Review: Math And Love Triangle In The Industrial Age

There's a lot to unpack in Lauren Gunderson's 2015 play now showing at Scoundrel and Scamp. ADA AND THE ENGINE is a sprawling narrative that dabbles in the intersection of mathematics and a love triangle - and it does so eloquently while shedding light on the immortal shadow of a father's abandonment.

It's a handful, but it's one way to alleviate the esoteric chatter of binary codes and algorithms. Given the playwright's prodigious gift in mixing it up, the upshot is a convoluted brew of scholarly discourse and ill-fated matters of the heart.

Add to that fusion an epilogue of magic realism and we find ourselves enamored or dumbfounded. Where you end up lies in your ability to subdivide the attention and unspool the thematic strands crammed in one sitting.

As such, the jury is out on the viewer's capacity to lock in on the play's bookish details long enough to absorb the encompassing emotional content.

In true Gunderson fashion, the story is told through the lens of a woman of historical significance, a brilliant thinker gone too soon. Her short-lived genius was marked by a fierce constitution that bucked the social protocol of her day on route to becoming a pioneer in computer programming.

Her name is Ada Byron Lovelace, the only legitimate daughter of Lord Byron - yes, that Lord Byron, the great Romantic poet with a tawdry philandering history. Ada never knew her father, who left the family a month after she was born. Despite her father's scandalous reputation, Ada would grow up in profound admiration of the man, much to her mother's dismay.

Presumably, Ada's incurable longing for her father's presence, captured through the poetry he left behind (he died abroad when she was 8 years old), becomes the sweeping motif that governs her relationships. Most noteworthy is her spirited connection with Charles Babbage, the great mathematician best known for his invention of the "analytical engine." It begins as a common professional interest, but given their wide age gap, the heaving romantic subtext compensates for Ada's deep-seated yen to recreate a father figure.

Director Brian Rafael Falcón unveils a lyrical depiction of a script rich in Victorian speech and comportment. The blocking is smooth yet aptly restrained and suggests the tacit unrest simmering beneath the characters' cordial façade.

We can honestly ascribe the production's chief triumph to Claire De La Vergne, a fine young actress who inhabits Ada Lovelace with impetuous agency and a blistering emotional veracity. De La Vergne's internal work is impressive, her measured physicality a pleasure to watch. Not a single beat change is rendered without purpose, and each furtive glance spells a delicate, actable moment. As a passionate and independent thinker, she speaks of numbers as if they're sensual objects. Dare I say math is sexy?

Ada matches wits with her mother Annabella Byron, played by the ferocious and chilling Callie Hutchison. Theirs is a relationship born of Annabella's stern management of Ada's academic discipline (she would soon ensure Ada's future stability by marrying her off to the Earl of Lovelace).

On opening weekend, Hutchison doubled as Mary Sommerville, Ada's private tutor, and deftly showcased her versatility in a relatively short transition. Henceforth, both roles will be played by Gretchen Wirges, a fine actress who undoubtedly will turn in a magnificent run of her own.

The male characters are by no means insignificant considering their vast impact on Ada's life. But in theatrical argot, higher stakes are required of the male actors to match De La Vergne's intensity and drive. Tony Caprile charts a believable individual arc, and his early scenes find him to be a distinguished and avuncular man of intellect. But he runs aground in the most poignant moments between Charles and Ada. One gets the notion that Charles isn't quite ready to let go of his head at the most crucial hour - while Ada is dying, when intellect falters and the heart is the singular muscle left to hold the pain and suffering. It's especially vital for an actor who plays Charles to sustain that vulnerable posture in what already feels like such a drawn-out requiem.

Sean Patrick is the final piece to this loaded quartet. As Lord Lovelace, he's a stoic and regal presence - entitled and privileged, yet soft and compliant all at once. He's not Ada's intellectual match, but his love for her is real. He peaks nicely near the end as he gives in to Charles' comforting presence during Ada's final moments. (I would call attention to Mr. Patrick's disposition to fall too much in love with his fourth wall; while the image is believable, some transitions appear inorganic and staged.)

In a surprising turn of events, we encounter Sean Patrick as the charismatic Lord Byron in what appears to be heaven, or some facsimile thereof. Lord Byron meets Ada, who is now painless and free to make peace with her father. Kudos to Raulie Martinez for the lighting and projection design (and Andie Pratt for the scenic work). The final scene is an exquisite reveal because of them. Tiffer Hill's sound design and Karin Beatty's elegant costumes complete this work of alchemy in a most agreeable space.

ADA AND THE ENGINE runs for approximately 100 minutes with a 10-minute intermission. For tickets and information, visit www.scoundrelandscamp.org or call 520-448-3300

The Scoundrel & Scamp Theatre at The Historic Y
738 N 5th Avenue #131, Tucson, AZ, 85705
Main entrance located off the parking lot of The Historic Y.
Parking lot entrance is accessed from 5th Avenue.

Photo Credit: Tim Fuller

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