Bless Zeitgeist
Stage for continuing to bring us Alan Ayckbourn’s extraordinary plays. Ayckbourn
junkies especially rejoice when we can see a new one. NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH
(playing through March 1st) is Ayckbourn’s 75th. This
particular play, written in 2011, is a bit of a departure. It’s a tragedy of
sorts, wrapped in the folds of a dark comedy. The tragedy is announced from the
get go. Then Ayckbourn shrewdly—and
hilariously—shows us how it
transpired.
You have to be a
master craftsman to get audiences to laugh at the absurdity of “stand your
ground” and at the same time be keenly aware of the tragic consequences. I
thought of Trayvon Martin early on when the head of a British neighborhood
watch group furiously chases a teenager off his property. Director David Miller
navigates both of Ayckbourn’s intentions seamlessly. You’re laughing. Then
you’re cringing at the possibilities for disaster when amateurs arm themselves
for “protection.”
Sound designer
David Reiffel has us bouncing along with a snatch of English music hall fluff,
then Beethoven’s 7th plunges into our gut, reminding us that someone
has been killed. I think I heard “Ombra Mai Fu” (“Oh Tree”) from
Handel’s Xerxes to anticipate the opening scene in the park. Reiffel and Miller
are the perfect match for Ayckbourn’s genius.
Miller has a
wonderful cast to “turn a nice, peaceful community into a military zone,” in
order for Bluebell Hill’s “vulnerable” residents to protect themselves. The
watch group is organized by a middle aged brother and sister who have just
purchased a house in the development. Shelley Brown as the zealot sister
justifies their “call to action” as a “Christian” ideal. She’s marvelously
frightening as her fervor escalates.
Bob Mussett as
her brother doesn’t start out as a full on lunatic, so named by his nemesis
(the powerhouse Damon Singletary), but he soon succumbs when the sexpot wife
of another watch member loosens her scarf in his direction. Ashley Risteen
provides plenty of heat to melt his “practicing pacifist” flesh. Watching
Mussett writhe in guilt and embarrassment is reason alone to see the play.
Lynn R. Guerra’s
non-stop hand wringing and Ann Marie Shea’s eager gossiping (and you don’t want
to get Victor Brandalise started) add to the comic trajectory BUT it’s Robert
Bonotto in a tour de force who steals the play away with his unbridled ecstasy
over the idea of medieval torture.
