making me enjoy the production, despite disliking the play. I also have to credit Carolyn Cantor, who created a physicality in this production that brings the tension between the characters to astronomical levels.

The rollerskating dream sequence is pretty kick-ass, though.

I had a peculiar sensation while watching Essential Self-Defense at Playwrights Horizons this weekend. With the start of every new scene, I could almost feel playwright Adam Rapp hurling an economy-size pot of spaghetti against a wall and watching it slide down the surface. Some interesting patterns, shapes, and flavors emerge from the muck from time to time, but mostly it's all about watching the waste accumulate in a big, savory pile on the floor.

All the ingredients in this show sound tasty - hard rock karaoke, punk librarians, mysterious abductions of middle schoolers, Paul Sparks... what could go wrong? Hidden beneath several layers of camp, pseudo-irony, and hedwig-like bizarreness, Essential Self-Defense is really a sweet love story about two socially paralyzed misfits. This story itself should be charming - Paul Sparks and Heather Goldenhersh take shaky, uncertain steps towards wooing in an angry and threatening world. Unfortunately, the play is frequently hijacked by ear-splitting "karaoke" (original) songs, an endless stream of pointlessly zany characters (a blood-stained butcher, a swearing, a librarian in combat boots, a guileless russian poet, etc etc), and a lot of general weirdness for weirdness' sake. And without spoiling too much, let me just say NO MORE UNNECESSARY NUDITY! For pete's sake. We don't always need to see someone's peepee to understand their vulnerability.

On the other hand, the play has some interesting stuff to say. The world these characters live in is bizarre, but their sense of something ominous approaching feels somehow accurate in it's representation of the oppresive fear we live with today. The rabid wolf is howling outside the window. Children are disappearing. Something nasty really is coming for us. Rapp's grotesque imagination is at it's best when he's riffing on these fears.

Whatever good intentions Rapp has, they're almost entirely obfuscated by the layers of craziness he's piled on, and things aren't helped by Carolyn Cantor's over-the-top staging. The production lives somewhere between The Rocky Horror Picture Show and a Blues' Clues acid trip. I actually think this could be an interesting piece if it was directed in a way that made the characters seem like humans instead of robots, and if they got rid of most (if not all) of the songs.

If you're the type that can stomach a lot of extraneous weirdness, you might really dig this play. For me, it was a huge turnoff. But hey, it's previews, maybe they'll make some good cuts and adjustments and find the focus. In another world, I think I would love it as a 90-minute two-hander. In fact, word on the street is that Adam Rapp has been tied up working on his show at The Flea, so the show might go through some transformations in the coming days and weeks.