Having missed playwright David Johnston's previous work in NYC, I'm definitely grateful for the new clearinghouse production of his short plays Conversations on Russian Literature. Comprised of three mini works and a longer one-act, Conversations reveals a fresh and exciting new talent, one that distracts the eye with fistfuls of jokes while simultaneously accomplishing something far more significant without due fuss.
Nowhere is this talent more noticeable than in For Those of Us Who Have Lived in France. A simple structure consisting of Mary, Queen of Scots (Jane Titus), Henry Kissinger (David Lapkin) and housewife Lunelle Snead (Amanda Ronconi) writing letters to various officials begging to be allowed in France, the jokes fly so fast and furious (Kissinger's main concern about being labeled a war criminal by the French government is that he misses the cuisine of Paris) that one hardly notices that Lunelle's originally amusing letter directed to the editors of Ladies Home Journal has taken a heartbreakingly sincere turn. Ronconi gives her just the right amount of Southern sass and yearning to make what could easily have been a dim housewife with a passion for cheeses and Catherine Deneuve films into a symbol of what hope and longing can do to a person.
Longing seems to be the thematic element binding these four otherwise wildly different plays together, with the possible exception of the cheeky opening throwaway, Play Russia. A riff on Russian plays, Johnston throws in so many jokes that it would be churlish not to laugh at most of them—even when they're along the lines of Elena (Laura Desmond) answering Constantine's inquiry about her three sisters with, "Oh, Masha, Jan and Cindy?" In a season that has already seen revivals of The Seagull, Three Sisters, and Uncle Vanya, Play Russia comes as something of a relief, though director Kyle Ancowitz might consider a tighter pace.
But if Play Russia is a charming romp, Johnston's kitschy Mothra is Waiting hides a heart beneath sequins and blonde wigs. As a haggard sister act that claims to be waiting for the giant winged Mothra to rescue them, Dot (Katherine Puma) and Betty (Tracey Gilbert) are too old to keep doing the same numbers in the same bars. At least, Dot is after seeing two drag queens lampooning them in Depends. But what underlies the conversation between Dot and Betty as they argue back and forth and Betty's sanity begins to come into question is the way that even the most absurd dreams can be oddly nourishing, no matter the day-to-day humiliations. Ultimately, Betty might even be rewarded for her frighteningly intense devotion.
It's the final, titular work, however, that reveals the full depth of Johnston's talent. A man and a woman sit on a garden bench at night, sipping vodka and discussing Russian novels. Slowly, teasingly, Johnston reveals what Helena (Jonna McElrath) and the man (Frank Anderson) are actually talking about. And what at first seemed like a mildly flirtatious business meeting between an American Defense Department employee and a former KGB agent whose best days are behind him turns into a shockingly vicious game of cat-and-mouse. McElrath, in particular, is a constant delight as the dedicated Helena, a woman who goes from mildly flirtatious during negotiations to surprisingly vicious in defeat.
What's most remarkable about Conversations on Russian Literature is Johnston's seeming distrust of happiness. None of his characters seem destined for a happy ending, but Johnston always leaves audiences with the suggestion that maybe, just maybe, Helena will find the things she most desires out of life, or Betty will be rescued, or Lunelle will win that trip to Paris. Their happiness may never be assured, but that doesn’t prevent Johnston’s characters from being eloquent in their hope.
Photo by Kyle Ancowitz.
