BWW Reviews: Theatre [502]'s 'Mr. Burns' Feast For Mind, Little Else

At the end of the opening-night performance of "Mr. Burns, a post-electric play," an audience member behind me said something to the effect of "So 'The Simpsons' as the cultural, mythical and economic foundation of a post-apocalyptic society? Anne Washburn has some funny ideas in her head, but they're not in mine."

That's essentially what it is to experience "Mr. Burns," written by Anne Washburn and produced by Theatre [502]: either feeling as smart as the play for getting it, or smarter than it for not.

Washburn here utilizes the dire straits of a post-apocalyptic setting and the prism of pop culture iconography to parade out a treasure chest of concepts to actively ponder, which this production eagerly champions and extensively explores, but unfortunately does so at the expense of any emotional resonance with the piece.

One of the key challenges of this "post-electric play" is that it is miscategorized. It is not a play. What it is is a hypothesis on cultural formulation presented as a series of things that happen. Note that "a series of things that happen" is different than a "plot." Few events instigate other events, heighten stakes, or challenge the characters to up the ante and innovate their tactics to achieve their goals. Things happen, ideas are alluded to or outright spoken aloud, then it's time to move along to the next section of the thesis. The action is literally - literally - only moved forward by

a) act breaks

or

b) someone entering with a gun.

It is a feast for the mind, but an even more passive viewing experience than the average play, as Washburn seems more interested in taking the audience out of the action to postulate along with her than suspending its disbelief an inch off the ground for the ride (which are not mutually exclusive). It's a perfect piece for the contemplative, but it's no kitchen sink drama. More test-tube.

Act One takes place soon after the power goes out and everything goes to hell. A group of survivors sit around a fire, passing the time and staving off the gravity of the situation by attempting to recount the classic "Cape Feare" episode of "The Simpsons." They check the perimeter for mysterious sounds, guns drawn, then are immediately snuck up on by someone armed. However, the newly arrived Gibson (Brian Hinds) is a benign addition, bringing news from other outposts, but little hope. They cross-check the notebooks they've started keeping as a kind of nomadic address book for news of surviving friends and family. They estimate their vicinity to active nuclear danger zones while their beer chills in the running waters nearby. (Hopefully they'll get to recounting the episode with the three-eyed fish sometime soon.) Only when Gibson chimes in on the "Cape Feare" recounting, confirming that yes, everyone knows "The Simpsons," do we get an inkling of where the play is truly headed.

Act break.

Act Two. Seven years later. Traces of social and economic activity of the most basic order have slowly returned. The survivors from Act One now provide the cultural threads of the new world as a theatre troupe that specializes in recreating "Simpsons" episodes as best they can, as they have only their slowly fogging memories and scraps of lines and plot they purchase from patrons to go on. A new stability has been reached, and even "Noises Off"-style archetypes are beginning to emerge within the group. There are many interesting ideas brought up about commerce, the role of art, and the dangers of the new reality. A musical tribute to the impressed-upon significance of pop chart toppers is rehearsed. It's all very aware and, as the popular term is these days, "meta," in that they're doing the thing they're talking about in the way that the thing they're talking about was done.

Then, someone enters with a gun.

Act break.

Another part of the frustration with "Mr. Burns" is that for all the clever - and it is truly clever - thought in the script, there is so little for the actors to actually act in a production that adroitly presents all of Washburn's ideas but does little to mine for distinct characters, surprising choices, or much else that would make for a richly realized production of a play rather than just a flesh-and-blood message board. Names are not important, and they never will be, because none of the people are characters. They just say or do things that don't amount to anything or invite unintended critical analysis of the seriousness of the situation. There is no "This is happening." It's all "This is what it would be like."

In Act One, the paranoid fear or edgy weariness of people struggling to survive isn't manifest. All are immaculately dressed and coifed, with all the tension of people politely waiting out the end of an ill-conceived camping trip. It's a maddening introduction to people on the brink of extinction that when one of their fellow survivors, whom presumably the others are relying on for some function, disappears for 10 minutes, no one either seems to notice or care. For all their panicked clutching of firearms, they could have be dead before the 15-minute mark if Gibson didn't voluntarily reveal his presence. With Act Two's armed intrusion on top of that, a play so concerned about what will survive doesn't provide much hope in the survivors.

While they have little to act, there is plenty to perform. Act Three is the highlight of the piece because, well, a play is finally presented. 75 years after the catastrophe, the next generation has put together a full-fledged commedia-infused operatic take on "Cape Feare" into which the apocalypse and its aftermath has become intertwined, elevating the episode to the level of pyrrhic gospel. Twisted billionaire power plant owner Mr. Burns is iconized as the cruel, avaricious, murderous, toxic (cue Britney Spears) forces that instigated the old age's end, and misanthropic Bart is beatified as the embodiment of humanity's will to carry on.

It's an impressive and even entertaining spectacle, but nothing about it feels earned. It's just what Washburn has decided Act Three, her "In Summation," will be. The closing piece of "H.M.S. Pinafore" in which Sideshow Bob passionately proclaimed "He remains an Englishman" has been repurposed to proclaim that the survivors tried to use their brains, but though they failed, they remain American. There is of course a bitter irony underlying that message, and yet, floating free any emotional grasp, uninvited to temper one's thoughts with empathy, one is left to fulfill the trollish function of thinking "If your ancestors had used your brains, you might not be in this mess."

The assembled cast are all top local talent, perfectly competent with great chemistry and energy. They just don't have all that much to do for the first half of the play, and don't seemed to have been pushed to find more than what was on the page. Hinds delivers a standout performance as Gibson, making the most of the quiet, mysterious energy he possesses that can convey danger one moment and deep pathos the next. He delivers a fantastic monologue in which his confusion over a troupe decision dissolves into terrified paranoia about the slow creep of radiation exposure that is one of the rare instances when one of the actors gets to embody a full-fledged character. Zachary Burrell delivers a devilishly evil Mr. Burns in Act Three. Tamara Dearing vamps comedically for a reconstructed commercial in Act Two and completely contrasts in Act Three with an affecting voice and gravitas to portray The Passion of the Bart.

For its shortcomings, the technical portions of the production are laudable. Sean Donaldson leads a found-instrument orchestra that provides an ennobled soundtrack to Act Three, though separating the musicians to frame the stage put them out of sync on occasion. Nonetheless, the musicians and actors overcame the lack of amplification beneficial to a space like the Clifton Center to achieve an organic, harmonious balance. Lindsay Chamberlain's mask and wardrobe work is spot-on tribute to the source material, and set designer Karl Anderson and carpenter Burrell's Act Three houseboat and proscenium embody the triumph of ingenuity inspired by Springfield's First Family within this world.

Washburn and "Mr. Burns" are very clever in asking questions about continuing onward. But this is nothing so possessing as to prevent anyone from getting on with their life once the house lights rise. Worth at least seeing once, but hopefully our world will end with more of a bang or whimper than a "D'oh!".

"Mr. Burns, a post-electric play"

By Anne Washburn, music by Michael Friedman

Directed by Gil Reyes

Presented by Theatre [502]

Through Feb. 28

For tickets, go to http://mrburns.brownpapertickets.com/.

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