Debauchery takes over the ‘Road’

Loose women and men in shabby coats settled into a disheveled Seeler Studio Theater this past weekend, bringing to life director Richard Romagnoli’s show, “Road,” written by Jim Cartwright.

The stage was dim, first lit by a match, and run through with broken furniture, establishing the dismal mood that endured throughout the play. The play itself was grating — a series of gritty vignettes with snatches of humor to cut the darkness. A drunken guide, Scullery (Mathew Nakitare ’10.5), slurred together the scenes with feats of debauchery while leading the audience through the town.

Set in Lancashire, northern England, during a time of high unemployment, “Road” began despondent and never rose out of its gloom. Characters met in the streets and occasionally did ensemble work, but otherwise, their stories only connected because of the location and an underlying experience of despair. Thus, the play as a whole had less of a clear emotional arc, and instead contained many brief but poignant private dramas.

Within these scenes, the actors’ performances were truly remarkable. Their attention to detail subtly sharpened scenes that might have dulled because of the relentlessly dark tone. Each character’s tumble into despair brought an individual touch to the same problem: the inability to change the way things are.

One of the first scenes to really open up this struggle was the exchange between Clare (Jessica Spar ’11) and Joey (Michael Kessler ’11), lovers battling between apathy and a desire to live and fight their circumstances. The scene started with Joey lying on a mattress on the floor, refusing to eat. Clare joined him in bed and tried to convince him they had to keep on living. This argument contrasted with their physical intimacy to express the theme that love cannot fully combat the inescapable loneliness of hopelessness.

As the scene progressed, however, Clare became even better versed in dejection than Joey and, by the end, the two were sprawled out on the mattress, unconscious. Hard dance music filtered in and a few people dragged them away. Other characters began to flock to the stage, newly transformed into a disco, and it was unclear that it was intermission until one of the actresses leaned over and said, “If you want to use the loo, now’s the time.”

The next act started strong, with a stunning performance on the part of Michaela Lieberman ’10.5, taking on the role of Helen, a woman so desperate for love that she attempted to seduce an incapacitated soldier (Kessler). The scene at first was oddly funny, as Helen pretended to fall on the soldier and angle her body so that she would land on top of him.

She squealed with mock surprise and delight and somehow even managed to transport the limp soldier across the room to a standing mattress. However, he still slumped at her feet and Helen, unable to fool herself any longer, leaned against the mattress and shook her head, crying, “I am so sad.” Her turn of emotions was an incredible fall from humor to horror, heightened by Lieberman’s excellent execution.

Lieberman emerged again in the final scene as the character Carol out with her friend Louise (Martha Newman ’10) and two men, Eddie (Audrey Dube ’12) and Brink (Christo Grabowski ’12). Back at the men’s apartment, they put on the Otis Redding song, “Try A Little Tenderness.” All onstage stood paralyzed by the music and though the song played through, their stillness was one of the most arresting moments of the play.

Out of their silence sprung four deeply honest speeches remembering forgotten feelings beaten down by everyday life. Louise, the quietest of the four, finished with the plea that if she could only yell loud enough, she could break the stagnancy of her situation. The other characters chanted her final words, “Somehow somehow I might escape,” louder and louder, but nothing changed — Brink sat alone, Eddie and Louise stood swaying together, and Carol crumpled to the floor, crying hysterically.

At this point, Scullery swept through to cap off the play, the night over and dawn approaching, nothing resolved but sadness resolute.