By Ciara LaVelle
By Jose D. Duran
By Kat Bein
By Juan Barquin
By Ciara LaVelle
By George Martinez
By Kat Bein
By Ciara LaVelle
Chock-a-block with urban angst and dark off-kilter humor, Silver's comedies have elicited comparisons to Joe Orton's macabre, amoral tales and Christopher Durang's witty in-jokes for theater cognoscenti. Although this marks only the second time Silver's work has been presented in South Florida (last year the now-defunct ART-ACT staged Fat Men in Skirts), the native Philadelphian has enjoyed productions of more than a dozen of his plays in the U.S. and Europe, with New York City runs relegated to smaller theaters. Despite the fact that his first off-Broadway commercial outing in 1995, The Food Chain, enjoyed moderate success, next season's premiere of The Maiden's Prayer will take place at the 120-seat nonprofit Vineyard Theatre on East Fifteenth Street. That's a long way from Times Square. Miami is even farther away, of course, and the current fest's offerings show every mile, as Silver's downtown wit uneasily settles into the subtropics.
Of the two main draws, Raised in Captivity was written and produced first. Its opening act, titled "Bread and Water," introduces us to the daily diet of neurosis that plagues Sebastian Bliss (Matthew Glass) and his twin sister Bernadette (Hilary Kacser). They meet for the first time in years at their mother's graveside following a service that, as Bernadette says thankfully, didn't contain "too much God." A freelance writer -- his only serious relationship is with a death row pen pal named Dylan Taylor Sinclair (Erik Fabregat) -- Sebastian cheers up his grieving sister with the news that his career is kaput, he's $41,000 in debt, and he hasn't had sex since his lover died of AIDS eleven years ago.
Adding to his problems, his overly possessive therapist Hillary (Ellen Rae Littman) has a breakdown when he attempts to fire her, and a knife attack knocks him out of commission and into Bernadette's spare room to rest and recover. Not that her place is a safe haven. Bernadette's husband Kip (Paul Tei) creates chaos by giving up dentistry to pursue painting, then concocts a crackpot plan to move his unwilling wife to a primitive African village and leave a wacked-out Hillary to care for Sebastian. By the end of the second act ("Forty Dollars and a New Suit"), the twins find solace for their troubles in each other.
Mixing barbed witticisms with often obtuse imagery, Raised in Captivity takes risks by heightening its comedy with exaggerated situations: Kip uses only white paint on a white canvas to avoid noticeable mistakes, Sebastian receives a moving visit from his dead mother, and Hillary repeatedly maims herself in self-prescribed penance. Hip surrealism, magic realism, and comic absurdism are a lot of styles to juggle simultaneously, and too often Silver allows them to collide in jarring juxtapositions.
Faced with the challenges of such wide-ranging comedy, director John Rodaz charts a straightforward middle course (imagine a Seinfeld episode presented by the folks who create the Hallmark Hall of Fame). His direction has the effect of tethering the tale's soaring flights of fancy, harshly illuminating its darker side, and eliciting unvaried performances of limited range. For instance, Glass nicely handles Sebastian's kvetching but fails to weave his character's introspective musings into a convincing portrayal of the isolated man's escalating inability to deal with the world. Even more disappointing is Kacser's unimaginative performance, utterly lacking in personality.
Charged with carrying off Silver's loopier plot twists and most pretentious prose, Littman and Tei meet with mixed success: Littman tackles the therapist's bizarre journey from Park Avenue to the outer limits by offering up a loser who's born to suffer, either at the hands of her clients or her own; Tei delights as the sane man among lunatics before Kip loses himself -- and the audience -- to his own madness. Fabregat, displaying quiet intelligence as the prisoner, fares best, spared Silver's ricocheting mood swings.
Neither set designer Darin Jones nor costume designer Anne Toewe seems to have any better grip on Silver's band of misfits than does the cast. Both ignore the characters' wild personalities and differing economic stations, and Jones's set forces exterior scenes at Bernadette's house to be played in the graveyard while placing other scenes on a raised playing area so far upstage that the venue's intimate advantages are wasted.