Theatre in Review: The Motherf--ker With the Hat (Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre) Forget David Mamet and his many imitators; Stephen Adly Guirgis is our new reigning poet of the obscene. Consider what he can do with the popular four-letter word that begins with "F." In his hands, it functions as a noun, verb (both transitive and intransitive), adjective, adverb, preposition, and gerund; with him, the possibilities are infinite. I'd give you some examples, but next week's newsletter would end up in everyone's spam filter. If F-bombs were real explosives, the playwright could lay waste to Dresden all over again. I rush to add that there is much more to Guirgis' talent. He's a master when it comes to creating cranky New Yorkers whose uninhibited talking jags reveal far more about them than they ever intended; more than any other contemporary playwright, his dialogue crackles with profane comedy that, no matter how stylized, seems absolutely true of his characters.. He may not be the best constructionist practicing today, but the experience of riding his wild waves of words is well worth it. The play - I'm not going to run the title again, even in bowdlerized fashion - is no exception. Focusing on the challenges of recovery from addiction and what he sees as a fundamental disconnect between men and women, Guirgis spins a comic tragedy out of a situation that would almost certainly be described by one of his characters as totally f-ked up. The action begins, however briefly, on a note of hope. Jackie, fresh out of jail and newly clean and sober, bursts into his uptown apartment, eager to tell his girlfriend, Veronica, that he has just gotten a steady job. Overcome with joy, they are about to settle into bed for an epic bout of sex, when Jackie notices a man's hat sitting on a nearby table. He wonders who owns it; her answers are vague and evasive. Within minutes, sex is out the window, replaced by appalling recriminations from both. (He informs her that the bed smells of "Aqua-Velva and dick," a remark that inspires only torrents of abuse from Veronica.) In minutes, Jackie is out the door, turning to Ralph D, his AA sponsor, for help. Ralph, sober for 15 years and an apostle of healthy living, offers Jackie a place to stay, along with plenty of advice about straightening up and flying right. Warning bells should go off when Jackie gets a good look at Victoria, Ralph D's seriously depressed, bitterly sarcastic spouse. In any event, we haven't heard the half of it; Jackie discovers that he is the victim of a major betrayal, and off we go into a twisty series of encounters spiked by lustful sex, revenge sex, and any number of scalding personal assessments -- and keep your eye on the gun that keeps changing hands. What gives the comedy its tartly amusing kick is the author's thoroughly unsentimental treatment of the recovery process. Most plays and films handle this material with all due sincerity and then some, representing the addict as a hero battling his own demons. In Guirgis' view, most addicts haven't shed the demons that got them into trouble in the first place -- and they rarely keep the right sort of company. Thus, Jackie's self-destructive tendencies are given free rein -- he and Veronica engage in wars of words that can best be described as nuclear; as he notes, in a rare moment of introspection, "Being in love with Veronica is like feeding your balls to Godzilla every morning." Then again, Veronica is no role model -- for one thing, she's still using. (Guirgis makes this point amusingly in the first scene. Veronica is on the phone with her mother, berating her for drinking too much; as she does so, she leans over the bed and snorts a rather large line of coke.) And, given the state of his marriage, Ralph D is hardly what he seems to be, either. In fact, the only mature person on stage is Jackie's Cousin Julio -- but, because he concentrates on healthy living, self-respect, and loving relationships, the others all dismiss him as probably gay. The production is helped to no small end by Anna D. Shapiro's direction, which makes room for each savagely funny aria while keeping the action taut throughout. Bobby Cannavale delivers one of his finest performances as Jackie, a mass of fears and rages masquerading as a man; he's never funnier than when trying to find some kind of rational explanation for his terrible behavior. Elizabeth Rodriguez matches him, volley for volley, as Veronica, whose take-no-prisoners notion of a romantic relationship is fearful indeed. Some have found fault with Chris Rock's work as Ralph D, but, to my eyes, his sharp timing and mordant way with a line makes him more than up to the task. (Congratulating himself on his healthy lifestyle, he asks Jackie to guess his age. "46?" asks Jackie. "But do I look 46?" comes the response, timed perfectly by Rock to convey oceans of hurt and surprise.) He's especially impressive when the gloves finally come off and he shares his blistering world view with Jackie. As Cousin Julio, who has some choice words about Jackie and the company he keeps, Yul Váquez nearly steals the entire show from his more famous co-stars. If Annabella Sciorra is less impressive, it's largely because the role of Victoria is so ill-defined. This is also partly true of Veronica; Guirgis never really delves into her problems, preferring to keep her as a formidable antagonist. This is the rare play that might actually benefit from an additional scene or two. The design is also a major plus factor. Todd Rosenthal's ingenious setting moves swiftly from location to location; he has also provided a gritty surround containing a towering tenement staircase, an empty billboard frame, and the barest glimpse of a Manhattan skyscraper. Donald Holder's lighting treats the surround with plenty of theatrical flair while providing seamless illumination for each scene. Mimi O'Donnell's costumes are full of revealing character touches. Acme Sound Partners provide suitably bright reinforcement for Terence Blanchard's incidental music, in addition to a full palette of urban sounds. Much as been made of the play's foul mouth, but I submit that there's not one gratuitous word in Guirgis' script, He knows these people inside out, and his ability to make bitter comedy out of their scarred lives marks him as a true original. This is American playwriting at its most distinctive.--David Barbour 
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