Thom Pain (based on nothing)

C

It has been 13 years since playwright Will Eno (The Open House, The Realistic Joneses) took New York by storm with this extended monologue that received an ecstatic review from then Times critic Charles Isherwood, who described it as “stand-up existentialism” and dubbed Eno “a Samuel Beckett for the Jon Stewart generation.” The play became a hot ticket, a Pulitzer contender, and the topic of heated arguments at cocktail parties. I was not one of its fans, but could not resist Signature Theatre’s revival because the star Michael C. Hall (The Realistic Joneses, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, “Dexter”) is an actor whose work I have long admired. Knowing more or less what to expect this time around, I could relax and enjoy a fine actor at work without a sense of disappointment at the play’s circularities and teases. The script reminds me of the comic “Peanuts,” with Lucy repeatedly pulling the ball before Charlie Brown can kick it. Thom repeatedly promises the audience something and then abruptly retracts it or begins a story that he never finishes. Clearly in pain, he alternately charms and alienates the audience. Fragments from his life story including a childhood trauma and a failed romance give a few clues as to the reasons for his state of mind. Lodged amidst the self-laceration and passive aggression are some very funny bits. Michael C. Hall has more charm and less menace than I recall from James Urbaniak’s 2005 performance, which takes some edge off the play. I question Signature’s decision to put it on their largest stage, because it needs intimacy to have its full effect. From the third row, I saw nuances that may have been lost several rows back. The set by Amy Rubin (Miles for Mary) turns the stage and large parts of the theater into a construction site, complete with ladders, tarps, a scaffold, and an onstage excavation. The relevance of this concept to the play is questionable at best. For me, it was one more example of what seems to be a trend this season — overloading a play with dubious visual distractions such as the set for Good Grief and the furniture-moving chorus in The Hard Problem. Did director Oliver Butler (The Open House, What the Constitution Means to Me) not trust that the play itself was enough to hold our interest? If the thought of a rambling 65-minute rant does not appeal to you, skip it. If you are a Michael C. Hall fan, you’ll want to catch it.

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.

The Realistic Joneses ***

Will Eno's Broadway debut play, now in previews at the Lyceum is a strange mashup of the absurd and the hilarious, with a strong undercurrent of ruefulness and resignation. In it, we meet two couples, both named Jones. The older long-married couple, Bob (Tracy Letts) and Jennifer (Toni Collette) rarely converse, especially since Bob fell ill with an incurable neurological disorder. While sitting on their patio, they are surprised by a visit from their new neighbors, John (Michael C. Hall) and Pony (Marisa Tomei), who have just moved to town. Their initial conversation might be described as a combination of Beckett and Borscht Belt. Hall gets most of the good lines. The two couples at first seem to have little in common, but are drawn to each other and eventually form a peculiar bond. The play explores the uses of conversation both as a way to express, avoid and conceal feelings. Its blend of hilarity and humanity works well most of the time, but the one-liners grow a bit tiresome after a while. The high-profile cast handles Eno's off-kilter dialog with aplomb under Sam Gold's nimble direction. David Zinn's scenic design, Kaye Voyce's costumes and Mark Barton's lighting set the appropriate mood. Of the four Eno plays I have seen, this one was both the funniest and the most affecting. Running time: 1 hour 40 minutes; no intermission.

The Open House ***

Another day, another play about a dysfunctional family. Since my two previous experiences with Will Eno's work were negative -- I hated "Thom Pain (based on nothing)" and was bored with "Middletown" -- I planned to skip his new play at Signature Theatre until a respected friend persuaded me it to see it. I won't go so far as to say that the third time was a charm, but I did find this droll absurdist comedy by far the most entertaining of the three. The unnamed family consists of the tyrannical Father (Peter Friedman), confined to a wheelchair by a stroke, Mother (Carolyn McCormick), a shell of a woman after years of living with a verbally abusive husband, Uncle (Michael Countryman), Father's sad sack widowed brother, and Son (Danny McCarthy) and Daughter (Hannah Bos), the two adult children who have returned home for their parents' anniversary. Father's vicious tongue is a deadly weapon, ready to wound anyone who dares to engage him. Even the family dog has fled. Unbeknownst to his family, Father has decided to sell the house. The high concept is that each of the five characters we meet leaves the house and is replaced by a new character played by the same actor. Before play's end, the stage is occupied by a much happier bunch -- a real estate agent, a painter-landscaper, a couple who might buy the house and their attorney. It's a clever stunt, but I refuse to glean any deep metaphysical thoughts from it. The cast is excellent (especially Friedman), the living room set by Antje Ellermann is picture perfect, Bobby Frederick Tilley II's costumes are fine and Oliver Butler's direction is smooth. I liked it enough that I bought a ticket for Eno's upcoming Broadway debut "The Realistic Joneses." Running time: 75 minutes, no intermission.

TItle and Deed (guest review) *

(Please click on the title to read the entire review.)
Having found Will Eno's Thom Pain (based on nothing) deadly and Middletown deadly dull, I decided to pass on his new play now in previews at the Signature Theatre. A report from MH, whose reaction is often similar to mine, testifies to the wisdom of my decision. She writes: "Knowing you were not a big fan of Thom Pain, I thought I might save you more Pain by warning you about the new Eno at the Signature -- a one-man 90-minute yawnfest. I rather like one-handers if there's a plot or a lot of intriguing characters. This one starts off amiably enough, then wanders into an existential meditation on -- I don't know exactly -- life, where we are, why, ... then I fell asleep. The actor [Conor Lovett] is amiable also, but lacks the Gaelic charm which might make the material compelling. You have been warned!"