Theatre in Review: Last Call (terraNOVA Collective and IRT Theater)

	Terri Girvin. Photo: Suzanne Barton

Last Call begins on a disconcerting, almost frightening note. We are at the IRT to see Terri Girvin's one-person show about the life of a New York City bartender. Imagine the horror, then, when a woman roller skates on, dressed in a clown outfit, with cardboard hearts pasted to her cheeks and a wig that would send Pippi Longstocking screaming to the nearest hairdresser. She has a toy accordion that she plays while belting "Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah." Let me simply add that no child should be brought to see Last Call; the trauma would be too great.

However, a voiceover narrator announces, "This is my mother in 1970. And this is just a normal day." We are seeing Girvin as her mother, Gwen, who apparently has gone through life dressed like a birthday clown, treating the entire world as one giant Romper Room, with herself as the winsome star of the show. As for her maternal skills, I offer you this: When the adolescent Terri admits to being embarrassed by her mother, she is told: "Embarrassing?!! How can such a small and cute girl say such awful things? Embarrassing? Oh honey, you're confused. That's a wrong feeling! It's embarrassing that everyone loves your mother? The neighbors... People don't have enough fun, and I'm giving them fun."

Remarkably, Terri Girvin has not spent the last few decades in a room with walls made of rubber. Instead, she has worked extensively as an actress and stand-up comedienne -- and she has also paid her bills by working as a bartender. (My favorite fun fact from the program: Girvin "was featured in the New York Times Magazine food and drink issue as one of Brooklyn's trailblazing bartenders.") In Last Call, she combines a remarkably detailed account of her life behind bars (so to speak) with a pitiless examination of her mother issues.

Girvin takes us through a night on the job, from prep work to the moment she melts down and throws out half of her misbehaving clientele. Aided by the ingenious sound design of Phil Palazzolo (additional design by David Hart), which delivers dozens, maybe hundreds, of cues that combine ambient noises with dialogue featuring her many customers, we see how Girvin juggles half-in-the-bag regulars, underage interlopers, the pushy, the impatient, the finicky. We also get a useful lecture on bar etiquette: Don't wave money. Accept a buyback gratefully, but don't ask for one. Don't tell a bartender you want a lot of alcohol in your drink: "It's like telling a track star to run fast." Under Michael Leeds' high-speed direction, Girvin remains in perpetual motion, taking orders, depositing cash, serving up drinks, and busing a roomful of high-maintenance personalities.

She also keeps ignoring phone calls from her mother in California, who, having been jailed following a series of DUIs, has nowhere to live and is planning on joining her daughter in her New York studio apartment. Breaking up the happy hour chaos, Girvin flashes back to her childhood, which became increasingly bizarre, thanks to Gwen's acting out. Terri gives credit where it is due: Her mother put her and two of her brothers into a close-harmony trio, thereby putting her on the road to a show business career. But Gwen was also the sort of parent who thought a few milligrams of Dexedrine were just the thing a sleepy daughter needed to get going. And, when her parents divorced, Gwen moved across the street, so she could keep tabs on her children and ex. The situation didn't improve, as evidenced by a wild tale about Gwen crashing a George Winston concert, joining him at the piano. As Terri feels increasingly threatened by her mother's impending arrival, she gets little help from her brothers. As one of them says, "I mean, it's fun when the circus comes to town. But when the circus never leaves..."

Considering that it is a piece written and performed by a sometime stand-up comic, Last Call isn't as funny as it wants to be; she would do well to bring in someone to polish the script with some sharper wisecracks. But Girvin is an extremely affable performer, her account of working the bar crowd is full of engaging details, and the entire piece is given a dramatic spine by the nagging question of what to do about Gwen. After all, what do you say to a woman who announces, "I moved across the street because I wanted to be near you kids. I came to all of your shows. I've just traveled 3,000 miles when you asked me not to. I defied you to be a part of your life and you still don't appreciate that."

Aside from the astonishing sound design, there is also the uncredited set, depicting the bar, and deft lighting by Jason Fok, which switches between a rather stark presentational look and softer, more colorful illumination for the scenes of Terri at work.

As the night winds down and Terri must make a decision about Gwen, the end comes rather abruptly, leaving one wondering what happens next. Nevertheless, I suspect that almost anyone who attends Last Call will find it contains many home truths about parents, independence, and the workplace. Last Call is a straight, no-chaser serving of one woman's truth; you'll never look at your bartender the same way again. -- David Barbour