Playwright: Andy Gershenzon. At: Black Sheep Productions at the Royal George, 1641 N. Halsted. Phone: 312-988-9000; $20-$22. Runs through: March 2
Stand-up comic Ronnie Shakes once declared 'I want to be the last man on Earth, just to see if all those girls were telling me the truth.' In playwright Andy Gershenzon's futuristic dystopia, Jacob and Gus are the last two men on Earth, hiding in a basement from whatever lurks outside. Soon an armored invader approaches, who turns out to be—you guessed it—a Hot Babe. When Jacob goes off to search for food, the loquacious Gus pours out his heart to Trish ( what are girls for, but to listen to boys' troubles, after all? ) . She remains largely unmoved by his pleas, finally leaving him no recourse but to go caveman on her, whereupon Jacob returns to rescue the distressed damsel, who then rewards him with the devotion she refused his rival.
If director Vance Smith had chosen to highlight Gus's romantic vulnerability, instructing actor Robert Kauzlaric to seduce us with winsome cajolery, the result would have been a certainly lengthier, but perhaps more engaging, play. In this production, however, Gus is presented as a compulsive chatterer, disclosing his every thought in a hebephrenic frenzy as annoying to us as to his onstage companions. And so we can't help but view the situation, not as three mature adults facing extinction, but as two adolescent brothers contending for Trish's sexual favors ( again, what are girls for, except for boys to fight over? ) as it is hinted they once did for the esteem of an unseen father figure.
Gus' claim that 'the survival of mankind' depends on his getting into Trish's pants is only a valid argument if it's true, but as long as we're unable to accept the premise of this being the twilight of civilization-as-we-know-it, neither can we care what Gershenzon is trying to say: that even after the apocalypse, it's the same old story? That chicks prefer strong and silent studs to sensitive artists? That people in the last stages of starvation experience a Zen-like euphoria that allows them to hope?
Running at 70 minutes, The End emerges as a passable exercise for the Black Sheep company, many of them already familiar from other productions in other venues. And the likewise well-known designers' quasi-medieval motifs raise intriguing possibilities. But when Gus snaps, 'I won't go another round of junior high,' it's already too late to save this story. Make no mistake: Gershenzon has a way with a lyrical phrase, but what he now needs is a worthier topic.