So there's this young woman—freely disclosed by playwright Sharon Greene to be herself—looking for adventure and romance between dead-end jobs, to which purpose she embarks with some casual acquaintances on a camping trip to Lake Powell, Utah.
Playwright: Sharon Greene. At: The Neo-Futurists at Welles Park, 2333 W. Sunnyside. Phone: 773-275-5255; $15
Runs through: Sept. 19. Ryan Walters ( left ) and Luke Hatton in Fake Lake. Photo by Erikia Dufour
Amid the flirtations and frolics encouraged by the pastoral setting—the therapeutic benefits of fresh air and wildlife constituting a recurring theme in western literature—she is shocked to learn that the 'natural playground' she idealizes with such pantheistic fervor owes its creation to a dam on the Colorado River whose construction inflicted—and continues to inflict—untold damage to its environment. 'This is a strip mine! This is Chernobyl!' our narrator exclaims in dismay, surveying this deceptively-placid ecological disaster, 'We expect it to be ugly, but it's pretty!'
Taken by itself, Fake Lake might have been a tidy little vacation-memoir seasoned with a smidgen of social consciousness. But what elevates this Neo-Futurists production is its staging under the direction of Halena Kays in the Welles Park swimming pool, where the five-person ensemble takes every advantage of their aquatic site in the presentation of their story: we get dazzling surface-acrobatic stunts, sexy water ballets and romantic candlelit idylls on a flotation raft the size of a conversation pit, all performed by smiling synchronized-swimmers as supple as otters. The history of the Lake Powell region is accompanied by a game of Marco Polo, a demonstration of Water Management is framed as a live-action skit, and the sad chronicle of the dam's development is alleviated by a simultaneous drinking contest in which the audience is invited to participate ( non-alcoholic beverages only ) .
The open shutters in the Park's poolhouse make for comfortable temperatures and ventilation after sunset. The creative decision to group most of the dramatic action at one end of the basin ascertains that every word in the acoustically-primitive auditorium emerges distinct and intelligible. The audience area includes a minimal 'splash zone,' so playgoers are warned to dress appropriately. Even the lifeguards mandated by Park District regulations contribute to the ambience conjured by Greene and her dripping-wet colleagues over the 75 minutes of the show's playing time.
'It was so much better, because it was so much worse,' says Greene of her woodland experience. But before summer becomes only a memory, swimmers and non-swimmers alike can revel in her cheerful and rueful account of innocent illusions lost on the shores of an artificial arcadia.
