Better Left Unpacked

Moving Day proves that there really are people working in the theater who have no concept of the most rudimentary aspects of it. Perhaps that’s a harsh assessment, but Helen Montagna’s one act (which she also directed) is so wincingly bad there’s no way to sugarcoat things.

Recovering heroin addict Max (Frank Nigro) is moving out of his childhood home in Greenpoint, which he shares with his sister Emily (Tina Barone). He also seems to have shared it with his estranged wife Mel (Christie Zampella) and his mother, who recently died.

Montagna, however, isn’t content with having her characters interact inside; Max and Emily are busy packing up his things on the oddly empty sidewalk in front of the house. Why Max wouldn’t pack his books into boxes in the comfort of the indoors remains a mystery that is never solved, except this way the production requires almost no furniture at all. (It is nice that Max and Emily have such a spacious stoop that they can fit on it a patio table and chairs, though.)

As Max packs and Emily begs him to stay, accusing him of abandoning her (both siblings are in their thirties, by the way), Montagna crams an inordinate amount of plot into her play’s 70 minutes. Mel stops by to return Max’s car, and they engage in a conversation about the Medusa myth that seems oddly elevated for the dim pair; Emily’s platonic boyfriend Steven (Douglas Reid) reveals a few secrets that have no ultimate, lasting effect; Emily and Max tell each other stories about their childhood that they already know, solely for the sake of the audience; and there’s an excruciating flashback to Steven and Mel in a bar, during which Zampella proves herself incapable of that most basic of acting skills: feigning drunkenness. In fact, Mel is supposed to be drunk throughout the play, though you’d hardly suspect it if it weren’t for the other characters repeatedly talking about how drunk she is.

And Montagna the director does Montagna the playwright no favors with her lackluster direction. Dialogue is exchanged in fits and starts, with cues dropped and abrupt interruptions. Zampella, outfitted with an atrocious wig, has no natural chemistry with Nigro, which renders their supposedly passionate mutual attraction null. And none of the actors can make their purple dialogue ring true. “You cheated us, Max, by doing that junk,” Mel tells him at one point, as proof that Montagna has no idea how to write naturalistic dialogue. And Emily writes Steven poetry, signed “Moonchild.” She treats us to an overwrought offering at the play’s end, and Barone proves that she has talent by tearing up while delivering lines like, “Will the hands of fate’s time ever rescue me from darkness?”

The play, which is dedicated to the memory of Michael Proto, has a good heart buried beneath the failed attempts at crafting a moving tale of addiction and family. But every moment takes Moving Day further and further away from its good intentions. Everyone seems to be at a loss on stage, though Nigro has a few charming moments as the determined Max. And the script seems overly anxious to be profound, an accusation Steven ironically hurls at poetry. Not every play has to be profound to be successful. Sometimes, telling an involving story in an interesting way can be enough. But Moving Day isn’t content with being merely entertaining. Montagna has aimed for something more and come up short.

>Moving Day

Through May 1, The Kraine Theater, 85 E. 4th St. (betw. 2nd Ave. & Bowery), 212-352-3101; $20.