Theatre in Review: Assistance (Playwrights Horizons)

	Michael Esper and Virginia Kull. Photo: Joan Marcus

"Working for Daniel is like living the last 30 minutes of Goodfellas over and over again." So says one of the office slaves who make up the cast of Assistance. We never see Daniel Weisinger, nor do we ever learn just what it is he does for a living, but, in Leslye Headland's caustic new comedy, we are fully apprised of the human toll as he pursues his unnamed career.

Back at Daniel's New York office, a small army of young people endure endless threats and humiliation from on high as they desperately try to keep Daniel plugged in, patching in phone calls from all over, FedExing contracts to places far and near, trying to keeping his credit cards up to date, and sending his meds to his apartment, or his summer house, or ahead to the airport 15 minutes before his plane lands there. They're chasing an endlessly moving target, at all times one mistake away from disaster and the tongue-lashing that they're probably going to get anyway. A certain controlled hysteria prevails, broken only by bouts of in-office smoking, multiple fingers of Scotch, and quick bouts of sex on the boss' couch. Driven by ambition or admiration or whatever, they discover their jobs are equally hellish and addictive. "I hate it here and I don't want to leave," one of them wails in a weak moment, summing up the dilemma of everyone in the room.

In part, their addiction to their sadomasochistic careers is driven by the fact that they often don't leave the office until after midnight. One of them claims to sleep there most of the time. "Do you think being married to Daniel is easier than working for him?" asks Nora, one of his beleaguered employees. "The hours are probably better," snaps Nick, who has the worst attitude among the group. And, at best, the rewards are meager. "You'd think selling our souls would be more profitable," mutters Nora later on. "We'd make more money balloon folding at children's parties."

Not all that much happens in Assistance, but Headland mines plenty of sadistic hilarity out of a steadily mounting series of office crises. Each scene presents a new combination of assistants -- Daniel has three or four on the payroll at any given time --all of them reduced to nervous wrecks as they pursue their impossible tasks. "This is what happens in cults. Like People's Temple or Scientology," says Jenny, as she wonders why she chooses to say in this well-appointed hamster cage.

I guess you can call Assistance a parable of youthful careerists or the terrible economy or something, but it's too much fun keeping score of the zingers and power struggles that get Headland's characters through the day (and night). Many of the best center on Jenny, a young Brit whose terrifyingly composed and efficient manner sets everyone else on edge. Her casually dismissive attitude -- she describes Nick as "good-looking in that...office way" -- does her no favors, either. "It's this sort of attitude that really helped you guys stick it to the colonies," says Nick, by way of letting her know he's onto her. But even Jenny falls prey to the horror that is Daniel; we finally see her in a night club, on what looks like her seventeenth cocktail, staggering about and spinning vicious The-Devil-Wears-Prada-style revenge fantasies. ("I'm gonna make so much money when I write my memoir about that wanker.")

Headland is yet another distinctive talent who is going places partly because of her fresh, cockeyed take on the way we live now and partly because she has a director who knows how to present her work to its best advantage. Just as Annie Baker --- another Playwrights Horizons talent -- has Sam Gold to unlock the mysteries of her work, Headland is lucky to have Trip Cullman, who makes sure we see pass the laughter to grasp the games of one-upmanship, fleeting romances, and sudden betrayals practiced by the members of Daniel's staff. (The script is practically a user's guide to the art of passive-aggression.) He also contributes to the play's bravura finale, when Daniel's world literally falls apart.

Cullman has also assembled a well-nigh perfect cast. As Nick, Michael Esper presents a fine example of the art of listening; when he's on the phone being dressed down by Daniel, we don't have to hear a word, so expertly does he deflate under the pressure of his boss' unheard insults. Virginia Kull finds the charm in nervous collapse as Nora, who surrenders her boyfriend and any semblance of a normal life to her so-called career. Sue Jean Kim is the most sympathetic of the crew as Heather, who discovers that the death of an uncle is not a sufficient reason to take a day off. Bobby Steggert is Justin, the most co-dependent of them all, which is really saying something; he shines in a phone conversation with the shrink he is trying to fire, attempting manfully to explain that it is his own fault that Daniel ran over his foot with a limousine. ("But, like, every job is 'hazardous.' In some way, right?") And Amy Rosoff provides plenty of brittle amusement as the frighteningly capable Jenny, who, when she finally turns, brings down the house, in a sequence cleverly choreographed by Jeffrey Denman.

Once again, a new comedy at Playwrights Horizons gets the slick production design it requires. David Korin's set, depicting Daniel's office, looks like a rare case of straight naturalism from this fine designer until the apocalyptic finale, not to be described here. It is lit with plenty of subtle detail by Ben Stanton. Jessica Pabst's costumes are full of telling character details. And Jill BC Du Boff's sound design includes plenty of ringing phones, indie rock music, and that ghastly YouTube video of kitties mewing the melody of "Feliz Navidad," which Nick conjures up whenever he wants to break the tension.

I didn't much care for Bachelorette, Headland's first major New York production, but, after seeing Assistance, I'm beginning to think it's just a matter of getting on her wavelength. She's clearly some kind of alchemist, a specialist in distilling laughter out of pure misery. In her case, it's a skill that requires no assistance whatsoever.--David Barbour