BWW Reviews: Rhubarb Theatre Company's POTTY TALK

Rhubarb Theatre Company artistic director and playwright Trish Crist has a way with words - or perhaps it's just her ability to listen and comprehend that sets her apart. With her latest original work, Potty Talk (now onstage at Nashville's Darkhorse Theatre through April 17), Crist takes audiences into the confines of the so-called "ladies' room" for more than just some eavesdropping, as we hear what women really talk about in that tiled, private enclave. Instead, Crist, through her richly drawn characters, entertains us with her frank and funny depictions of the conversations held there and she enlightens those people who, like her, are good listeners.

Potty Talk, obviously still a work-in-progress, is a warm and witty evocation of women on their own turf, talking about the various subjects that dominate their lives, sharing the minutiae of daily life and, perhaps most significantly, showing how very real friendship can develop between women of quite different backgrounds standing in front of a shared mirror. Their reflections, it seems, aren't always what you would expect them to be.

For women in the audience (and both women and men came out in droves this past weekend for the opening of Potty Talk at the Darkhorse; making reservations for this week's upcoming performances is a very good idea), I suspect that the shared camaraderie of the ladies' room is a given. For men in the seats, however, it's a new experience, given our penchant for staring straight ahead and saying nothing (unless, of course, you have the "wide stance" of a right-wing senator and his ilk). Regardless of your gender, you'll find a lot to laugh about and think about in Crist's play.

The clarity of Crist's laser-sharp writing - and, in fact, the play's structure - becomes somewhat muddled, however, by the monologues that open and close the show. They are meandering, unfocused and somewhat confusing.

Here's the set-up: At curtain, a woman named Lindsey is running lines for a play she is opening in that night (titled something like Pratfall or A Life - frankly, it was too cute by half for me to commit it to memory). She's in the ladies' room on the 11^th floor of the Nashville company for which she works, going over the monologue, trying to figure out its meaning and, quite honestly, boring us. Robyn Berg plays Lindsey with an earnestness that is neither charming nor engaging.

But, as her co-workers come in and out of the facility, we hear their stories and we revel in the shared moments of matters both mundane and transcendent. When Lisa Marie Wright walks into the bathroom, the audience heaves a collective sigh of relief, knowing that here's an actress whose expert comic timing will elevate the onstage business to something worth watching. And she does just that. In spades.

As other co-workers come and go, we are treated to some terrific dialogue and thoroughly winning interactions. Jervon Dailey, as Glendelle, is riotously funny with her superb, finely-tuned reading of her character's lines, and Laurel Baker is at her very comic best as Virginia, the lovably ditzy office functionary who, apparently, has few verbal filters. Layne Sasser makes a brief first act appearance as a cleaning woman who unabashedly goes for the laughs in her time onstage.

Veteran actress Wesley Paine has the most significant character arc in the piece as she at first appears all brittle and businesslike. However, as we get to know her character better and as she exposes her vulnerabilities, we are drawn deeper into her story.

We gain further insight into the women as we see them again, on the same day, gathered at a bar for Happy Hour before they go see Lindsey in her new and exciting - and VERY IMPORTANT - new play. We also are given glimpses of a couple of other women, one referred to as "an elegant woman on a date" with a fool, and another obviously inebriated woman who takes off her thong while she pees. The evening's funniest exchange is Act One's discussion of each woman's list of the men they'd like to have sex with; it rings with authenticity and is all the better because of that.

Act Two takes audiences into the ladies' green room at the theatre where Lindsey is making theatrical history in the absurdist Pratfall or A Life. Here we meet several new characters, including Sasser's Sage, a worldly wise woman not unlike Sasser herself who dispenses wit and wisdom as easily as she pours Jack Daniels in anything that will hold it (again, not unlike the immensely gifted Layne Sasser); Kellye Mitchell's Molly, whose youthful innocence may be wide-eyed but is clearly very focused; and Pat Rulon's Anne-Marie, the best "semi-professional actress" she can be, who gives Rulon the opportunity to prove why she should be onstage much more often than she tends to be these days. The three women's conversation is wide-ranging and compelling and the relationships created by three very gifted actresses in this scene are very genuinely felt.

Then, just when you're feeling warm and fuzzy - THUD! - along comes Lindsey to end the show with her onstage version of that monologue we first heard in the play's opening. It's like hitting a brick wall; the monologue remains unfocused and confusing, lacking the warmth and humor of the rest of the play. Crist defintely has a way with words and, like every other writer before or since, she likes the sound of her own voice. Potty Talk would be better served if the message of the monologue was incorporated into the ladies' room conversations. And is the message we're left with at the end of the play - apparently that you can meet the love of your life in the most unexpected way (at least that's what I think it was about; I was writing my grocery list waiting for the monologue to come to an end) - really the message that Potty Talk is meant to convey?

Whatever the answer to that query, rest assured that you will get a kick out of Potty Talk and that it will provide you with plenty to talk about yourself - like maybe the next time you're taking a leak in the company of others.

- Potty Talk. Written and directed by Trish Crist. Presented at the Darkhorse Theatre, Nashville. Through April 17. For further information or reservations, email rhubarbnashville@gmail.com.

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