The Off-Broadway Theatre Review: Public Theater’s Glass. Kill. What If If Only. Imp.
By Ross
With a loud drumroll signaling our arrival, four one-act plays written by the phenomenally gifted and possibly “the most influential living playwright in the English language,” Caryl Churchill (Escaped Alone; Cloud Nine), are unveiled at the Public Theater in downtown NYC. Overflowing with talent and expertise, these four one-acts: Glass. Kill. What If If Only. Imp.,
are expertly illuminated from within, showcasing contrasting plays from a British playwright known for dramatising the abuses of power, her use of abstractionism, and for her detailed exploration of sexual politics and feminist themes. Beautifully crafted and gorgeously presented as directed with clarity and conviction by James MacDonald (MTC’s The Children), these four brief reminders of the brilliance of Churchill float out to us on a cloud, teasing and playing with our senses as only this great dramatist can.
Framed most theatrically in red, thanks to the fine work of set designer Miriam Buether (Broadway’s Prima Facie), with costuming by Enver Chakartash (Broadway’s Stereophonic), lighting by Isabella Byrd (Broadway’s An Enemy of the People), and sound by Bray Poor (Broadway’s Appropriate), the four pieces are revealed as if they are part of a vaudevillian evening, showcased beautifully on that red-draped proscenium with gold flourishes and circus acts weaved into the mix. The astounding Junru Wang (Dear San Francisco) floats in between the first and the second plays, balancing herself on padded posts in an act that defies gravity and the limitations of what we think our bodies are capable of. All to the rhythm of some fine piano. Jazz is what leads us through the second circus act, between the second and third plays, with Maddox Morfit-Tighe (Bread and Puppet Theater) juggling away any Churchill abstractions that we might be struggling with and leading us towards the third short play that will round out the first Act of this program.
It’s a compelling and fun framing that works well into the compilation’s entertaining ideal. Does it add to the intellectualism of the composition? I’m not so sure, but it sure is a fun formula, as the stage behind the red curtain is being refitted for the next Churchill master piece to float out to us. It all started with one of the more solidly abstract creations, Glass, which depicts a floating neon mantelpiece littered with four objects that carry on a conversation about love and transparency. It’s a captivating creation, beautifully enacted, where the interactions of these anthropomorphized characters drive the tragic narrative to a startling end, surprising us with its emotional clarity and metaphoric ideas, especially with the glass girl, played fantastically by Ayana Workman (Red Bull Theater’s Mac Beth), breaking our own fragile hearts in the process. It’s the perfect intro, setting up our systems so that we can take the whole program in with an openness that Churchill requires.
Next up, after the superb balancing act, is Kill, floating in on a bloodthirsty mythological cloud of curses and violence, played out captivatingly by the expressive Deirdre O’Connell (Broadway’s Dana H.) as she floats spectacularly above us. The unraveling dialogue runs on and on, encompassing and unwrapping an endless rampage of horrors in the name of God, or the Gods and the Fates that watch over them. “So much killing,” she states, and she sharply unveils the perched symbol of hypocrisy in the name of religion that hits so much harder now than maybe when it was first written in 2019.
Then we juggle for a bit, clearing our senses of all the lengthy run-on sentences of horrors, sacrifices, and madness of the world, so that we can engage with What If If Only, where grief and mourning reveal a myriad of possibilities for the future. Overwhelming and destabilizing, the man, deeply portrayed by Sathya Sridharan (Broadway’s Life of Pi), is in his present state. “I’m the ghost of a dead future,” a familiar frame says (Workman) after presenting themselves majestically from beyond the walls. “I’m the ghost of a future that did not happen.” It’s a complicated conundrum that is placed before him, until the walls reveal more possible never-to-happen futures whispering their formulations to the overwhelmed man, one after the other, until it becomes too much to take in. But then a final man appears, a more solid one, who claims to be “The Present“, embodied beautifully by John Ellison Conlee (Broadway’s The Nap), drawing us back inwards, most magnificently, to what really is important; living in the here and now, rather than in the past or future.
The final act is the larger piece of this Churchillian puzzle, titled Imp, which leans into a more realistic framing of working-class English folk hanging out on some typically shabby sitting-room furniture, engaging in some familial banter that feels cozy and caring. John Ellison Conlee and Deirdre O’Connell return, magnificently playing retired cousins who live together, sounding an awful lot like elderly parents who like each other still, but are also tired of each other’s silliness. Yet they engage with a certain spirit, talking to their newly arrived young female relative from Ireland as well as a down-on-his-luck ‘neighbor’, who, outside of this living room, begins a romantic affair with the Irish relative that escalates in ways unexpected. The two young characters captivate, played impressively by Adelind Horan (Amazon’s “The Peripheral”) and Japhet Balaban (Broadway’s Leopoldstadt), as they frequent the visiting couch of these two older folk. They find love and engagement with each other, and with these two finely drawn older characters. Played out in a quick succession of well-mapped-out scenes, all feels normal, one might say, until a bottled-up secret regarding an Imp comes forward, and escapes into the space. It’s deliciously portrayed, playing with our senses about what is real and which soul we should believe in.
The last piece of this puzzle is meticulously staged and presented, and we become overwhelmed with the poetry and the precision of Churchill’s artistry. The whole cast of ten elevates the abstract formula, taking on this tricky, whip-smart material with conviction and grace, supported strongly by the design team doing some pretty majestic work that seems to float in its own dimension, time, and place. It’s a stellar creation, worthy of your mind’s energy and focus, as the Public Theater production pays dutiful honor to the majestic, masterful, and magnificent Caryl Churchill.
