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Peer Reviews

All Hail Hurricane Gordo
by Carly Mensch
Directed by Sean Daniels

A review by Frank Whitaker

Entire contents copyright © 2008 Frank Whitaker. All rights reserved.

The question posed in Ms. Mensch's latest work is, "Am I my brother's keeper," and to what extent will the titular character hold onto his delusions and to his brother, his caretaker. Abandoned as children, Gordo[n] (Patrick James Lynch) and Chazz (Matthew Dellapina) are late-twenty-something brothers sharing the decaying family manse, each currently unemployed, and therefore needing a third tenant to meet expenses. Enter India (Tracee Chimo), a flamboyant, blue-streaked-blondie Garbo with three bags and a tuba case in tow, provided with cash on hand. Now it is for the brother Chazz, as the head-of-house and the emotionally troubled Gordo, to come to grips with their new addition, the wrench in the gears of Gordo's decade-old routines. But before she can even unpack, the girl's father, Oscar (William McNulty), comes to reclaim his teenage daughter. That night, Chazz is left with the decision to either stay with his playful and violent man-child brother or abandon him for India, hitchhiking to San Fransisco.

As an ensemble, the cast worked well off each other and held my attention throughout. However, Mr. Dellapina and Mr. McNulty were standouts. Mr. Dellapina carried the show through his believable command as the head-of-household, struggling as a single parent, coupled with a poignant lonesomeness, a searching within himself for the strength to provide. But it was Mr. McNulty's performance, albeit too short, that stole the show: haranguing, instructing and reprimanding all those in his wake left me wondering if the play's title had been a misnomer. Perhaps this description may elude readers over forty, but Oscar reminds me of Carl, per Aqua Teen Hunger Force, in a bronze sweater-vest and black double-breasted sportcoat, a husky-voiced Brooklynite voicing contempt for all those around him. Amid the whirlwind of personalities, his by far was a welcome breeze.

Mr. Lynch's tantrums seemed excessively forced, and he showed his awkwardness, jumping into a four-foot pace and banging fists as if noting the tape on the stage for 'stomp here' and 'beat wall' at the same few points. I am not a doctor, so perhaps I do an injustice to the accuracy of the outbursts conveyed here, but they never say what he suffered from. Ms. Chimo's confused and singsong teenager was annoying in both voice and outlandish body movements; but as such a character, she annoyed well.

I was very much impressed with the set: a spacious great room. Odd, bright shapes of long-removed picture frames on sooty, mauve walls: bare space, save for a dated leather couch and two desks, each complementing the brothers' personalities. Cans, wrappers and dishes are crammed under and between any open space, as well as 50 scattered phonebooks -- some huddled in a built-in wall shelf, the rest peppered within the trash. Bathed in a crystalline emerald light at the Entr'acte, the scene was as if held in suspended animation, complementing the sun-bleached photo of the brothers as children on the foyer wall. As the play progressed, the green waned into a dirty blush -- the family struggles turn violent -- ending into the yellow brilliance of sunlight, of a new day, reiterating the rejuvenation of the fraternal bond between the brothers. Paul Owen is to be commended on his scenic design, sharing due credit with Deb Sullivan's stage lighting. Each act was buttressed by snippets of music. Though in no way complementary or appropriate, they appealed to my particular taste -- Jefferson Airplane's "Don't You Want Somebody to Love" and Hendrix's "Purple Haze," to name a couple.

Taken as a whole, the work examines the above-mentioned question with all the depth of an hour-long after-school special. The plot was discernible from the end of the first act and, save for Mr. McNulty, nothing surprised me. It's an old story freshened up with topical jokes and a well-cast couple of characters. I wasn't disappointed, but I left uninspired.

On a side note, during the show's dismissal, a lady in a lime-green hounds-tooth skirt and some kind of black fuzzy shirt leaned across the seat to ask me, laughingly, if my room looked like that [the stage]. I demurred, saying I just moved and don't have enough stuff to litter the joint up yet, but give me time. She scampered away without a word, giggling with her ladyfriend at a joke I couldn't fathom. I think perhaps it would do well for one to be his brother's keeper, to be as a motivator and helper to his fellow man -- but oh, brother! can't some some people just keep to themselves?

All Hail Hurricane Gordo
32nd Annual Humana Festival of New American Plays
March 13 - 30, 2008
Actors Theatre of Louisville
316 West Main Street
502-584-1205
www.actorstheatre.org/

Posted March 18, 2008