Mrs. Murray's Menagerie

C+

For the first production at their new second home at Greenwich House, Ars Nova has selected this piece, created and performed by The Mad Ones, the five-person theater collective “dedicated to creating visceral, ensemble-driven, highly detailed theatrical experiences that examine and illuminate American nostalgia.” Banality and group dynamics seem to be hallmarks of their work. Last year’s Miles for Mary traced the changing relationships among a group of teachers as revealed at a series of faculty meetings over the course of a year in the late 1980’s, culminating in a memorable meltdown. The current play, set a decade earlier, traces the dynamics among a group of parents in a focus group about the children’s television show that gives the play its title. The show is about Mrs. Murray, played by an African-American woman, a singer who lives with a bunch of animal puppets. As its final season begins, the producers are looking for parental input to decide between two possible spinoffs. The session is led by the unctuous Dale (Brad Heberlee), assisted by his hapless assistant Jim (Marc Bovino) who struggles to write down on a blackboard all the participants’ responses. The six parents are Ernest (Phillip James Brannon), a bookstore owner; Roger (Joe Curnutte), a salesman who oozes male privilege; Wayne (Michael Dalto), an easy-going tool and die worker; June (Carmen M. Herlihy), affluent and a bit stolid; Celeste, who prefers to be called Cici (January LaVoy), cool and confident; and Gloria (Stephanie Wright Thompson), poor and insecure. Ernest and Cici are black. As they answer inane questions about the show, the six subtly reveal differences of class, race, gender and temperament. The actors are uniformly excellent. The period costumes by Asta Bennie Hostetter and wigs and makeup by Alfreda “Fre” Howard are marvelous. The community room set by You-Shin Chen and Laura Jellinek is aptly dreary. Lila Neugebauer once again demonstrates her skill directing an ensemble cast. Unfortunately the play has more valleys than peaks and offers little in the way of catharsis. Such restraint may be admirable, but subtlety does not always lead to compelling theater. I thought it was a step backwards from Miles for Mary. Running time: 90 minutes; no intermission.

Wakey, Wakey

D-

Reluctant as I am to repeat an expression I learned from Ted Cruz, I have to say that Will Eno’s latest work for his Signature Theatre residency is a nothing burger. The only possible reason to catch it is the all-too-rare opportunity to see Michael Emerson (Gross Indecency) back on stage. No one does misery better than Emerson, and he certainly has cause to be miserable here. He plays Guy, a dying man in a wheelchair, who feels the need to entertain the audience and repeatedly apologizes for not being up to the task. He shares his final words of wisdom, jotted down on index cards, and uses a remote to project old photographs of childhood, a word puzzle and a YouTube funny animal clip on a large screen. If you remove the repeated apologies, long pauses and photographic distractions, there’s probably not more than half an hour of dialogue. About half way through the proceeding (I am loathe to call it a play), he is joined by Lisa (the radiant January LaVoy), a caregiver who brings a bag of fortune cookies that she shares with the audience. The final moments are an assault on the senses involving video collage, bubbles, balloons, bright lights and a disco ball. To me, it came across as a desperate attempt by the playwright-director to distract the audience from the inadequacy of all that preceded it. I posit that under the pressure of owing Signature a new play, this was the best that Eno could throw together. No matter. I’m sure the establishment critics will call it brilliant. The main elements of Christine Jones’s scenic design are a bunch of packing cartons, a pile of disheveled clothes and a never-used door flanked by two small evergreens. Playing Bolero as background music before the play was a trite choice. It was only 75 minutes without intermission, but it seemed much longer.