Theatre in Review: Pike St. (Epic Theatre Ensemble/Abrons Arts Center)When we enter the theatre at Abrons Arts Center, Nilaja Sun is already on the stage, seated with her arms crossed, her fists folded up into her armpits, her eyes open yet unseeing. Every few seconds, her body twitches; that she can maintain the pose for something like 15 minutes before the play begins is evidence of her remarkable powers of concentration. And once she awakens from this state, clapping her hands and urging the audience to breathe deeply, she displays her remarkable technical skills, bringing to life a gallery of Lower East Siders on the day that Hurricane Sandy is headed toward New York City. They include Evelyn, a single woman in her 30s, and her 15-year-old daughter, Candi. Evelyn had to give up her job as a conductor for the MTA when Candi was rendered mute and largely immobile by a brain aneurysm. (Sun is impersonating Candi when we enter the theatre.) Currently, Evelyn is taking an on-line course in "energy healing," hoping it will lead to a paying career. Living with them is Evelyn's father, a crusty old Vietnam vet who still rails against Ronald Reagan and lives for visits from the much younger Migdalia, whose ministrations come at a (rather low) price. Returning home from the Middle East is Manny, Evelyn's brother, a decorated war hero who suffers from terrifying flashbacks. Others include Evelyn's neighbor Mrs. Applebaum, a 95-year-old Holocaust survivor who tends to live in the past -- she thinks Martin Luther King's assassination is breaking news -- but who nevertheless insists, "I may not have my wits about me, but I'm no fool;" Tykeen Wong Chang, a pot-smoking old crony of Manny's; and Mohammed, who runs the local bodega. Sun's characters have a documentary authenticity about them -- she has nailed each of their voices and vocabularies so precisely you can almost see them. Mrs. A., sending Manny on an errand that takes him to Essex Street, adds, "Tell him to take a moment to smell the pickles. There's nothing like pickles on Essex." Evelyn's father loves to rail against the powers that be, cracking jokes like, "Con Edison; we're a CON!" -- remarks that keep him mightily amused, if nobody else. Tykeen recalls that his girlfriend (and mother of his daughter, Aisha), before fleeing home to Atlanta, called him abusive. "Who isn't emotionally abusive in New York City?" he grouses. "With every year that you live here, it's like you graduate to the next level of abusiveness." Surveying all the candles that Evelyn has amassed in case of a power failure during the storm, Manny says, "It looks like Whitney Houston's funeral in here." Sun's ability to turn on a dime, flipping between characters in a few words or less, often gives one the feeling of three or four people on stage when in fact there is only one; clearly, she is the Sun of her own universe. At the same time, this isn't one of the more satisfying examples of this type of entertainment. As vivid as the characters are, they all -- with the exception of Candi -- are pitched at the same larger-than-life level; Sun is a caricaturist and her people are broadly outlined, enlivened with grotesque details, and given to talking at rate and decibel level guaranteed to rattle one's nerves. Line after line is delivered with the insistence of a jackhammer; particularly when Manny and Tykeen are sparring -- Tykeen stole Aisha from Manny, and he isn't over it -- or when both of them are baiting Mohammed, the people of Pike St. are more enervating than entertaining. The director, Ron Russell, might have done more to encourage a sense of tonal variety. The piece also suffers from a lack of dramatic structure; having introduced everyone, Sun pretty much lets them natter on, falling in and out of various schemes, fantasies, and disputes. A certain amount of suspense is generated by the storm's imminent arrival -- and, as economically disadvantaged minorities living in one of Manhattan's less gentrified corners, they are terribly vulnerable to whatever Sandy may bring. Evelyn, worried about Candi, who relies on a respirator and dialysis machine, has gotten her hands on a generator, but it's anyone's guess if it will perform as needed. When the storm finally strikes, it does with devastating swiftness, leading to an ironic accounting of who survives -- and who does not. The show serves as a valuable reminder that events such as Sandy lay bare the enormous gulf between rich and poor that has opened up in New York City over the last several years. During its lengthy buildup, however, Pike St. often seems to wander in no discernible direction. Still, fans of Sun's previous show, No Child -- which had a lengthy life Off Broadway and elsewhere -- may find themselves drawn to the opportunity to see her again. Without question, she is the whole show: Mikiko Suzuki MacAdams' set is as bare-bones as you can get -- it's mostly a collection of candles -- and Tyler Micoleau's lighting aims for simplicity. Clint Ramos has dressed Sun appropriately. Russell also provided the evocative sound design, which blends television news broadcasts with storm surges, gunfire, explosions, and bits of salsa and hip-hop music. In its best moments, Pike St. offers a vivid canvas of downtown characters on the edge of a crisis. Still, it's worth noting that Sun's work is never more powerful than when impersonating the silent Candi. Pike St. would benefit from more pauses and fewer paragraphs. -- David Barbour 
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