Roundabout’s “The Counter” Off-Broadway and LCT’s “McNeal” on Broadway Dig Deep Into Death, Escapism, and the Surprise of Life in the Real World and AI – front mezz junkies, Theater News

The On and Off-Broadway Theatre Review: Lincoln Center Theater’s McNeal and Roundabout’s The Counter

By Ross

Death is something that generally people don’t like to talk about. I wrote about this just a few days ago when reviewing Pedro Almodóvar’s latest film, “The Room Next Door“, which had one character so terrified by the idea of Death that she wrote a whole book about it. The titular character in Lincoln Center Theater‘s McNeal also writes, or at least tries to get A.I. to write about Death But it too, in a way, seems afraid of the notion of Death, and refuses in this complicated, funny but faulty play. In playwright Meghan Kennedy’s spectacularly well-crafted play, The Counter, Death is a subject definitely on the menu, whether the two spectacularly well-defined characters want to talk about the surprise of it or not.

Curious about AI – Artificial Intelligence – is not exactly what I would call my interest or focus. I’m not exactly sure what word is the most appropriate. Maybe I should ask ChatGPT, which is basically a supporting character in the new play, McNeal at the Lincoln Center Theater‘s Vivian Beaumont – although I won’t be nominating it for any OCC awards this season. I’ve had numerous conversations about the ‘service’ with a few other writers, but haven’t let myself be pulled in. Maybe it is a bit of fear and discomfort. Maybe I’m afraid I’d lose my unique weird voice or that the same impulse layered into this intriguing new play could or would send me down a deep dark rabbit hole of AI. And I’d end up as compromised as McNeal.

God knows where that rabbit hole may lead, as it most certainly does with the main character and his existential drunken crisis as played out with aplomb by the always fascinating Robert Downey Jr. (“Oppenheimer“; “Sherlock Holmes“). He is, most magnificently, the great Jacob McNeal, famed author of books and the most recent winner of the Nobel Prize for literature (as we learn quite quickly in that first medical scene). We also soon begin to understand that he is a wisecracking drunk, a literary genius, a narcissistic parent of the worst kind, and maybe just a fraudulent thief of words and ideas who allows himself to be pulled into the black hole of ChatGPT. Or maybe he has always been all of these things.

Or does he dive in with AI willingly? Yet somewhere in this new play, written interestingly but not solidly by Ayad Akhtar (Junk), we aren’t exactly given the full treatment of the story within the story. Or at least the psychology underneath the insecure impulse, trembling and flapping its angel wings behind the veneer; an unexplained framing I sincerely missed in this production and this play. As directed with clever intent by Bartlett Sher (LCT’s Oslo), death, imminent and approaching, is always floating in the background, not exactly typed out like so many of McNeal’s ideas on this ultra-lux, gigantic high-tech set by Michael Yeargan (LCT’s Camelot) alongside projection designer Jake Barton’s solid formulations and enhanced by a determined lighting design by Donald Holder (LCT’s My Fair Lady) and sound by Justin Ellington (Broadway’s Pass Over) and Beth Lake (LCT’s Intimate Apparel). But spelled out by McNeal’s not-so-patient Dr. Sahra Grewal, portrayed fiercely by Ruthie Ann Miles (Broadway’s Sweeney Todd..), if he doesn’t mend his ways, that brown piss he is seeing is only the beginning of his descent into nothingness.

There is at least one soul that cares for this man, his agent, Stephie Banic, magnificently played by Andrea Martin (LCT’s Act One) assisted by the gushing Dipti, embodied beautifully by Saisha Talwar (“Deep Tissue“), all dressed suitably in strong costumes by Jennifer Moeller (Broadway’s Clyde’s). Martin’s Stephie is hyper-magnificent in her layering of agent and maternal figure, both pushing and pulling on his mortal truth and his desire to not live in fear of death. “I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’,” as he denies access, with Stephie knowing what needs to be done, but also wary of his tendency to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, even if the sound bite is disastrous.

Floating somewhere on the white, crisp surface level of abstractions and reality, with ghostly apparitions floating in the background watching and wondering what he is up to, McNeal, the play and the man, radiate a detached restlessness with self and with the world, flipping easily from destruction to charm, especially now without his Lexipro. His relationship, if you can even call it that, with his son Harlan, powerfully played by an impressive Rafi Gavron (“A Star is Born“) is explosive and harsh, from both sides, with a Chekhovian gun rule hanging and being played with over their heads. It’s a big moment for the “raging narcissist” who can be charming if he needs to be, but he is also seen as a craven opportunist, especially during the interview with the NYTimes reporter, Natasha Brathwaite, portrayed captivatingly by Brittany Bellizeare (Public’s Fat Ham). “You don’t have to pull a trigger to kill someone,” he states to his son, but it’s also a projection onto himself, as all good narcissists tend to do.

Downey’s McNeal is a clashing of complementary characteristics, forever finding attractive flavorings even when being completely inappropriate; something that Downey excels at on the big screen and now on the wide stage. This embodiment of both sides is illuminated in a dumpster fire kinda way during his frank discussion with a former lover and NYTimes editor, Francine Blacke, portrayed carefully by Melora Hardin (Mark Taper’s Appropriate), with all his people sitting in the rear of a park, watching with interest, or not. It’s a pillaging of profound enunciations and constructs that leap into the darkness only for an applause-worthy resurrection perfect for the star power of Downey. It’s a captivating unraveling that doesn’t exactly leave you fulfilled by the text, nor with a greater understanding of the man or his actions. Still, it is clear we have witnessed some pretty magnificent performances worthy of the Lincoln Center Theater stage. I just wish it gave me more to chew on as I walked out into the plaza after that quick 105-minute play. Beyond never wanting to step into that AI trap.

Yet, over at Roundabout Theater Company‘s Laura Pels Theatre, with great focus and some powerfully true (real) writing, another new play delivers a more detailed and meaningful approach to death and escapism in even fewer minutes. It sneaks in from the cold without star power or big-screen movie magic, yet it delivers something more thought-provoking than I was prepared for. Playwright Meghan Kennedy (Napoli, Brooklyn) unpacks something truly remarkable with The Counter, gifting off-Broadway with one of the strongest productions being served up for breakfast, or any meal, for that matter. Directed with clarity and intent by David Cromer (Broadway’s The Sound Inside), this deliciously well-crafted play finds buckets and buckets of solidly constructed flavors. And delivers it forward on a set, designed spectacularly by Walt Spangler (2ST’s Between Riverside and Crazy).

At first viewing, this set-up seems awkward and unworkable, but it quickly is transformed into a vehicle of powerful connections and astute engagements, finding authentic boundaries that deepen the divide, yet heighten the awareness. The two characters stay on their designated sides, using The Counter as a protection from vulnerability, but also as a confessional divide to keep them safe from what may come after honesty is released into the restaurant’s air. Coming in from the cold, over and over again, is Paul, fascinatingly well-played by Anthony Edwards (MTC/Broadway’s Prayer for the French Republic). He’s here for his morning coffee but is after something far more connecting. He’s not all that talkative right off the bat, but waitress Katie, deliciously well-served by Susannah Flood (2ST’s Make Believe), knows to be patient and wait for the moment the caffeine kicks in after the first cup. And when it does, I wouldn’t say the floodgates open up, as it’s a more cautious release of pent-up tension and sleepless agitation, but it is a building of something powerfully honest between the two that elevates this agreement to the highest of levels, and Flood is magnificent managing and engaging with it all.

Each time Paul enters, unzipping his heavy winter coat, courtesy of some honest costuming by Sarah Laux (Broadway’s Kimberly Akimbo), the layers of confessional maneuvering deepen and deliver us into a game of surprise and escape that truly amazes, especially in how the two address the hidden vial of plant-based poison that now resides in Katie’s pocket. Parallelling the dilemma that is played out a little differently in Almodóvar’s film, the unknown surprise and release from pain hangs in the air between the two, leading them, not into a depressive spiral, but an opening up to honest confessions regarding love and risks taken, or not taken, with a strong assist by voicemails recorded by Will Brill (OHenry’s Uncle Vanya) that need to be cleared away to make room for the future.

The Counter floats the idea of how or why one would want to escape their current life predicament, either by just leaving town or by leaving the world entirely. It gives a countered space to safely become the kind of friends who tell their best-kept secrets to, and who can hear and digest the hard truths served back. Bringing in a third character, Peg, deliciously portrayed by Amy Warren (NYTW/Broadway’s Sing Street), digs into the dilemma in a casually kind way, especially in those spot-light moments, thanks to the superb lighting design by Stacey Derosier (NYTW’s The Half-God of Rainfall) and sound by Christopher Darbassie (MCC’s Table 17), when numbered observations are spoken out loud or with the body, and chemistry is showcased silently and privately.

Now that some space has been made available, a small window opens up to the complicated world that might freeze the air outside the safe warmth of the roadside cafe. It’s a captivating moment when boundaries are crossed and roles are reversed. I could have used a bit more unpacking in those final moments, from one side to another, as it leaves you wondering, quite cautiously, about what the next few moments will bring to the one left standing holding the keys. But that is life and death in the real world, not the virtual world. AI doesn’t like to play with death, we are told by McNeal, but The Counter isn’t afraid of that discussion, no matter which way it goes. Kennedy’s play expertly draws us in with simple care and authentic performances that resonate and surprise long after the cafe door closes and the bell tolls on who and what is coming or going. The Counter serves it all up absolutely beautifully, risking it all by running forward or staying behind. Warmed up and ready to go, all one can say is “I’d take six seasons of that!” please, and thank you.