The Fabulous Life of a Size Zero: Running on Empty

According to history, when the Arab concept of a nonexistent number was introduced to Europe after the Catholic conquest of Spain, the translators did not know how to write the idea in Latin. Finally, someone suggested just leaving a hole-- 0 -- and zero, as we know it, was born, baffling mathematicians and philosophers alike with the paradox of nothing being something. In fact, the word "zero" itself comes from the Arabic safira, meaning "emptiness."

That emptiness seems to be at the heart of Marissa Kamin's The Fabulous Life of a Size Zero, a new play in which the nonexistent integer is not only the goal clothing size for teenage girls, but the mental state as well. As the girls binge, purge, and struggle to live up to other people's impossible standards physically, emotionally and academically, they become shells of human beings, ready to be filled with whatever ideals Madison Avenue and Hollywood shell out next. As one girl's looks fall more into line with the fashion and gossip magazines she loves to read, she gains popularity and confidence, but, naturally, loses herself.

It's a common story, one often reserved for after-school TV viewing. And unfortunately, watching someone strive to become what Sondheim and Weidman would call a "vapid, vacuous non-entity" is not nearly as exciting as watching someone achieve a more meaningful fulfillment. And there's the rub: When a character's goals are so shallow and hollow, it's hard to care about whether or not they're reached, and hard to find much sympathy for said character's struggles. It's quite a conundrum: how can a playwright make intentional banality involving and exciting for her audience? 

The problem might be exacerbated by the repetitive nature of the play. As the protagonist spirals steadily downward, we see variations of similar moments and conversations played over again, without developing the characters further in each iteration. Likewise, monologues based on blog posts punctuate the script, and while they are interesting as performed by Anna Chlumsky, they do not sufficiently heighten the play's themes. Another revision could condense the best moments of the play into a tighter whole, and keep the focus where it needs to be. 

But to Kamin's credit, while her script treads some familiar waters and has some structural weaknesses, she has found some new twists and turns that keep the story fresh and thought-provoking. Using numerous meta, classic, and post-modern techniques (characters as symbols,  projections, dance breaks, etc.), Kamin mocks our celebrity-and-perfection-obsessed culture, though perhaps a little too ironically: the celebrity gossip website Jossip.com is associated with the production, somewhat undermining the play's message. "Be yourself! Don't try to be a celebrity!" the production says from one side of its metaphorical mouth, and "Check out what Paris/Britney/Lindsay did today!" from the other. Is it any wonder girls get confused?

As the tormented Girl (no names here-- she is, after all, an Everygirl kind of character), Gillian Jacobs aptly captures the bipolar nature of adolescence, veering between cool and collected, anxiously eager, or painfully morose. Unfortunately, she doesn't get to express many emotions beyond these three, though to be fair, the script doesn't give her many opportunities to try. As the protagonist's best friend and a one-woman chorus of teenage girls, Anna Chlumsky shines as a wide range of characters in brief monologues. If she is somewhat less dynamic as the friend, it's easily forgiven-- like the heroine, her character is a generic Everygirl, and less interesting than the girls with names she portrays in between scenes.

Kate Reinders seems to be conjuring her inner Chenoweth as Superstar, the embodiment of the girls' ideals. (Andy Warhol would probably be perversely amused to see his title used in such a manner.) Alternately sunny and sinister, the Superstar is a Spider Woman in disguise, chillingly beautiful and attractive as she lures her flies to her web. Brian J. Smith and Christopher Sloan are nicely versatile as the Entourage, playing teenage boys, college interviewers, and fathers with equal skill.

Ben Rimalower's direction is uber-hip, using projections and party music (courtesy of DJ Brenda Black) to enhance the mood and perpetuate the themes. Wilson Chin's simple set looks appropriately gaudy and childish, silently commenting on the characters and their tastes. Ben Stanton's lighting is atmospheric and effective, nicely commenting on Chin's work.

For all its good intentions and snarky wit, The Fabulous Life of a Size Zero doesn't say an awful lot that hasn't been said before. Still, its message is timeless, and important for impressionable kids who are bombarded with contradictory messages in magazines, movies and television. Parents might do well to use the play as a gateway to discussions about goals and values and choices. If it helps even one kid-- or one parent-- it's worthwhile.

Photo credit: Gillian Jacobs and Anna Chlumsky, photo by Monique Carboni

To post a comment, you must register and login.