Photo by Richard Termine
ASENSE OF dislocation runs through the monologues in Spinning the Times,a piece made up of works by notable Irish playwrights at 59E59 Theaters. Some of this dislocation is intrinsic to the characters—a rebellious teen, a violin repairman, a deluded Irishwoman, a vintage shopper and an Irish immigrant—but quite a bit of it can be found in the audience, thanks to occasionally indecipherable accents and a hopscotcher’s attitude toward geography from the five playwrights.
In The Lemon Tree, Kenny (Jerzy Gwiazdowski) helps his mother pack parcels bound for Palestine, then meets his mates for drinks and fights with Taigs (a slur for Catholics, thanks again Wikipedia!) before the conflict literally explodes in his very home. And in Fugue, David (Mark Byrne) has been forced to flee Ireland for the safety of Brooklyn after being targeted by Irish Protestants because of his Catholic mother. I think. Like I said, without a sense of the forces driving the conflicts, these two plays are pretty damn confusing. At least Byrne’s accent is comprehensible; even when the words are recognizable, Gwiazdowski’s thick accent makes them sound like an alien tongue that bears little resemblance to English.
Sandwiched between those two primers on the dangers of life in contemporary Ireland are three plays that don’t ask for feats of translation. At the very start of The Luthier,a sense of relief fills the audience as Ethan Hova opens his mouth. Gone are Gwiazdowski’s manic performing style and thick accent, replaced with Hova’s low-key performance.Transplanted to Gaza, Dawood (Hova) rhapsodizes about repairing violins while reminiscing about his bomb-scarred childhood. Eventually, though, Lucy Caldwell’s stale script begins to drag the evening down into a bog of soppy self-pity.
Luckily, from her high-octane entrance (“I didn’t do it for the money,” she snaps as she drops a basket of clothes at her feet) to the darkly funny conceit, Rosemary Fine’s performance in Miracle Conway is a blast of fresh air. Recalling her days as assistant to pop star Paul Flint—who quickly becomes an unhealthy obsession—Miracle is brash, infuriating and very funny. Her hobbies include playing dress-up, correcting lyrics (“Moon River” poses a serious problem) and fantasizing about what would happen if Paul’s younger wife were to suddenly disappear. Flaunting impeccable comedic timing, Fine wrings every last laugh from Geraldine Aron’s script, without ever betraying the lost woman beneath the prickly exterior.
Things only get better with Rosalind Hasset’s hauntingly wry Gin in a Teacup, starring Aysan Celik as Nooshn, a Brooklynite dressed in head-to-toe vintage. Sitting at a bar in an impeccably curated ensemble, she’s obsessed with recounting stories. Not just the fairy tales she can never quite remember the names of, but the stories behind her clothes and stories she’s fashioned out of her own life. As dry as gin, Celik, with her sly smile and abrupt delivery, effortlessly conveys the refuge from life of a woman who literally walks a mile in someone else’s shoes. Of all the characters searching for safety in Spinning the Times, in a world in which pop songs and religion can lead to destruction, only Nooshn’s flimsy disguises and stories seem to offer any solace.
> Spinning the Times
Through Sept 20, 59E59 Theaters, 59 E. 59th St. (betw. Park & Madison Aves.), 212-279-4200; times vary, $25
