Playwright: Lisa Dillman. At: Rivendell Theatre at the Steppenwolf Garage, 1624 N. Halsted. Phone: 312-335-1650; $20. Runs through: June 20
Her name is Lucy, and she admits to being a manic-depressive "wack job." What endears her to us immediately is not just that she's a high-functioning wack job, nor that she exhibits an admirable awareness of her condition that endows her with a modicum of control over it, but that she has a personality wholly removed from her affliction. This distinguishes her from the rest of the play's personnel, whose characters are defined by inner turmoil, expressed in screams and straitjackets, self-mutilation with sewing needles and that reliable standby: audio-montages of overlapping voices.
But aren't quivering, distraught and helpless exactly how we like our crazy chicks? Playwright Lisa Dillman hasn't yet made up her mind whether her topic is an unjust society that penalizes non-conforming women, the dilemma of precisely what is to be done with citizens whose eccentricity becomes alarming to their neighbors, or the damage suffered by children of psychologically disturbed parents. This last theme is reflected in the framing device of a ( yawn ) young female writer researching madwomen of yore in an effort to exorcise guilt over her fatal neglect of her own bipolar mother, a painter of fairy-tale fantasies ( enacted for us by sexually suggestive puppets ) .
But Dillman's personae, many based in sources diluted beyond recognition during the development process ( like the sprite dressed in fluffy Victorian garb—allegedly the heroine of Charlotte Perkins Gilman's classic short story, The Yellow Wallpaper—whose contribution is to creep through the action like a stray puppy ) are too diverse to lead us to any comprehensive conclusions, while her invocation of a universe dominated by emotional conflict devoid of rational solutions inspires exasperation more than empathy. If the final tableau of our respective certified lunatics beaming down at babies and grandbabies was intended by the author to convey a picture of peaceful normalcy, it also conjures an ironic vision of genetic aberrations being passed to another generation.
Director Megan Carney and an impressive squad of actresses walk the line between martyrs and monsters with a steely resolve that almost redeems the superficiality of their material—in particular, Mierka Girten as the aforementioned Lucy, who retains her gravity even when the script mandates her inevitable crash-and-burn. And in the entryway to this Rivendell Theatre Ensemble production, staged in the Steppenwolf Garage, playgoers can view a gallery of fanciful paintings by a female artist. Don't be afraid to inquire about her mental status—that's what we came for, isn't it?