Theatre in Review: Mr. Burns, A Post-Electric Play (Playwrights Horizons)What if the world ended and only pop culture survived? That's the premise of Mr. Burns, A Post-Electric Play, a thoroughly original, if not to say bizarre, black comedy that, before it jumps the shark, provides a distinctive cocktail of laughs and thought-provoking shivers. Planet Earth has been grinding to a halt practically every weekend at movie houses this summer, so I suppose it is inevitable that playwrights are getting in on the action. Mr. Burns is the rare modern work to feature a three-act structure, the better for playwright Anne Washburn to show humanity going to hell in a hand basket, with nothing but Bart and Homer Simpson to cling to for comfort. Act I is set in the imminent future, with a group of people sitting around a fire, talking about one of their favorite Simpsons episodes -- the one in which Mr. Burns, the operator of the Springfield nuclear power plant and all-purpose villain, sets out to kill young Bart Simpson. The episode is titled "Cape Feare," and it draws heavily on the Martin Scorsese film of the same name. Because Mr. Burns began life as a project of The Civilians, the downtown troupe specializing in documentary theatre, much of the dialogue in this act is drawn from an exercise in which actors were asked to recall their favorite Simpsons episodes. On paper, these passages seem incomprehensible, constructed as they are out of half-sentences, fragments, and repetitions. On stage, they come vividly to life, especially when in the hands of Matthew Maher, who, given his experience with the Civilians and with playwrights like Annie Baker, can make the most mundane and/or awkward text bristle with humorous life. (This is a good time to mention that each character shares the first name of the actor playing him or her; whatever else Washburn is after, she isn't interested in creating memorable portraits of people.) Still, there's something sinister about the setup, which becomes obvious when a stranger appears and guns are immediately produced. Washburn is not at all clear about the sequence of events -- it all comes out, elliptically, as it would among a group of people who are already familiar with the details -- but apparently a bad virus has spread illness and death across the U.S., leading to the shutdown of the electric power grid and meltdowns at nuclear power plants nationwide. (To anyone with a passing knowledge of the disaster at Japan's Fukushima Daiichi plant, it all sounds scarily familiar.) Anyway, the intruder, played by Gibson Frazier, is benign. He has little to contribute to the conversation, not being a Simpsons fan, but he is a Gilbert and Sullivan fan, and the act ends with a spirited rendition of "For He is an Englishman." Act II takes place seven years later. Some kind of rough society has been reestablished, although power -- electrical, nuclear, or anything else -- has never been restored. The people we met around the fire are now one of many touring theatrical troupes, presenting recreations of beloved turn-of-the-century television shows. This group specializes in The Simpsons, of course, but as memories fade and access to the originals is impossible, the performers are reduced to "buying" lines of dialogue from passersby, trading goods for bits of old television comedy. (Barter is a way of life; one character mentions a fellow who trades lithium batteries for increasingly rare cans of Diet Coke.) Much of this act consists of amusing backstage comedy, as we see the company rehearse their show, which begins with a medley of "Who Let the Dogs Out," "Bad Romance," "Single Ladies," "Eye of the Tiger," and, most appropriately, Britney Spears' "Toxic." Everyone worries about a rival troupe using battery power to stage a "dusk-to-dark showing of 'A Streetcar Named Marge,' with a spotlight finale at the end." A dispute about the staging turns ugly, with Quincy Tyler Bernstine informing Susannah Flood, "Go to one of the dramas. I heard that blonde in E.R., the one on the Louisville circuit, is pretty sick. Maybe they'll take you in there." This comment is a real conversation stopper, as it alludes to the radiation poisoning that is a constant source of fear. The act concludes with a shocking outburst of violence not to be described here. Up to this point, it's easy to be seduced by Mr. Burns' distinctive mix of fey humor and understated terror. True, there are nagging questions -- most notably, why does everyone struggle to recreate old television shows when, say, the Bible, Shakespeare, and the rest of world's trove of drama surely still exist on paper, waiting to be used? --but the author's allusive style endows the events with an unsettling reality. There's also the question of one's familiarity with The Simpsons. I've seen only a few episodes of its astonishing two-decades-plus run, and I had no problem. But if you are entirely unfamiliar with the series, you may find Mr. Burns to be rough going. In any case, Washburn badly overplays her hand in Act III, which takes place 75 years later, and consists entirely of a performance, by the masked members of a theatre troupe, of their potted version of the "Cape Feare" episode, set to music. It's a clever construct, showing how, given the passage of time, everything from The Flintstones to Gilbert and Sullivan to the details of radiation have been worked into the story. You can certainly tell that Washburn has done her homework. It's also interminable; we get the joke in 30 seconds but are forced to endure 30 minutes or so of amateur theatricals. The third act gives one plenty of time to think about Mr. Burns, leading to the unfortunate conclusion that the play's brilliance consists of its elaborate arrangement (and rearrangement) of surface details, not in its thematic structure; I'm sure we're all agreed that a nuclear disaster would be a terrible thing. Washburn's point about pop culture and collective memory seems powerful at first, but the play consists of the same point repeated three times, ultimately to diminishing effect. Still, under Steve Cosson's skillful direction, the gamest cast in town enacts Washburn's nuclear power play with uncommon enthusiasm. Aside from Maher, I was taken with Flood's cheerful accounts of the most horrible events, Colleen Werthmann's crisp precision as the slightly bullying director of the troupe, and Bernstine's portrayal of Bart Simpson in Act III. In addition, Neil Patel has produced one of his most creative set designs in recent memory -- a dark campfire for Act I, an abandoned warehouse, containing flimsy theatrical flats, for Act II, and a wild imagining of what a Simpsons-based theatre production might look like nearly a hundred years from now. Justin Townsend's lighting complements Patel's work, with a tightly focused firelight look for Act I, a stunning sunlight wash for Act II, and a comically strange notion of theatre lighting of the future. They have collaborated on the big Act III coup de théâtre, over which I will draw a veil. Emily Rebholz's costumes are fairly solid, although it would appear that everyone's clothes are holding up rather well over the years, considering the circumstances. Ken Travis' sound design provides a variety of ambient effects, including some extremely frightening use of gunfire. Not really a political statement, Mr. Burns is something much odder, a play of sensibility about the fall of civilization. As such, it sets out to amuse and terrify us in equal measure. For a while it does, but unfortunately, Washburn doesn't know when to get her company off the stage. This is the material of a good one-act -- possibly a brief two-act -- play stretched out to unconscionable length. -- David Barbour 
|
