THE NATURE OF MY UNIVERSE AS IT RELATES TO KEVIN SPACEY
THE TANK IS being forced out of its current digs. The unconventional visual and performance arts space, glassed-in and L-shaped, is the latest victim to commercial development. Like many of its Hell's Kitchen neighbors, its building is being bulldozed to make space for, most likely, high-end condos.
The Tank found a bit of notoriety during last summer's Republican National Convention, serving as a de facto bunker for bloggers as well as a makeshift meet-up center for protestors. The space received warm praise and press from both the Sunday Times magazine and Air America.
Yet most of the time the Tank functions more as a multidisciplinary art space than a haven for political operatives, showcasing a variety of avant-garde theater, comedy and music. Its productions are thoughtful but low-tech, edgy but unrefined. "If you can make something work in an experimental, unpretentious space," says cofounder Justin Krebs, "then you're really doing something creative and worthwhile… The idea is to have something different every night."
But could the theater's 15 months of fame be up? The founders are scrambling to find a new home and are launching a $100,000 capital campaign. "That's a lot more than we earn off of $5 or $10 tickets," says Krebs.
"Ideally we'd like to be downtown," adds Jenn Donovan, the Tank's director of operations, "but if someone would give us a free space, of course we wouldn't turn it down."
One reason the Tank doesn't fit in anywhere in New York is because its shows don't fit in on any theatrical map. They combine elements of comedy and cabaret, monologue and musical theater. For a recent sample, take Adrianne Frost's The Nature of My Universe as It Relates to Kevin Spacey. The one-person show is not quite stand-up, but neither is it sketch comedy. Frost recaps her red-shoe diary of thoughts on Spacey, who she hopes will "whisk her away from her miserable existence." And what a miserable existence it is. A victim of incest, she's been in and out of rehab, sexually abused by her father and never fully recovered from a hysterectomy. So like any fan, she stalks a celebrity, writes him letters, befriends his valet. When Frost finally confronts her obsession at Joe Allen's, of course, Spacey brushes her aside abruptly.
Like many a Tank production, The Nature of My Universe is entertaining but imperfect. Lines go forgotten and the lighting is poor. The laptop that doubles as a slide projector is propped up by an empty case of Dos Equis. Still, Frost (The Daily Show) is undoubtedly funny. A portion of her play will be published in next year's Signet Book of American Humor.
The Tank should be saved, and probably will. It's the kind of space needed for New York's abundance of creative talent like Frost; the kind of space designed for out-of-work but inventive actors, musicians and comedians looking to experiment with new ideas and untried tricks; the kind of space that an unknown Kevin Spacey might have found himself hanging around in the early 80s.
The Tank, 432 W. 42nd St. (betw. 9th & 10th Aves.), 212-563-6269; 7:30, $10.
