THE FOOD CHAIN - Louisville Repertory Company Non Equity Auditions

Presented by special arrangement with Dramatists Play Service, Inc., New York.

Amanda, an anorexic poet of some pretensions, has been married for three weeks, but her husband, Ford, has been missing for two. She calls a crisis hot line and reaches Bea, a volunteer. Bea's answer to Amanda's problems is to diminish them by complaining about her own deceased husband's inattentiveness, her son's embarrassing nature, and also to dispense hilarious but useless) advice. Just as Amanda nears her wit's end, Ford walks in so she simply hangs up on Bea. Meanwhile, across town, Serge, a completely vain runway model, paces as he waits for the arrival of his latest paramour. He is intruded upon by a former one-night stand, Otto, who worships him and who tips the scales at about three hundred pounds. Otto tortures, harangues and cajoles Serge while swilling Yoo-hoo, eating junk food and taking phone calls from his mother until Serge can take no more. Serge explodes but is interrupted by a phone call-his new lover will not be coming. This leaves Serge and Otto in the same state: Both are now victims of fickle romance. the scene shifts back to Amanda's at the crack of dawn. Serge is banging on the door, looking for his lover, surprising Amanda. It was with Serge that Ford had spent his lost two honeymoon weeks. Having followed Serge, it isn't long until Otto shows up, with breakfast, threatening suicide. Next to arrive is Bea, furious at Amanda for hanging up on her as Bea does not tolerate rudeness. As riotous chaos builds, we learn that Bea is Otto's mother, that Otto and Amanda are old school friends, that Serge will settle for both Amanda and Ford and that Ford has absolutely nothing to say. Bea takes charge and offers a solution. Although short on practicality, it is long on pleasure.

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Poisonously funny...the wittiest talk in town.
— NY Times

One of the funniest new plays to zoom into New York in years.
— NY Post

Mean, smart and hilarious—his best play yet...built to barrel down the laugh track and explode when it hits human misery.
— Washington Post

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