Punch (c) Matthew Murphy
Broadway: Punch
At the Samuel Friedman Theatre
There is a lot going on at the start of British playwright James Graham’s Punch, a play that is uniquely opening simultaneously on Broadway and the West End in the same month. We are introduced to Jacob Dunne (Will Harrison), a 19-year-old British man in Nottingham, who seems aimless after the divorce of his parents, and lives only to drink, take drugs and rumble with his mates, in a dazzling montage where he narrates what happened on the night that changed his life. That’s because Graham also intercuts the boisterous Jacob with a contrite, future Jacob as he is in some sort of group therapy. Jacob, misreading the events at a pub where his friends are drinking, punches a young man named James giving him a concussion that leads to his death about a week later. After serving time in prison, Jacob is told by his probation officer that James’ parents (played heartbreakingly by Sam Robards and Victoria Clark) want to meet him for both closure and understanding. The events of this play actually happened in 2011, and their meeting years later was facilitated by an organization named Remedi that promotes the concept of restorative justice to aid in the healing process of both victim and perpetrator. This is certainly a worthy cause, especially when we see how difficult but ultimately freeing this meeting is for everyone involved. The play is based on Jacob’s own book about the life-changing event, Right From Wrong, so while Graham doesn’t sugarcoat Jacob’s story, the moment of the actual punch is surprisingly lacking in specifics, and thus our sympathies cannot be fully given, as it’s obvious something about that night is deliberately being omitted so as to not muddle the uplifting ending of the play. This in no way dilutes the power of Harrison’s muscular and tireless Broadway debut as Jacob. The rest of the cast, who all play multiple characters, have at least one shining moment, especially Lucy Taylor as Jacob’s stressed-out mum. Adam Penford is directing both productions (David Shields plays Jacob in London’s West End), and while he favors the high adrenaline moments of Jacob’s world, it really is the quiet dignity of James’ parents that provides the emotional connection most needed by the audience.
And Then We Were No More (c) Bronwen Sharp
Theater: And Then We Were No More
At La Mama, ETC
“What is law?” That’s one of the more provocative questions asked in And Then We Were No More, Tim Blake Nelson’s new play about a futuristic New York in which there is a Big Brother-type company that rules everyone’s lives, and where due process is just a process that has no bearing on your fate. Take, for example, the legal case facing a lawyer (Elizabeth Marvel) who has been told she must represent an inmate (Elizabeth Yeoman) on death row who has agreed to a painless death option in exchange for her life to be wiped away from history. This is all told to the lawyer (no one has a name) by an official (Scott Shepherd), a bureaucrat for the company who spews propaganda with inhuman efficiency. Also taking an interest in the case is an analyst (Jennifer Mogbock), whose company built the death machine, run by The Machinist (Henry Stram). The problem is that the inmate, who has confessed to the murder of her family, including her children, has been so thoroughly tested and operated on by what passes for psychiatric treatment that her mental capacity might be in question. The last character to appear is the audience, who plays the jury (in this future, it is no longer a 12-member peer group, but a hundred) to determine the Inmate’s fate. Nelson, best known as an actor (last seen in Captain America: Brave New World), has always been a provocative playwright, dealing with subjects like the Holocaust (The Grey Zone), religious hypocrisy (Eyes of God) and philosophical discourse (Socrates). In And Then We Were No More, he has crafted a dystopian world with rules that are sort of wobbly if examined carefully, but as a political allegory of present America, it does strike a nerve. Mark Wing-Davey’s production is suitably oppressive, and all the actors commit to this conceit. Elizabeth Marvel is especially good as the lawyer who knows that her role in the trial is a farce but gets emotionally involved despite her better judgement. And Elizabeth Yeoman has the difficult task of eliciting sympathy from an audience with limited coherent thoughts. Does everything come together in the play? No, but does it reflect the hopelessness some feel watching democracy get chipped away slowly. Definitely, yes.
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Toera (c) Joan Marcus
Theater: Toera
At the WP Theater
Playwright Monet Hurst-Mendoza’s New York debut play, Torera, is in the tradition of early career plays for playwrights dealing with family and culture, usually adding a touch of autobiographical elements, as in Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie, Edward Albee’s The American Dream and Paula Vogel’s The Baltimore Waltz. Not sure if Hurst-Mendoza ever wanted to be a toreador, like her main character Elena (Jacqueline Guillén), but the world she creates is so evocative and lived in that it transcends many of the coming-of-age drama tropes built into these kinds of plays. Young Elena is living on the huge Mexican estate of her best friend Tanok (Jared Machado) as her mother Pastora (Elena Hurst) has been the long-time housekeeper to Tanok’s family, run by the patriarch, Don Rafael (Jorge Cordova). Don Rafael wants his son to be a toreador like he was, but it becomes obvious that maybe Elena is the one with the innate talents. The play is being given a wonderful production (which WP Theater is co-producing with The Sol Project, Long Wharf Theatre and Latinx Playwrights Circle) by director Tatiana Pandiani, who seamlessly integrates her choreography into the play’s themes, having the dancers embodying the character’s inner life while also serving the function of changing the set between scenes (there was a small, wall mishap at my performance, which may indicate that Pandiani’s vision of the play may be too ambitious for the modest WP Theater stage). Guillén and Machado play their respective characters from children to teens to adults, conveying various stages of ambition and maybe love convincingly. Hurst, however, is the standout, playing a mother and a servant, and knowing that things she can’t change has to be endured. There is a late plot twist that I was hoping would not be part of the play, but alas it was, adding an unnecessary element of telenovela to a drama that may not have needed it. Still Hurst-Mendoza, who has worked mainly in television, has an ear for theater dialogue and a theatrical vision. I look forward to her next play.
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