WARNING: This review contains baseball metaphors.
Cadence Theatre’s Pipeline New Works Program is at the plate again, with its last batter, Witchduck, staring at home from third base. It is literally the first swing ever for the new musical, SAFETY!, at Firehouse Theatre, and I’m watching with a bucket of popcorn on my lap on opening night. This is the first time the play has ever been staged. Exciting!
The first pitch is the concept, a musical comedy about trauma. Cheeky, yes. Unique? Not necessarily. I’d say this is intended as a big swing, but it’s kind of a watched pitch that ends up as a ball anyway. Pretty much all comedy is about trauma. It does build tension though, in context. The expectation in this theatrical medium is ‘revelation,’ unlike a sitcom or stand-up routine. Where are they going to go with this, and what new perspective on such a bleak topic is going to make me laugh/cry/reflect this evening?
The count: 1 and 0. One ball, no strikes. No harm, no foul.
The second pitch is the music and songs that frame the incredible performances of the cast members, led by award-winning actor, Grey Garrett. More on them in a bit. The songs:
I’m going to switch to a basketball metaphor for a second. Bear with me. The first act had me a little uncomfortable with what I was hearing. There were a couple missed notes out there, no biggie. What had me shifting in my seat were the very syllable-heavy melodies that seemed more a sing-songy, inner-voice musing, rather than actual songs. When the actors found the breath and the sustained notes to really show what they were capable of, they shined. When they had to sing a verse as long and meandering as one of my written sentences, it brought the experience down. I’d compare it to the first of two free-throw shots that circled the rim before falling out. Almost, but no sweat. There’s always Act 2.
The second shot (and act) was nothing but net, to a point. Zakiyyah Jackson wakes everyone up out the gate as a voice to be reckoned with when her character is introduced. The always wonderful Jacqueline Jones owns the audience in her big number too. Even The Boogeyman gets his spotlight, and he does not waste it. There are great moments in here, and the cast seemed to have successfully cleared their throats. I ended up humming one of the songs on my way out of the theatre in my head. While it was catchy, I considered what I was really humming it for.
I had no clue what the song was supposed to mean.
I was going over the lyrics, as I heard them, in my head to make sure I hadn’t missed some context before critiquing it. But, no, I’m sure I didn’t. This song in particular could (should?) have been a cathartic and uplifting moment, but the sentiment had me thinking “whut?” in spite of the skills of the composer and singers. The message that is to tie the entire experience together was either lost in translation, or just so open for interpretation that one wonders why we were paying attention to this story. And yet, I was still humming the song. So to bring this metaphor back to its baseball roots, this pitch results in a high flying cut to left field that bounces off the foul ball post.
The count: 1 and 1.
This brings me to the play itself as a whole, as written, not performed. The characters are drawn lovingly. They feel like real people that don’t always say the right thing the first time. Their lives are messy. They aren’t the heroes in their own stories, but they’re trying to be.
Camille, the protagonist, is a victim of an assault, the severity and horror of which is concealed until just the right moment of impact. She is in the process of regaining purchase on her life as she makes a controversial, yet very personal, decision towards reclamation. She is also struggling to provide adequate assistance for her mother, deep in the second childhood of dementia. Her aforementioned fateful decision brings her in contact with a helpful, and incredibly awkward new friend, George. She is beset on all sides by a cacophony of stressors, fears, and disappointments. The central motivations and themes come from here.
There is so much meat on this bone. This is the substrate that great theatre is built on. The work is replete with opportunity. Okay, gymnastics metaphor detour. Just for a second, I promise. You know the feeling when some young gymnast is completing the absolute perfect routine on the uneven bars, then dismounts, and somehow falls into a heap – all grace dismissed in an error? This is how I felt when the powerful themes embedded into this story seem to crash into themselves in an incoherent lesson on, well, something I didn’t quite catch. You have to stick the landing. This was the overconfident swing on an off-speed pitch. Wind and fury that ends in the catcher throwing an unscathed ball back to the pitcher.
The count: 1 and 2.
Here’s the moment of truth. The count is upside down and a hit is needed. At the plate, Nathaniel Shaw’s direction, the scenic design of Chase Kniffen, the costumes of Jeanne Nugent, and the constellation of local stars on that stage. Grey Garrett finds every bit of humanity in Camille, makes her funny, vulnerable, a little dippy at times, and completely relatable. Nathan Whitmer makes us groan and facepalm for George right before hoping he connects with Camille. Jacqueline Jones gives Margaret, Camille’s mom, the vivacity of a person unhindered by reality, and the “walking on the edge of a knife” act that keeps the audience leaning left as if that’s going to help her balance. Tyler Stevens and William Vaughn paint the background characters with broad, but bright strokes. Nick Aliff and Zakiyyah Jackson steal every scene they’re in.
The total equivalent of this swing is a towering shot to center that goes back, back, back… and caught with a flying leap at the wall by the lack of commitment to message, and a hubris in songcraft that substitutes verbosity for elegance. Overall, this feels like a late draft of a great play. This was the global premiere of a work that can easily be brought back to the shop for tuning. I look forward to seeing that.
The count: OUT.
While it’s my job to call balls and strikes in this game, you can always yell at the ref. You certainly have no obligation to agree with me. Just please don’t kick dirt on my shoes. There are seemingly infinite games in a baseball season, and plenty of encouragement in the dugout after a fly ball. Everyone here deserves a dusty back slap and a reminder that a .300 batting average is legendary.
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