Playwright: Marisa Wegrzyn. At: Chicago Dramatists, 1105 W. Chicago. $32. Runs through: June 12
Marisa Wegrzyn's premise is that embedded within each of us is a "mortal clock," literally a pocket watch on a chain, pre-set for the final moment of our life. Most people remain unaware of it, but a few gain knowledge of their clock and undergo painful extraction operations to gain advance knowledge of when they will die, or attempt to alter the time mechanism. Should a mortal clock stop too soon, an individual doesn't die but instead is frozen at his/her age at that moment, remaining ageless until the mortal clock is repaired. This work of magic realism is told across three generations of a contemporary family which operates a neighborhood watch and clock repair business.
Tickets: www.chicagodramatists.org;
In the world of metaphysical science-fiction this conceit could be a springboard for the pursuit of immortality and the control of lives through control of the time mechanism. Wegrzyn does explore the latter, but refuses to explore the former, which is odd and brave of her because it's the obvious avenue. The theme of Hickorydickory, however, isn't length of life but quality of life as measured by love given and received. Not unlike Harry Potter (to which Wegrzyn includes a shout-out), love is a secret weapon. Those who tamper with mortal clocks do so not to extend their own lives, but to extend the lives of those they love. Of course, every action has a reaction so Hickorydickory is bittersweet.
This world-premiere production is in three acts and runs two hours and 40 minutes, which is somewhat longer than it needs to be. Other than that, there's no fault to be found with how director Russ Tutterow and his amiable five-person cast have brought it to life with humor and compassion. Simon Lashford's storefront scenic design, brimming with clocks and tools, is a thing of beauty, and Barry Bennett's music and soundscape add an important element.
Still, I wanted this work to soar more than it does; I wanted to be swept up in it, and I wasn't. It took me a few minutes to figure out why (or why not): It's the fact that Wegrzyn tells her story within a mundane context of kindly but small people—everyday shop folk. However, her premise isn't mundane. It's large and colorful and calls for size and exaggeration it doesn't have. It needs an old castle not a neighborhood clock shop. I think, perhaps, it should not be set in the 21st century, but at an earlier time in which Wegrzyn could follow the path either of gothic horror or of grandiose romance. My reservations notwithstanding, Hickorydickory is refreshingly original, which is one reason Wegrzyn is a rising-star playwright both locally and nationally. Her interesting work is worth seeing.
