"MARISOL," greasy joan & company at The Viaduct
BY LUCIA MAURO
José Rivera would be the first to acknowledge that his 1993 New York City-set, millenium-themed play, "Marisol," looks quite tame in a post-9/11 world at war. In fact, the playwright made that point during an enlightening discussion after a performance of his Obie Award-winning work staged by greasy joan & company at The Viaduct. His magical-realist play, he noted, has become both a time capsule and a cautionary tale; and feels more like "a documentary, not a fable."
"Marisol," named for confounded Latina heroine – Marisol Perez – takes place somewhere on a swerving path between dreams, coma-like unconsciousness and the echoing distortions of reality that might accompany death. The young middle-class urbanite, who works in an office, finds herself sharing a subway car with a deranged homeless man wielding a golf club. On one level, he may have bludgeoned her to death (as the newspapers say the next morning) or her disgruntled Guardian Angel may have embarked on one last rescue mission before leading a revolt against a God who no longer listens to the cries of humanity.
When this cosmic rebellion occurs on the brink of the new millennium, the streets of New York City begin to resemble the smoldering horrors of September 11 – perhaps the most chilling aspect of watching director Julieanne Ehre’s rock-solid, unmannered production. But, if it could ever be possible for anyone viewing "Marisol" today and not thinking of the terrorist attacks, this poetic plea for compassion and humanity still rises above the ashes.
From homeless people getting set on fire by neo-Nazis (including one burn victim looking for his skin) to the Inquisition-like interrogation of those who exceed their credit limit, this not-so-far-fetched universe has reversed the basic tenets of right and wrong.
The moon, faith, wonder, empathy have vanished. And, in one of the most heartbreaking scenes (based on a real location in New York), Marisol encounters a makeshift graveyard for babies who were born in the streets. The recitation of names reads like a piercing chant, which stops dead in its tracks at the markers without names. How does one process the extinction of an anonymous life?
"Marisol" raises painful questions about who deems others parasites, and the guilt and emotional weight associated with being singled out as a figure of hope.
Sierra Cleveland’s Marisol, like this beautifully restrained staging, becomes in essence the human embodiment of the hidden moon. She unobtrusively illuminates the darkness around her – all the while retaining her ability to question, doubt, challenge, cry and simply be confused.
Kathleen Powers delivers an engagingly kooky performance as Marisol’s hyper co-worker June, and Ed Dzialo is particularly adept at his inter-related multiple roles.
Ehre’s production – featuring Matthew York’s graffiti-mural design offset by suspended religious icons and Jenna Sjunneson McDanold’s apocalyptic lighting – gently joins absurdist elements with grungy realism. Most arresting are Michelle Tesdall’s paint-splattered costumes and Andrew Hansen’s sound design – an unsettling collage of surreal ambient amplifications (from industrial door bolts to echoes of the universe coming apart at its seams.)
During the discussion, Rivera talked about how Marisol is relentlessly forced to confront people and problems (vagrants, poverty, disease) most of us would go out of our way to avoid. He made an unforgettable statement: "The world insists on being heard in this way."
I can only hope that the world will listen with the same intensity as Rivera demands we hear it.•
Greasy joan & company’s production of "Marisol" runs through April 6 at The Viaduct, 3111 N. Western Ave. Tickets: $20. Call 773-761-8284 or log onto www.greasyjoan.org.
