"FREEDOMLAND," TriArts, Inc. at Athenaeum Theatre
BY LUCIA MAURO
Many playwrights are easily seduced by the notion of dramatizing dysfunction – and most theater companies anxiously dive into the labyrinthine lunacy of characters juggling multiple cans of angst-bloated worms. But what if dysfunction is merely a jumping-off point for quirky performances and pseudo-intellectual pondering? Or, worse, what if all that comes out of this morbid interest in messed-up lives is a self-conscious wallowing in misery for misery’s sake?
Amy Freed’s contemporary dark comedy, "Freedomland," presented by TriArts, Inc. at the Athenaeum Theatre, falls into this annoying and meaningless trap. It’s as if the playwright mentally threw a group of outrageous people in a room – together with half-realized cliches about corporate downsizing and globalization – and had them duke it out within a bizarre (and unmotivated) family reunion awash in psycho-sexual therapy, demented clown art and anarchy.
And lurking in every contrived zany corner are remnants of another off-kilter modern-day absurdist, playwright Nicky Silver. Freed, however, seems to have forgotten that off-the-wall characters require a modicum of believability and a gradual unveiling of deeper truths.
Here three kooky siblings don’t even know why they’ve gathered at the New England country home of their oblivious world religions scholar-father, Noah Underfinger (an unwritten and unpublished novelist), and his second wife, Claude, a New Age sex therapist with a chronically alert libido. Audiences will be confused about the reasons for this schizophrenic slumber party, too.
Sig, a vain and experimental painter known for her hobo clown motifs, lands in her family home after inviting a mealy-mouthed art critic name Titus over to interview her father (an event that never really transpires). Her lost sister, Polly, returns for some inexplicable sense of comfort as she attempts to write her dissertation on the ridiculous topic of the women of "The Iliad." Their volatile brother Seth, a terrifying back-to-nature Freeman survivalist, shows up with his pregnant girlfriend Lori to tout the glories of rugged rifle-wielding manhood, hemp clothing and mail bombs.
There are plenty of explosive scenes – mainly between Seth (who longs for a real dad) and his ponderous bore of a father, who spends most of the play engaged in a futile search for an elusive sense of conscience and guilt-free spirituality. (Noah is forever reminded of his mortality every time he gets bitten in the ass by an invisible force.) But the agitated scenes are nothing more than rootless shouting matches.
A segment involving a priceless family heirloom – along with the fact that these dreary souls have been abandoned by their mother (hence Sig’s hobo/journey images) -- hits us over the head with the semblance of a message about the importance of one’s lineage even if that lineage is fraught with greed, dishonor and just plain weirdness.
Most troubling, though, is the playwright’s glaring lack of purpose. What do these characters’ want?; why are they here?; can they offer an inkling of enlightenment? How are we expected to care about people who do nothing more than whine about their dysfunctional lives? They don’t even qualify as intriguing character studies. Instead they are devices for illustrating the degree to which the playwright can showcase neuroses.
Besides TriArts, Inc.’s baffling attraction to this non-play, one has to wonder how a production – laboriously directed by Bryan White -- could be rife with such extreme inconsistencies. For example, set-lighting designers Troy Fujimura and Simon Lashford have crafted an elaborately cluttered academic’s house in the country, complete with a cozy fireplace and comfy-quilted bed juxtaposed against a dusty tome- and religious icon-filled nook leading up to a trap door that opens onto the roof.
Yet the most uneven and lackluster performances are delivered by three of the leads. Jim Schmid’s clueless and dithering portrayal of Noah is limited to monosyllabic line readings. Kerri Van Auken’s Sig is painfully mannered; and Jennifer Burns’ Polly flails about in unvarying fretful anxiety. But there is outstanding work from Christie Arington as the clinically seductive Claude; Chris Genebach as the carnivorous time bomb Seth; Molly Meehan as the quiet revolutionary Lori; and Vito Gioia as a comically astute Titus.
On opening night, the molasses-like pacing pushed the running time over two-and-a-half hours – which felt like a lifetime. Meanwhile , I felt the life being sucked right out of me.•
TriArts, Inc.’s production of "Freedomland" runs through August 25 at the Athenaeum Theatre, 2936 N. Southport. Tickets: $10-$15. Call 312-902-1500 or log onto www.triarts.org.
