Playwright: Jane Martin
At: Open Eye at National Pastime,
4139 N. Broadway
Phone: ( 773 ) 281-0958; $15-$18
Runs through: Dec. 18
Now that the election is over, I'm up for any art form that bashes the complacent, the right, and the kind of people who comprise a whole new breed here in the good old U.S. of A.: NASCAR Dads, the latest spotlighted political demographic made up of mostly of low intellect, red state residents.
The trio of brothers portrayed by playwright Jane Martin might fall into the category, save their occupations are less blue collar than a strict definition of NASCAR Dads requires. But the idea of blaming a crew of hickish right wing, overly entitled, flabby white men for America's woes plays right into this demographic. Martin's satire could not be called elegant or subtle. She draws her caricatures in the broadest strokes and underlines her symbolism in neon. As one example, let's take the eldest of the trio of brothers who have gathered in a junk yard ( excellent and authentic set design by Deanna Zibello ) to commemorate RV, a woman all the men loved some 30 years ago. Roy ( Kevin M. Grubb ) is mayor of an unnamed Podunk town and as such is as corrupt and stupid as most politicians come ( and that's pretty corrupt and stupid ) . Martin has him dressed up as Honest Abe ( irony ) for a 4th of July celebration ( American icon ) and smeared with dog crap ( the symbolism of which I'll leave to you ) . His brother Clem ( Steve Welsh ) shows up next. Clem is a half-wit mostly in love with Cheez-its and alcohol and his low level of intellect finds its expression in his occupation as the town's gun store owner ( people who buy and sell guns for recreation are idiots, get it? ) . Finally, the last of the brothers literally pops up out of a rusty car. Moon ( David Skvarla ) is a mercenary, who has no conscience about killing or screwing RV, who was his brother Roy's wife at the time. And of course, we must remember the name of the woman they all loved shares its acronym with those popular recreational vehicles, demonstrating how middle-aged white guys view women in general. Later appearances by Elvis as God ( replete in white and rhinestone jumpsuit ) go even further to ensure the playwright's thesis. I agree with what's between the lines in this white trash comedy; I just wish the playwright had used a lighter hand.
With all of the thematic fireworks going on above, the plot of Middle-aged White Guys is pretty much beside the point, so I won't delve into the boys' link to this mystery dead woman from the past and their relationship with other significant females, including their mother and Roy's wife. The play functions as a polemic; the comedy and story merely exist to sell the creator's thesis. Does that make for good speechifyin'? Hell, yes. I'm just not sure it makes for good art.
Open Eye, however, gives this one-sided, masked op-ed piece a deft and polished staging. The ensemble gamely goes after their bigger-than-life roles with gusto, in spite of the fact that the characters never seemed connected in any significant way, nor do they even seem real.
Melissa Young's direction is thoughtful and she makes this 75-minute play a quick journey into the ugly side of America, skillfully winnowing down the play to its conclusion: these middle-aged white guys apologize for what they have made of this country. If only ... . It's this last touch that makes Middle-aged White Guys a surreal fantasy.
