Smart phones, dumb exchanges: the conceit of Emilio Williams’ play, that new media technology, particularly “telepresent” interfaces, degrades the quality of real-world social interaction, is a familiar one. “Smartphones—A Pocket-Size Farce” is a parodic mash-up of “Waiting for Godot” meets “No Exit” (with plenty of textual references to both, in case you missed the connection) in which four characters wait at the house of a friend for him to arrive, but due to his spotty mobile coverage, have no idea if and when he will ever show up. In the meantime, the two couples bicker, become hysterical and occasionally have something like epileptic seizures during unexplained punctuations of static noise as they engage in farcical conversations about relationships and one another’s shortcomings. Occasionally they are visited by a mysterious maid who acts as a sort of chorus and deus ex machina. There’s real potential in this kind of setup to explore the claustrophobia and anxiety of life 2.0. However, Williams trades so wholly in cliché and in mocking the superficiality of the play’s action that he misses the many opportunities to push the conversation of what we talk about when we complain about Facebook and Twitter; and with characters as two-dimensional as an online avatar, the result is both ham-handed and boring. In short, the play, intentionally or not, enacts the very hackneyed insubstantiality that it mocks. There are redeeming features of the production; the five actors, though ill-used here, bring a controlled fierceness that breathes some real life into the banality of the script, and the set embodies a funny bordello-esque version of hell whose shocking pink motif is equal parts T-Mobile advertisement and Schiaparelli surrealism. It’s a pretty but fluffy ride. (Monica Westin)
Trap Door Theatre, 1655 West Cortland, (773)384-0494. Through August 18. (Half-Priced Tickets)
The Wreckage of a Body: A Review of “Medea Material” at Trap Door Theater Director Max Truax's production of Heiner Muller's "Medea Material" takes the text, as translated and adapted by Sarah Tolan-Mee, and uses it as the basis for the ensemble's explorations into images and language of colonization, war and violence.
Toxic: A Review of Poison at The Plagiarists The real poison at work here isn’t strychnine or hemlock, it’s a dreary self-seriousness that leaches the play of any hint of wit, humor and humanity.
Smart phones, dumb exchanges: the conceit of Emilio Williams’ play, that new media technology, particularly “telepresent” interfaces, degrades the quality of real-world social interaction, is a familiar one. “Smartphones—A Pocket-Size Farce” is a parodic mash-up of “Waiting for Godot” meets “No Exit” (with plenty of textual references to both, in case you missed the connection) in which four characters wait at the house of a friend for him to arrive, but due to his spotty mobile coverage, have no idea if and when he will ever show up. In the meantime, the two couples bicker, become hysterical and occasionally have something like epileptic seizures during unexplained punctuations of static noise as they engage in farcical conversations about relationships and one another’s shortcomings. Occasionally they are visited by a mysterious maid who acts as a sort of chorus and deus ex machina. There’s real potential in this kind of setup to explore the claustrophobia and anxiety of life 2.0. However, Williams trades so wholly in cliché and in mocking the superficiality of the play’s action that he misses the many opportunities to push the conversation of what we talk about when we complain about Facebook and Twitter; and with characters as two-dimensional as an online avatar, the result is both ham-handed and boring. In short, the play, intentionally or not, enacts the very hackneyed insubstantiality that it mocks. There are redeeming features of the production; the five actors, though ill-used here, bring a controlled fierceness that breathes some real life into the banality of the script, and the set embodies a funny bordello-esque version of hell whose shocking pink motif is equal parts T-Mobile advertisement and Schiaparelli surrealism. It’s a pretty but fluffy ride. (Monica Westin)
