Playwright: Mona Mansour. At: Steppenwolf Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted St.. Tickets: 312-335-1650; www.steppenwolf.org; $20-$78. Runs through: June 8
"Some people are not cut out for the trail!" declares the Forsberg clan matriarch, preparatory to recounting another tale of her ancestors surviving the trek to the promised land of California. There are different kinds of trails nowadays, though, and Mrs. Forsberg's romantic view of defying adversity blinds her to her own shortcomings regarding management of her late father's trust, so that she now faces bankruptcy. Her daughters, having had no accounting skills passed down to them, are likewise prodigal—Michelle scrapes by on minimum-wage jobs and small-time scams, while Amanda, despite boasting full-time salaried employment, lives far beyond her means on a cache of credit cards.
Well, why not? Doesn't the American Dream promise unlimited opportunity rewarding those willing to take risks? Isn't the pioneer spirit founded upon its readiness to aid those of its community ( investing in a friend's patent-medicine business, for example )? If Meesh charges cosmetics on her mom's account to resell for profit on eBay, is it really theft ( she argues ) when no actual cash changes hands, and isn't Manda's facility for grant-writing just a refined form of panhandling?
Playwright Mona Mansour understands that the size of the fortune is not important—poor judgment can squander millions in stocks or pennies in a jam jar. As Mom's health deteriorates, and the house crumbles under the neglect that comes of denial, the day finally arrives when there is no money to pay the pizza man, reducing the sisters to raiding fruit trees growing on the lawns of foreclosed neighborhood homes, while feral coyotes howl nearby. If you think this is a worst-case scenario exceeding the limits of plausibility, be assured that it is played out in countless homes today—maybe your own, or that of someone close to you.
Unfortunately, Mansour doesn't trust us to recognize the pitfalls of living in constant crisis mode by seeing and hearing them illustrated repeatedly, but insists on dressing up her sermon with musical breaks that would be less clumsy performed by a live onstage band, instead of Caroline Neff and Zoe Perry vainly strumming guitars against a canned score of inspirational hymns invoked by Mom to dispel any faltering of her belief in the myths of her forefathers—like the news that the start-up enterprise has gone bust, or the success of a pragmatic family acquaintance. Before you express scorn for their distress, however, ask yourself how many missed paychecks would send you foraging in the parks for edible roots and berries?
