Theatre in Review: A Life (Playwrights Horizons)

	David Hyde Pierce. Photo: Joan Marcus

Is there is a more consistently surprising playwright than Adam Bock? Each of his plays seems to spring from its own unique well of inspiration. The sinister suspense of The Receptionist, the stunning sexual encounter at the heart of A Small Fire, and the whimsy of Drunken City all testify to the restless intelligence of a writer who isn't interested in rehashing what he did the last time. With some playwrights, you know what to expect, even before the curtain goes up; with Bock, you can expect a series of curveballs, guaranteed to leave you feeling thoroughly unsteady.

This is certainly the case with A Life, which starts out as one kind of play and...well, there's only so much I can tell you. It begins with David Hyde Pierce as Nate Martin, a garrulous gay New Yorker of a certain age, who has no love life and plenty to say about it. Hyde is given the opposite of a star entrance; with no warning -- no pre-show announcement, no scene-setting music -- he enters and announces, "Mark broke up with me a month ago and I've been searching through my astrology chart and through his chart, trying to figure out what happened."

We quickly learn several things about Nate: The recently departed Mark is only one in a long, long string of failed romances, including a sequence of boyfriends named John, Ron, Don, and Johan. "Then I met a Rick," he notes. "I didn't really like him, though. Something didn't feel right." They don't all walk out on Nate: He got rid of Peter, who "was too nice and gave me too many gifts." And don't forget Stuart, "whose teeth were too long." And then there was Stephen, who was followed by Bill, who then got together with Stephen. "They're still together," Nate adds, proudly. Sadly, the collective wisdom that Nate has taken from all these encounters pretty much adds up to a single statement: "It's hard to get a trick up into a loft bed."

Also, Nate is something of a spiritual day-tripper. He has tried church, Quaker meetings, and meditation, although the latter was something of a bust: "We all walked in a circle, not talking, and I got so dizzy from not talking that I had to go sit in the stairwell and put my head down between my knees." His adult life has been buttressed by two standbys: astrology and group therapy. The latter is useful for the other members who consistently point out -- all too accurately -- that Nate has problems with intimacy. ("I get nervous when it comes to love. I want it but every time I get it I'm afraid it's going to disappear.") The former may be a psychological crutch, but when you're "a stupid proofreader at a stupid ad agency" with no partner and no prospects -- well, a fellow needs something. The first 15 minutes or so of A Life consists of nothing but Nate talking to us, and since David Hyde Pierce is playing Nate, the pleasure couldn't be keener. Hyde's many gifts -- for throwing away lines, making the unsaid manifest, and finding the hilarious absurdity buried in the most banal remarks -- are on full display here. (At the performance I attended, he worked the room with total assurance, even working the involuntary gasp of one audience member into a memorably amusing bit of business.) He negotiates each of his monologue's hairpin turns with the skill of Speed Racer, creating a lovable, and lovably screwed up, character. The enjoyment is extended when he is joined by Brad Heberlee as Curtis, Nate's best friend, for an afternoon the park, making futile plans and checking out guys.

Up to this point, A Life is, like Nate, charming, but rather aimless; one might legitimately wonder where it is headed. Nate admits to being at a breaking point, unable to stop drifting from one unsatisfying love to another and thoroughly unhappy about it. Underneath his affable manner, a cry of despair is waiting to get out. But for all we know, the evening will end as it began, with Nate talking, talking, talking, if only to stave off a loneliness that simply can't be appeased.

Then something decisive, and utterly unexpected, happens -- and from this point on, my lips are sealed. I can fairly say you won't see it coming and you are more than likely to be unnerved by the scene that follows, which is marked by the most disturbing long pause to be found outside the plays of Harold Pinter. I will add that, with A Life, which becomes a deeply affecting mediation on the fleeting nature of life, love, and human happiness, Bock positions himself as a kind of postmodern Thornton Wilder.

There's not much more I can discuss, including the two stunning coup de théâtres performed by Laura Jellinek's set, which starts out as an interior depicting Nate's Ikea-chic apartment and transforms into something very, very different. I can tell you, however, that David Hyde Pierce is one very, very brave actor -- that, after his infinitely deft handling of the opening scenes, he is required to perform one of the hardest tasks that an actor can be called on to do.

I can add that Heberlee is funny and touching as Curtis, and there are first-rate contributions from Lynne McCollough as Nate's sister and Marinda Anderson and Nedra McClyde in a variety of roles. Matt Frey's lighting includes some beautiful subtlety that suggests the passage of time during a lengthy wordless sequence. Mikhail Fiksel has supplied one of the more elaborate and effective sound designs in recent memory, using a variety of effects -- shouts, barking dogs, car alarms, and also making effective use of voiceover to suggest Nate's unspoken thoughts. Jessica Pabst's costumes are eminently well-suited to each character. Clearly, Anne Kauffman's direction has much to do with confidently steering the play's stunning shifts in tone.

One of the most remarkable things about A Life is how even after it turns in a definitively macabre direction it retains the oddball humor of the early scenes. At the same time, the play grows deeper and more moving, right up to the final abrupt white-out that shows how, even at the very last second, Bock still has shocks to impart. The life depicted in A Life is a complex, not-entirely happy thing, but it is also vast, mysterious, and valuable beyond words. --David Barbour