Review: Best Medicine Rep's BLAME IT ON BECKETT

Is the theater dead?  Is it on life support? 

Or is it just cranky, overworked, and in need of a stiff drink?

Best Medicine Rep’s DC premiere of John Morogiello’s Blame it on Beckett is a hilarious reminder that sometimes, the real dramas play out in the back offices of our beloved regional theaters.  Chock full of inside-baseball references to everything from Samuel Beckett’s bizarre plots to days-of-old lectures from distinguished academics (set to old 78 rpm needle-scratch accompaniment), this love letter of a play gives you a 2-hour tour of the challenges faced by a professional company that is devoted (on paper at least) to the cultivation of new playwrights.  Director Kathleen Barth has guided her cast with skill, and the action is well shaped and briskly paced.

Morogiello gives you a glimpse of the challenges budding playwrights face at being produced—let alone being read—the minute you enter the theater at The Writer’s Center.  You’ve got your Macintosh computer on the boss’s desk (although set in 2000, that really dates things); you’ve got your repurposed copy-paper boxes stacked against the walls, no filing system visible apart from stray letters sharpied onto the cardboard, and stray scripts which somehow escaped the Boxes of Death but which remain untouched, helpfully collecting dust or protecting the top of someone’s desk from actually being used. 

(Is it just possible that the playwright has some experience with this chaos? Hmmm…)

Presiding over this inglorious mess is the company’s Dramaturg, Jim Foley, who seems to spend most of his time avoiding his phone, ignoring the latest scripts’ arrival in the room, while popping prescription pills by the dozen (sometimes washed down with a dose of Tequila, natch).  Burned out, as jaded as a horse in the knacker’s yard, but with some hard-won wisdom that finally gains him some respect, Jim also has had a previous, academic life which is his closely-held secret.  As Jim, Morogiello (yeah, the playwright plays the lead, and the dramaturg; you’ll see his name a lot here) gives you an intensity which is alternately charming and frustrating as all get-out, when it becomes clear that Jim sees his sole purpose as promoting the plays of his old favorites.

The routine Jim has established is suddenly ruptured by the arrival of young, idealistic Heidi Bishop, fresh out of grad school and ready to inject some new life into the moribund company.  Her current status as Box Office staff notwithstanding, Heidi finagles an unpaid internship and proceeds to demolish the studied neglect of incoming scripts.  Rose Hahn, as Heidi, gives us a young woman who is by no means as naïve as Jim wants her to be; headstrong and ambitious, she is clearly ready for the job, and her defense of one new play in particular (with the less than promising title of “Requiem for a Hairdresser”) becomes a major bone of contention in Act 1.

Heidi also endears herself to one of Jim’s prize playwrights, Tina Fike, played here with rugged grace by Liz Weber.  Fike, the old hand, is tough as nails but pliant in Jim’s hands—and here is where the battle for Tina’s soul, and her new play, is engaged. 

Mediating among these personalities is Mike Braschi, the business manager, who is clearly smitten with Heidi—who, eventually, warms up to him.  Their encounter, however, ends disastrously, and Heidi is able to take full advantage of the situation (in a somewhat Mamet-like way).  The desire of Jim and Mike to use Tina’s latest play as their ticket to the New York theater scene is a driving force here, and of course who gets to go, in the end, is one of the big questions hovering over the action.  Matthew Marcus' turn as Mike is as solid and as charming as can be expected, and his character's ambitions mirror Heidi's in remarkable ways.

There are some brilliant monologues here, well worth the price of admission, especially for veteran theater folk who have been through the wringer a few times; Jim’s account of a typical regional theater season (and yeah, Christmas Carol features prominently) is spot-on, as well as playwright Tina Fike’s insistence that Rome and New York City have a lot in common—the former as the capital of Catholicism and Catholic dogma, the latter as the capital of theater and theater dogma.  And there is the reminder, as if any were needed, that nobody chooses to go into theater; the theater chooses them, and it’s simply inescapable.

[An aside:  being a DC Theater artist, I have never given two hoots how they do things in New York, and I have found our theater scene to be far more innovative than anything they can come up with in the Big Apple.]

Costume Designer Elizabeth Kemmerer offers some nice touches, giving us a visual guide to Heidi’s character arc in particular, beginning with a semi-casual intern’s garb to an opening night slinky dress, to the distinctly casual-formal jeans look by the end of the play as she settles into her new job.  Her outfit for Tina Fike, moreover, screams “artiste!” with its flowing cape and impeccable styling, matching her stylish haircut.

That John Morogiello not only wrote the play, designed the set, plays its leading role, but also runs the theater company producing his play, is actually a reminder of the flip side to the chaos we see here.  It’s true that far too many artists pine away in their garrets, waiting for someone to notice them.  But in my experience, theater artists are champion when it comes to DIY; we see a need for our work, we see a community that we know needs to see us.  And we always find ingenious ways to seize the day, sieze the stage, and show audiences how fabulous we truly are.  That, in the end, is perhaps the most valuable lesson “Blame it on Beckett” has for us:  we’re here, we’re theatrical, we’re all fabulous, and we’re not going anywhere, so enjoy the show!

Production time is 2 hours, including one 10-minute intermission.

Production Photo:  from left to right:  Tina Fike (Liz Weber) and Heidi Bishop (Rose Hahn).  Photograph by Elizabeth Kemmerer.

To post a comment, you must register and login.