Playwright: Sam Shepard
At: Strawdog Theatre, 3829 N. Broadway
Phone: 773-528-9696; $20
Runs through: May 12
BY MARY SHEN BARNIDGE
All we know for certain at the start is that there's been some domestic violence. Jake thinks he's killed his wife, but Beth, though badly beaten, is not dead. Then the relatives get into the act: Jake's mother schemes to keep him at home, his sister consents to help him escape and his brother sets out to learn the facts of the matter. Meanwhile, Beth's citified brother swears revenge on her abusive husband, her father remains oblivious to everything except the last day of deer hunting season and her mother is oblivious to everything but her husband's needs.
The hallmark of Sam Shepard's dramas is odd things happening to odd people. Beth shows signs of concussion at some times, utter lucidity at others and a tendency to lose herself in fantasy personae. ( She was an actress, you know. ) Meek brother Frank sustains a leg wound when Beth's father accidentally shoots him. Jake, after learning that his long-lost father was an espionage agent for the United States Air Force, flees his home wrapped in the flag from his sire's military funeral.
The first impulse of young actors confronted with these eccentricities is to amplify their own responses to this behavior, ranting and trembling and rolling their eyes, surrounded by expressionistically distorted mise en scénery. The second impulse is to focus on the hormonal imperative, the men smashing things and the women serenely picking up after them. What distinguishes this Strawdog production from its predecessors is that director Nic Dimond and his actors refuse to editorialize, instead immersing themselves in their characters, whose actions are portrayed as wholly logical and commonplace.
So when meek brother Frank prods the distraught Jake for information, he does so gently instead of muffling the exchange in a showy two-part shouting match. Beth's father bullies his compliant spouse, but both exhibit the weary symbiosis of couples long accustomed to their marital dynamic. And the incidental score contributed by Gregor Mortis, Mikhail Fiksel and a stageside band is a model of Ennio Maricone-style understatement.
By trusting us to get it on our own, Dimond and company leave us to our own assessment of Shepard's cryptic purpose. Is it a comment on the waning of tribal values in the American West? An inquiry into the nature of love? Or a sorry tale of unhappy families resorting to extreme measures in pursuit of peace? No matter what your conclusions, Strawdog delivers an evening well worthy of scrutiny.