Theatre in Review: Kings (The Public Theater)

	Zach Grenier, Eisa Davis. Photo: Joan Marcus

Sarah Burgess is rapidly becoming our expert guide to the corridors of power. Her previous work, Dry Powder, about a leveraged buyout, was solid on the details of Wall Street amorality but, perhaps, a little too moralistic; the playwright lacked a certain appreciation for her characters' double-crossing ways. There's no such problem with Kings, a fully clawed comedy of Washington, DC, manners that doubles as a clinically accurate exploration of the pay-to-play culture that is largely responsible for the current state of Congressional deadlock. Opening in the middle of a national conversation about the politicians who are willing to do the NRA's bidding (for a commensurate amount of support), plays don't get more ripped from the headlines than this.

And, this time out, her characters, for all their corruption, come with plenty of charm. In fact, affability is their business; this is especially true of Lauren and Kate, lobbyists who so deftly manipulate the legislative process that the FBI couldn't find their fingerprints on the final bill. Lauren worked her way up to chief of staff for Senator John McDowell. She has since moved on, joining one of those multi-named lobbying firms -- whose monikers usually include the word "strategies" -- that seem to proliferate, like weeds, on K Street; McDowell has kept her on as an informal advisor and is only too willing to do her client's bidding in return for their fiscal support.

Kate, Lauren's ex-girlfriend, is less successful, but she tries harder. The "queen of the medical associations," she is on the case for the podiatrists of America, hoping to get action on a bill mandating that anyone on Medicare or Medicaid who suffers pain below the ankles must first visit a foot doctor before being prescribed oxycodone or the like. She sets her sights on Representative Sydney Millsap, from Dallas, who has just scored an attention-getting upset win. "The press loved her in the special election," she says, her eyes glinting with expectation. "She's a war widow. Her opponent had catastrophic dermatitis," replies Lauren, unimpressed.

Lauren knows whereof she speaks, having sidled up to Sydney -- who is bluntly honest and nobody's fool -- saying, "And you're the first woman and the first person of color ever to represent your district -- is that right?" (As it happens, this proves to be the opening gambit used by everyone who wants something from Sydney.) Noting Lauren's failure, Kate bravely forges ahead, trying to hook Sydney up with her podiatrists. Sydney isn't having it: "There's no precedent for a law requiring trips to two different doctors," she notes. "Maybe not," says Kate, all girlish wonder at the democratic process. "But. The cool thing about your job is you get to make new laws."

Sydney proves immune to such blandishments, and Kate, perhaps for the first time in her career, lets a politician have it, informing Sydney that she is only part of the passing parade, and, "long after you've been voted out next year, I will be in DC and Lauren will be in DC. Reading case studies, meeting with members, explaining things to them because they're too lazy to consume and process raw data, and writing and revising and agonizing over the Code of the Laws of the United States. Doing the real work of government while you guys pose for photos and complain about all the parties you have to attend." It's a measure of life inside the Beltway that Sydney, rather than taking offense, is refreshed by Kate's candor and wants to be friends.

Throughout Kings, Burgess finds new and inventive ways of throwing these four characters together: as McDowell, the senator from Texas, tries to buy off the troublesome Sydney -- who won't vote the "right" way on a tax bill -- with the promise of a $100,000-a-year paycheck as a consumer rights advocate for American Airlines; as Sydney runs against McDowell, upsetting the rule book; and as Kate finds herself reluctantly dragged along for the ride, alienating both McDowell and Lauren. Scene after scene lays bare -- often hilariously -- the degraded state of contemporary democracy, where money is a full-time preoccupation and lawmaking is at best a sometime thing. We see Sydney unenthusiastically making donor calls, reading unconvincingly from a script -- a true exercise in futility. McDowell grouses about attending a fundraiser at the Magic Kingdom, dispensing with any remaining dignity at a "character breakfast" with Mickey, Minnie, and the gang. Sydney is quickly tutored in the best way of avoiding taking a stand, by saying "I like the idea of [fill in the blank], but unfortunately, this bill doesn't go far enough."

Burgess' ear for DC-speak is lethally accurate. When a PAC is named "Freedom Strong," you can bet that its intentions are less than altruistic. Kate, recalling that Lauren and her partner made the cover of Washingtonian Magazine as one of "top DC gay power couples under 45," adds that it includes "so many modifiers it kind of loses all meaning." Sydney notes acidly that, since coming to Washington, she has been "living off these little pieces of salmon served at fundraisers." It's illegal, she adds, for lobbyists to buy dinner for politicians, but it's lawful to throw cocktail parties "as long as each edible item can't be considered a meal on its own. So: unlimited canapes, but a hamburger is a federal crime." As Burgess makes thoroughly clear, everything that happens in Kings, no matter how venal, follows the letter of the law.

Under Thomas Kail's direction, Burgess' argument is delivered with blazing clarity, and with plenty of dark humor along the way. As Kate and Lauren, Gillian Jacobs and Aya Cash are a perfectly wised-up pair of worldlings, speaking the language of flattery so fluently as to leave no doubt that they could run the government all by themselves. Jacobs also charts Kate's growing qualms as she discovers that she may actually possess a conscience. Given the underwritten Sydney -- who is more of a poster girl for honesty than a fully realized character -- Eisa Davis delivers her zingers with brio, making the most of a riotous scene in which she acquaints the horrified Kate with the delights of a fajita dinner at Chili's. Zach Grenier, no stranger to legal wheeling and dealing from his run on The Good Wife, offers fine, multilayered work as McDowell, a basically good man who does what he must to live another day; he is especially strong in a debate between McDowell and Sydney, during which he overreaches, damagingly.

The production design supports the action in several ways. Anna Louizos has designed a sleek, yet slightly anonymous-looking, set that easily accommodates a play set in hotel lobbies, call centers, and chain restaurants. (The audience is seated on two sides, creating a sense of being in a sports arena.) Color-changing LED units built into the set allow Jason Lyons to create chases that add pizzazz to the fast-moving scene changes. In a play in which a character's rising or falling fortunes can be tracked by the type of vest she wears at a ski weekend, Paul Tazewell's costume designs are consistently on the money, as are Lindsay Jones' original music and sound design.

Kings should be a depressing experience; the corruption that Burgess depicts is so institutionalized that one despairs of ever fixing it. Yet, there's something exhilarating about her ability to lay it all on the line. If we are still capable of appreciating the truth of our screwed-up system -- and of laughing at it -- there may be hope for us yet. -- David Barbour