Theatre in Review: Day of the Dog (St. Louis Actors' Studio/59E59)Paul and Julianne have a problem: Their dog, Carrot, has a few issues relating to humans. Exactly how vexing these are can be gleaned from the bandages running up and down Paul's arms. Things have come to such a pass that Paul is frankly terrified of the pooch, although Julianne airily dismisses the notion that anything is seriously wrong; in desperation, Paul has retained the services of Vadislav, a "canine relations specialist," to see if Carrot's hostility can be ameliorated. Vadislav's techniques are unusual, to say the least. For one thing, he shows no interest in seeing Carrot. Instead, much to the chagrin of Julianne, an interior decorator who is nervously awaiting a telephone pitch to network executives -- she hopes to star in her own series -- all Vadislav wants to do is probe her and Paul like a psychotherapist. Day of the Dog establishes its comic profile early on with a series of minor misunderstandings. Both Paul and Julianne keep mispronouncing Vadislav's name. Vadislav mishears the dog's name as Carol, then realizes it is Carrot, "like vegetable." (He often speaks without definite articles.) When Paul says his wife is named Julianne, Vladislav says, "Like julianne potato?" Learning that their daughter is named Brittany, he asks, "Like Spears?" "Um, no," says Paul. "More like the province." Vadislav insists he isn't Russian, despite his name and thick accent, leaving Paul puzzled. Later on, he tells Julianne that he is from Moscow. Paul jumps on this statement, only to be told that Vadislav is from Moscow, Idaho, the American son of Russian immigrants, who bequeathed him his accent. All of this is a lot of work for very few laughs. Anyway, the playwright, Daniel Damiano, soon gets down to business, which involves Vadislav's asking questions that scratch at the surface of Paul and Julianne's marriage, provoking them into acting like a road company George and Martha. Paul, who is mild-mannered and appeasing in the extreme, once dreamed of being a chef, until, landing his first job in a chic restaurant, he served an undercooked chicken cordon bleu to the New York Times restaurant critic, causing an outbreak of projectile vomiting. Now he is an accountant and not too enthusiastic about it. Julianne, who clawed her way out of a horrific family situation, is a ruthless go-getter -- she has outfitted Carrot's dog house with "carpeting, a sun roof, Buddhist fountain, happy colors" -- who is increasingly fed up with what she sees as Paul's milquetoast ways. "You say 'she'll be fine' like other people blink," she says, referring to Paul's lack of concern about their daughter. (A remarkable amount of time is spent on the issue of whether Brittany is to be called home from band practice or not, especially since she never shows up.) Meanwhile, Vadislav's behavior becomes increasingly provocative. He refuses to give a price for his services or to estimate how long his course of treatment will take. He settles in on the sofa with a tuna sandwich and glass of vodka, provided by Paul, and asks deeply probing questions about Paul and Julianne's marriage. Anyone might see this as off-putting, even unacceptable, but it drives Julianne to hostility bordering on hysteria. However, Paul is willing to go along because, he says, "That dog looks at me like he's staring at a pot roast." Before long, Paul and Julianne are at each other's throats, hurling accusations of castrating behavior, withheld sexual favors, and incest. Carrot the dog is revealed to be just another chip to be used in their passive-aggressive power plays, as was Wolfgang the cat, who was probably eaten by Carrot -- and as is Brittany, who may or may not have asked for a dog, and who may or may not want to be an oboist in a school orchestra that is on its way to a competition in Vienna. As Day of the Dog moves from sitcom gags to psychological violence, it scarcely gains anything in terms of credibility. Paul and Julianne are two-dimensional bundles of neuroses, which are all-too-easily unpacked by the playwright. Vadislav is little more than a dramatic device, the sort of intruder no reasonable person would put up with. The situation is so forced that Damiano has to keep sending Vadislav to the bathroom for absurdly long stretches of time so that Paul and Julianne can have private discussions. (Apparently, that tuna sandwich wasn't too fresh, an echo of Paul's earlier culinary disaster.) And the dialogue is highly variable: Paul, accusing Julianne of mistreating their daughter, says, "You come down on her like a bitchy avalanche." This caused me to drop out of the play for several minutes while I contemplated how an avalanche could be bitchy. If Day of the Dog is at all watchable, it is thanks to the work of Steve Isom as Paul and Michelle Hand as Julianne. Anyone who spent more than ten minutes with these characters would realize that they are a marital disaster in the making, but Isom and Hand certainly enact their battle with zest; Hand is especially gifted with strong timing, and she also manages to suggest the wounded person underneath Julianne's imperious ways. There's not much that can be done with the role of Vadislav, but Jason Grubbe does give him a certain urbanity that keeps him from being too grating. The director,Milton Zoth, at least makes sure that these highly implausible proceedings move at a decent clip, but the rest of his production does not inspire. If you are going to settle for a set that consists of little more than crudely painted flats and a few pieces of furniture, then you should rethink having Julianne be a style maven or having Vadislav say things like, "You've done remarkable job of designing the house." The lighting and sound are more or less acceptable. The costumes for the men are all right, but Julianne is dressed in a flashy frock marked by colorful stripes that is the exact opposite of something a would-be Martha Stewart would choose. Day of the Dog was well-received in St. Louis, where this production originated and where it has been nominated for a local theatre award. Damiano has won numerous awards for his work. I'm not sure what this says, but to my eyes, the play conjoins the unpleasant with the unbelievable, which is never a winning combination. Even animal lovers may find themselves uninterested in the fate of Carrot, never mind his owner.--David Barbour 
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