Theatre in Review: A Guide for the Homesick (DR2 Theatre)A pickup in an Amsterdam hotel becomes a powerful reckoning in this cunningly plotted two-hander with psychological thriller undertones. Teddy, a Black American financier ostensibly on holiday, gets together with Jeremy, a young Bostonian returning home from a stint as a healthcare worker in Uganda. Things quickly turn awkward, however, and not just because Jeremy strenuously deflects Teddy's pass, insisting he is straight. It's a statement that rings thoroughly hollow; as Teddy notes more than once, how many heterosexuals accept an invitation to a stranger's bedroom in a foreign country? As it happens, the title of A Guide for the Homesick couldn't be more ironic. Behind this apparent misunderstanding lie darker undercurrents: Ed, Teddy's best friend/traveling companion -- the men are a kind of extended bachelor party before Ed marries -- has either returned to the US alone or run off to parts unknown. (Teddy's story keeps changing.) In any case, Teddy refuses to take phone calls from Margo, Ed's intended, who, strangely, never leaves a message. For his part, when asked about his experience in Africa, Jeremy almost explodes with defensive anger. (And, for God's sake, don't call this baby-faced twentysomething a "kid.") The men are a classic temperamental mismatch, each with something to hide, and Jeremy is soon headed for the exit until Teddy plaintively says, "I can't be alone right now." As we gradually discover, both men are desperately lonely, each carrying a punishing, paralyzing burden of guilt. Playwright Ken Urban surgically inserts a series of flashbacks that reveal deeper truths: Jeremy painfully relives his friendship with Nicholas, a gay Ugandan living on the down-low and sleeping with a married man, shadowed by a rising tide of homophobic violence. Meanwhile, Teddy agonizingly faces the argument that drove away Ed, a younger (and probably bipolar) colleague whom, he insists, he treats as a younger brother -- words that mask a knot of interdependence and frustrated desire. The Teddy-Jeremy encounter is a perfect setup for psychodrama: Jeremy must deal with an attractive Black man whose attentions he needs, no matter what he claims about his sexual orientation; Teddy finds himself trying to seduce a fragile, boyish figure who pretends to have no interest in sex with men. Each is an ideal surface for the other to project his anxieties and unfulfilled longings. Slipping between past and present, McKinley Belcher III, who plays Teddy, assumes the role of Nicholas; similarly, Uly Schlesinger, cast as Jeremy, becomes Ed. As the action moves relentlessly toward two ugly revelations -- the disaster Jeremy was too naive to prevent and Teddy's moment of naked rage, which has untold consequences -- a pair of souls hangs in the balance. The play's mirror-like structure will strike some as overly schematic and in a less confidently acted and directed production, the men's intricate emotional interlock would surely seem mechanical. But director Shira Milikowsky strikes a strong note of erotic tension from the first minute and each actor has a detective's eye for the clues to his character's inner conflicts. Belcher offers a remarkable double turn, making Teddy an arrogantly assured figure unpredictably marked by glaring vulnerabilities, and assuming a feline grace as Nicholas, who wouldn't mind spending some quality time with Jeremy, a fact that distinctly unnerves the young American. Schlesinger's Jeremy is shaped by narcissistic wounds -- internalized homophobia, parental disapproval of his career choices -- covered by a lurking rage; as Ed, his mile-a-minute conversational style hints at the fear of mental illness and its loss of control. Milikowsky's staging keeps the action taut and suspenseful, with Abigail Hoke-Brady's lighting deftly signaling each switch between past and present. Lawrence Moten III's set design is a perfect copy of a cheerful, low-priced, airport-adjacent lodging. (I could swear I've stayed there.) David Woolard's costumes underline the difference in the characters' sensibilities and stations in life. Daniel Kluger's sound design includes atmospheric effects like rain pouring and roaring airplane engines. A Guide for the Homesick builds to a furious climax that bares the question: How, after profoundly failing a beloved friend, does one continue to live? There's no easy answer, of course, and, to his credit, Urban doesn't try to provide any. Instead, he leaves us with the image of two devastated men faced with the daunting challenge of stepping through the door and figuring out what comes next. --David Barbour 
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