Playwright: Andrew Case
At: Steppenwolf Garage, 1624 N. Halsted
Phone: ( 312 ) 335-1650; $15
Runs through: March 27
Reviewing a play later in the run has its advantages, offering an opportunity to read the buzz about the show in advance. With playwright Andrew Case's Pacific, I'm astounded that not one critic so far has given much mention to the most important character in the play, as well as the finest actor in the production.
Call me crazy ( and I'm sure you will ... but sticks and stones ) , but I believe that most critics in this town missed the fact that the key character in this play was a cat. And most, if not all, critics overlooked the reality that this feline thespian also gave the play's finest performance: subtle, delicately textured, and with the kind of nuance rarely witnessed outside the emoting of a Miss Meryl Streep. Wordless, yet evocative, emotional, yet restrained, the cat ( a crime he or she wasn't even credited ) gives the kind of performance the other actors in this play would have done well to emulate. When this brilliantly talented feline makes her minutes-long appearance, she captured the audience's heart, mind, and soul with a carefully modulated performance, the highlight of which was the evocativeness of her eyes, eyes that said, 'Save me.'
How I wished I could leap upon that stage ( California beach deck designed by John Dalton ) and rescue the little puss from the tragic fate her sparkling gaze foreshadowed. It's this kind of acting—eliciting a visceral emotional reaction from an audience—that all good players strive for.
Allow me to put the cat's performance in context. 'Hannah' belongs to perhaps southern California's unhappiest couple ( portrayed with a kind of careful misery by James Krag and Rebecca Spence ) . They're sort of a modern-day George and Martha who have lost their very real child to a drowning accident off the nearby Pacific coast shoreline. Their relationship has been broken by the tragedy, and they tiptoe around each other with the kind of polite courtesy reserved more for strangers than husband and wife. Into this scenario comes the wife's brother ( Brian Hamman ) afflicted with Asperger's syndrome, a form of autism that causes one to be, apparently, loud and rude. The situation becomes, predictably, explosive and leads to a final rending confrontation where blame and heartache is laid bare. And which leads to poor Hannah's demise in which she is used to bloody effect, as a pawn to even the score between this broken married couple. No wonder she was desperate to get out.
Alas, Hannah's performance was too right on, taunting and tempting the audience with the idea of escape from a trio of deeply unlikable characters, and a situation that was, at best, excruciating to witness. Perhaps if director Molly Regan ( her debut ) had paid more attention to Hannah's subtle turn, Pacific would be more of a winner. Instead, it's a painful evening for all concerned, trapped amid the ennui and angst of the upper middle class. Finally, we are drawn to the conclusion that—like Hannah—being fed to coyotes might result in a bit more entertainment than on offer here.
