Playwright: Mia McCullough. At: Stage Left Theatre at Theater Wit, 1227 W. Belmont Ave. Tickets: 773-975-8150; www.theaterwit.org; $25. Runs through: Oct. 7
Initiating the brouhaha was a billboard advertisement for a luxury spa displaying a pretty girl's photograph overlaid with copy apprising readers of services offered by the facility toward the achievement of this idealthat's the purpose of such an establishment, right? Ooooh, but many female viewers saw in this message an assertion that even the most airbrushed-perfect physique was in need of improvement. This real-life controversy is the basis of the symposium convened by Mia McCullough under the guise of a play for Stage Left Theatre.
A replica of the billboard in question dominates the upstage wall, while the foreground depicts a Starbucks-style coffee shop in the suburbs. Caffeine being indispensable to the U.S. diet, we soon meet our key personnel: the medical student who modeled for the picture and now wears a hijab, the lovesick photographer buddy who snapped the fatal portrait, the refined foreign-born spa owner, the outraged soccer mom, her brainy daughter and the seen-it-all barista. They interact from time to time, but mostly they address us, each making his/her case as if answering accusations and, in doing so, daring us to make judgments.
Imbroglios of this kind being always more complex than they seem, condemnations do not come as easily as does a profound pity for those who dwell in a culture of materialistic affluence where appearance is everything. We can jeer at frustrated matrons turning their thwarted ambitions toward leading protests, and coo over a bullied child taking comfort from a hairdresser's attentions. We can wallow in a patronizing "awww" moment when the nerdy cameraman and chubby counterwoman share a sweet and wholly predictable kiss. We can even put aside our scorn of beautiful women complaining of mistreatment to consider the insecurity of the teenage odalisque whose nubile attractions pay her tuition, but whose ancestors remind her that unconcealed fleshhowever aged and faded it may someday becomeinvites public abuse.
Greg Werstler directs an ensemble adept at invoking sympathy for their talking-head personaein particular, Jennifer Pompa's latté-slinging critic, Kayla Rea's wise-beyond-her-years gamin and Kamal Hans' gentle (and het) beautician who understands that beauty lies, first and foremost, in how we feel about ourselves. After having been introduced to these intelligent, articulate and eloquent people, let's hope that McCullough will now devote some effort into providing them a story to occupy. Impenetrable
Playwright: Mia McCullough
At: Stage Left Theatre at Theater
Wit, 1227 W. Belmont Ave.
Tickets: 773-975-8150;
www.theaterwit.org; $25
Runs through: Oct. 7
BY MARY SHEN BARNIDGE
Initiating the brouhaha was a billboard advertisement for a luxury spa displaying a pretty girl's photograph overlaid with copy apprising readers of services offered by the facility toward the achievement of this idealthat's the purpose of such an establishment, right? Ooooh, but many female viewers saw in this message an assertion that even the most airbrushed-perfect physique was in need of improvement. This real-life controversy is the basis of the symposium convened by Mia McCullough under the guise of a play for Stage Left Theatre.
A replica of the billboard in question dominates the upstage wall, while the foreground depicts a Starbucks-style coffee shop in the suburbs. Caffeine being indispensable to the U.S. diet, we soon meet our key personnel: the medical student who modeled for the picture and now wears a hijab, the lovesick photographer buddy who snapped the fatal portrait, the refined foreign-born spa owner, the outraged soccer mom, her brainy daughter and the seen-it-all barista. They interact from time to time, but mostly they address us, each making his/her case as if answering accusations and, in doing so, daring us to make judgments.
Imbroglios of this kind being always more complex than they seem, condemnations do not come as easily as does a profound pity for those who dwell in a culture of materialistic affluence where appearance is everything. We can jeer at frustrated matrons turning their thwarted ambitions toward leading protests, and coo over a bullied child taking comfort from a hairdresser's attentions. We can wallow in a patronizing "awww" moment when the nerdy cameraman and chubby counterwoman share a sweet and wholly predictable kiss. We can even put aside our scorn of beautiful women complaining of mistreatment to consider the insecurity of the teenage odalisque whose nubile attractions pay her tuition, but whose ancestors remind her that unconcealed fleshhowever aged and faded it may someday becomeinvites public abuse.
Greg Werstler directs an ensemble adept at invoking sympathy for their talking-head personaein particular, Jennifer Pompa's latté-slinging critic, Kayla Rea's wise-beyond-her-years gamin and Kamal Hans' gentle (and het) beautician who understands that beauty lies, first and foremost, in how we feel about ourselves. After having been introduced to these intelligent, articulate and eloquent people, let's hope that McCullough will now devote some effort into providing them a story to occupy.