Theatre in Review: Man Cave (Page 73 Productions/Connelly Theatre)The thriller, it seems, is back. A just-for-fun genre that petered out decades ago, made irrelevant by hollow trickery, is being creatively appropriated by some of today's playwrights to make acute points about the current screwed-up state of things. Already this season, we've had The Antelope Party, about simmering suspicions and the rise of fascism among adult My Little Pony superfans, and Selling Kabul, in which a young Afghan man, previously employed by the US Army, hides out from the Taliban. Adding a touch of the supernatural to the format is Man Cave, featuring four Mexicanas practicing spiritual skullduggery in the home of a white supremacist politician. The house's owners are in DC, so it is under the supervision of Imaculada, the housekeeper; she's not entirely happy about being left in this sprawling mansion, considering the weird sounds emanating from the walls and the doors that open and close of their own volition. She's even less happy when her old friends Rosemary and Lupita show up, bringing trouble with them. The ladies are lovers -- a fact that discomfits Imaculada -- but Rosemary also has an abusive cop boyfriend who, in a fit of jealousy, has beaten her up; even worse, the ladies fear that, seeking revenge, he might turn in Consuelo, Rosemary's undocumented mother, to the immigration police. It's not the warmest of reunions: Imaculada doesn't need all this drama dropped on her doorstep, and Rosemary, by way of thanks for being given sanctuary, asks, cuttingly, "What's it like working for a corrupt US Congressman?" Rosemary also has questions about Imaculada's adult son, who has mysteriously disappeared. Then Consuelo shows up and what initially appears to be an escape plan turns out to have a darker purpose: Rosemary, producing a bag of fingernails and a jar of goat's blood, wants, with her mother's aid, to stage a "death walking" ceremony to kill off her abuser. Meanwhile, a storm approaches, the family dog vanishes, strange voices appear on the intercom, and who's that knocking on the basement door? Complications abound -- don't forget that human skull, a clue to the ugly history of the site on which the house is built -- but what really fascinates is how playwright John J. Caswell, Jr. fuses these creepy, otherworldly doings with mordant commentary on America's racial caste system. The four women, who met working as maids, occupy one of society's lower rungs; their economic opportunities are nil, and Consuelo is in constant danger of deportation. (That Lupita and Rosemary are lesbians does nothing for their status.) Imaculada is something of a collaborator with the enemy; the Congressman, having coaxed her into gastric bypass surgery -- thus improving her look -- intends to use her as a prop on the campaign trail in an attempt at boosting his numbers with Latino voters. (This is part of a devil's bargain Imaculada has struck to help her absent son.) Then again, when these ladies summon up the spirit world, it's fair to say that all hell is certain to break loose. For all of Caswell's skill, a thriller like Man Cave needs expertly timed direction. Taylor Reynolds, who made a strong impression a few weeks ago with Tambo & Bones at Playwrights Horizons, maintains a tense atmosphere throughout, orchestrating the production's effects with mastery. (She also knows when a pregnant silence will further ratchet up the fear index.) At the performance I attended, shudders repeatedly rippled through the audience; more than once, the young woman to my left viewed the action with a protective hand over her face. Man Cave also benefits from a cast dedicated to putting over this bizarre tale with utter conviction. Annie Henk's Imaculada is believably torn between helping her friends and holding onto to her cushy job; she also exudes an air of mystery as it becomes clear that she isn't telling everything she knows. Socorro Santiago gives Consuelo a hard edge that makes her spirit-world experience seem eminently practical. Jacqueline Gullén's Rosemary, despite her bruises, has a tough, wisecracking manner that exempts her from victim status. ("You're supposed to disclose your home's paranormal status to guests upon arrival," she snaps at Imaculada when things start to get weird.) Claudia Acosta generates some suspense of her own as Lupita, who, spooked by events, may or may not be backsliding into alcoholism. Adam Rigg, one of the more interesting designers around just now, has created a basement set that, with its long, long staircase and tiny windows, resembles nothing so much as a well-furnished coffin. It is filled with telling details; for example, keep an eye on that deer head mounted on the upstage wall. Lucrecia Briceno provides various lighting looks, keyed to time of day and weather conditions, that add to the anything-can-happen feeling. Sound designer Michael Costagliola contributes a parade of eerie sound effects, a couple of which evoke gasps from the audience. Hahnji Jang's costumes neatly delineate the differences between Imaculada and her friends; Consuelo makes an impressive entrance in a piece of discarded couture, once owned by the lady of the house, in a color best described as Nancy Reagan red. Gregg Bellón's projections introduce each scene's title and time frame, in addition to providing surtitles for the final scene, delivered in Spanish. Caswell occasionally indulges in overt editorializing about the state of world, most of which is unnecessary since his ideas are so well embodied in the story. Also, the last scene -- despite a nifty twist that raises new questions about the effectiveness of the death-walking ceremony -- struggles to find a conclusion, seeming to end about three times. But I'm betting that you won't be bored, not even for a split-second. Man Cave wraps potent social criticism inside a ghost story that will have you eager (and afraid) to find out what happens next. --David Barbour 
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