As I tried to exit the Soho Playhouse last night after seeing the captivating Harold Pinter Pair,
an old man, gleefully oblivious to the crowd behind him, stood in the
doorway and shouted to a companion, "That's what theater used to be!
Mystery! Young playwrights don't know shit!" The man was like a Pinter
character himself—maniacal, menacing, spiteful and passionate—or
perhaps I just saw him that way, since the pair of one-acts had so
affected me. In any case, I agreed with him.Directed by Patrick McNulty, both plays are about couples. In each, a woman launches a sexual attack, and after a period of struggle, the man strikes back. The Lover opens with a husband Richard (Chris Thorn) and wife Sarah (Julianna Zinkel) casually discussing the wife's lover. Richard says he will make sure not to come home too early, to accommodate what appears to be an extramarital affair. Things aren't quite so simple, though, as Richard and Sarah engage in a role-playing game where even the players can't distinguish between fantasy and reality.
Following The Lover was Ashes to Ashes, a slightly more ambiguous work in which a wife Rebecca (Christine Marie Brown) tells her husband Devlin (Allen McCullough) about a former (or current?) boyfriend with a penchant for S&M. The characters trade sharp dialogue and disturbing monologues about God, death and stealing babies. Another highly enjoyable play.
All of the actors brought a satisfying blend of ironic humor and genuine pain to their roles. The females in particular were strong. Zinkel's Sarah was by turns playful and combative—or rather, she was both at the same time. When, in a twist reminiscent of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, Richard changed the rules of the game, Zinkel's barely concealed desperation boiled. In Ashes, Brown's sinister interpretation of Rebecca was extremely satisfying, as she tormented her confused, but by no means helpless, husband. And both of the males, McCullough and Thorn, skillfully poked holes in their characters' tough veneers to expose a core of savage jealousy.
Pinter plays are hard to do well, and this production almost got it right. The silences in these plays, though, sometimes fell flat. Pinter's pauses are supposed to build tension and uncertainty—to execute them properly requires a comedian's timing. In this case, they slowed the plays down, without ratcheting up the anxiety. At times, the actors seemed to self-consciously telegraph the fact that they were doing a Pinter Pause. With a little more fire, a little more movement and above all, a little more risk-taking, these plays could very well graduate from their NYC Fringe Festival roots.
