Playwright: Greg Silva
At: Scratch Media, Theatre Building Chicago
Phone: (773) 327-5252; $25-$30
Runs through: Aug. 8
By Jonathan Abarbanel
Clown Head promotes itself as a fun, quasi-Las Vegas circus revue—'Cheaper and funnier than all that Cirque de Soleil crap'—but it's not. A drama in Big Top drag, it's two hours of pretty solemn slogging, despite brightly colored circus designs, multi-media technology and an attractive, high-energy 12-person cast. The fault, dear Barnum, lies not in the stars but squarely in the lap of self-indulgent writer and director Greg Silva.
The story takes place simultaneously in the real and imaginary worlds. Real world Jeffrey is a 30-year-old, alcoholic, stand-up comic wannabe. In his imaginary world, Jeffrey is 'a high-wire jock' who saves a small circus and becomes both star and hero. In both worlds, Jeffrey hits on every woman in sight. Self-loathing despite his physical beauty and strength (mentioned frequently in the script, and rather perfectly personified by slim, muscular actor Krishna Le Fan), real-life Jeffrey blows a relationship with Sarah, who is a speaking deaf woman for no apparent reason. 'You need approval from women and you hate them for giving it to you,' Sarah observes. So Jeffrey stops drinking and becomes a compassionate, sensitive guy.
Clown Head is a technically complex but fundamentally flawed vehicle. Silva thinks we must care about Jeffrey because the play is about him, but he's wrong. Jeffrey is a loser and boozer with no visible redeeming qualities, who inspires empathy only through pity. Doesn't work, especially as there's no basis for Jeffrey's spiritual transformation. We don't see it happen; we don't understand why it happens. Key emotional events are not acted out. Silva shows us nothing and, quite literally, tells us everything via a narrator in the form of an all-knowing disembodied clown head (seen both live and via video). We are supposed to accept actions because we are told they happened, but that doesn't work either.
Silva fills Clown Head with activity (vs. dramatic action) in the form of frequent dance sequences and snippets of circus (Spanish cord, juggling, tumbling) performed to original techno music by a small ensemble of athletic young men and women. Having utterly no connection to the story, these interruptions are meaningless except as visual spectacle. In addition, there is gratuitous bearing of lovely, pert female breasts and trim male chests and much gratuitous cigarette smoking (what's with that?).
The physical challenges probably appealed to principal actors Le Fan, Betsy Zajko (Sarah), Laura Sturm (femme fatale Deborah) and Bob Wilson (disembodied narrator). They are remarkably earnest but deserve better opportunities. Judith M. Renner (set), Jared Moore (lighting) and Janie Goldstein (costume) have a field day with their circus designs, especially Renner who has hidden dozens of eyes in a funhouse facade. Nonetheless, Clown Head is no three-ring joy.