Wallace Shawn’s The Designated Mourner (1996) isn’t for everyone, but when the master chefs at Catastrophic Theatre get cooking on all burners it becomes haute cuisine. This is Catastrophic’s third iteration (2010 and 2017) – and the very best.
Mourner is an extremely nebulous play, one of memory, recrimination, marriage, guilt, acquiescence, bodily fluids and porn. The overarching structure is the elimination of the intellectuals in an oppressive authoritarian regime: those who read John Dunne and listen to Schubert and attend the theater. The arts and the artists are systematically being eliminated by the State. The cafes are closed; beloved groves of trees are bulldozed overnight; writers are forced to rewrite their previous work to appease the current government. What is the cost to the human self?
This subtext is Shawn’s magnificent jumping off point. The “haves” and the uprising underclass (the “dirt eaters”) are squashed, jailed, or have a bullet fired into their head. Shootings in the street and explosions occur regularly. But while the elites talk of how horrible the situation has become, they do nothing about it. They talk, debate and go to dinner parties to hobnob with their oppressors. They remember.
Three characters narrate. They sit in chairs at a table strewn with books, apples, coffee cups, a pitcher of water, and three glasses. (This setting is much more elaborate than the 2017 production which only had the pitcher and glasses.) The table rests upon a platform edged in black drapery. It resembles a catafalque. The surrounding is eternal black. Where are we? An inquest, a jury box, the dark and troubled mind?
Jack (Greg Dean, in a tour-de-force performance, just like the other two times he’s done this role) is our Everyman, the designated mourner of the times past. He wants to be in the good group but is just too crass, too human to be accepted. He goes along to get along, which will save him for a time, but we know his survival instincts will probably run out before long. He doesn’t read Dunne, he reads porn, masturbates, and has casual sex. His marriage is a shambles. A survivor, he is the last of them even though not part of them, and even he is finally beginning to forget.
His ex-wife Judy (Patricia Duran in excellent form), with her hair crisply parted and wearing a white shirt and cream shawl, sits in the middle. Cool and collected, she won’t be ruffled by Jack’s insinuations or peccadilloes. She once even loved him. On our right is Harold, Judy’s father (Charlie Scott, mesmerizing) and Jack’s ex-father-in-law. He does not like Jack, thinks he’s lazy and “lowbrow.” Harold, a writer and poet, is a snob and drips condescension. He’s much too lofty to become engaged with these disruptive outside forces, even though he once had a brief fling with one of the rebels. He, too, suffers from the inertia of the upper class. When Jack speaks, Harold covers his face with his hands. He does that often.
The three talk to us directly, often they turn to each other when a memory of a past conversation appears. But none of them really communicate. They talk at each other, but no one seems to listen or comprehend.
Shawn’s writing is elliptical, full of non sequiturs, tinged with aubergine poetic prose, and laced with comedy. It’s both fragrant and profane. Stories sometimes go on too long, but they still ensnare us with their odd beauty and allure. We lean in, even though we may not completely understand where we’re going or why.
Director Jason Nodler loves Shawn, and his superlative work here is perceptive and exactly right. He gives Shawn forbidden mystery and energy. Lighting designer Hudson Davis shares equal credit for his pinpoint lighting that selects each character as they speak. I don’t know how they did it, but at the end as Jack is beginning to forget all that has happened, even to his soul itself, the background becomes even more inky. As he remembers soft breezes and twilight evenings, Jack fades out.
If you’re familiar with Shawn’s theater work (Marie and Bruce, Evening at The Talk House, Aunt Dan and Lemon, or his acting in films My Dinner With Andre, The Princess Bride, Uncle Vanya on 42nd Street, Woody Allen’s Manhattan), Mourner is ur-Shawn – political, philosophical, earthy, comic and completely his own. Catastrophic’s production is superior avant-garde theater and should not be missed. Eat up!
The Designated Mourner continues through April 25 at 7:30 p.m. Thursdays; 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays; 2:30 p.m. Sundays; and 1 p.m. Saturday, April 25 at MATCH, 3400 Main. For more information, call 713-521-4533 or visit catastrophictheatre.com. Pay what you can.
