On a scale of one to ten, how bad are things out there, asks Caroline, hoping the numerical rating will help steel her for whatever news is forthcoming. News about the horrors going on in the world. In her city. Her neighborhood. Just outside her front gate.
It’s a 13, Roland says, checking the latest information on his almost battery-dead phone that will never be charged thanks to the soon-to-be ominous electricity outage. For now, it’s a 13.
Not the usual conversation for a first date, but then Caroline and Roland have picked a hell of a time to hook up in Ike Holter’s new horror/romantic comedy, Put Your House in Order, now playing at Rec Room Arts.
Holter and Rec Room have something of a dream history with past productions. Sender (2017) gave us a spectacular millennial-centric, chaotic relationship comedy while Exit Strategy (2018) took us inside the teacher’s lounge of a poor school, slated for closure, completely upending the genre.
Critical raves were given and the bar was set high.
Unfortunately, despite a valiant effort by Director Matt Hune and his talented cast, this Holter show doesn’t feel as finessed or fully formed as his former triumphs.
There’s a slight air of ‘too soon’ as Caroline and Roland (Holter once again examining the millennial generation’s viewpoint) realize that there’s some kind of infection poisoning the world, causing panic, closing stores, grounding planes, and halting Chicago’s all important train lines.
But we’re here — the boosted, the masked and maskless, recovered and survivors, open to digest what the playwright has to say about the near time we’ve been through.
And Holter has things to say, all right. It’s just that they don’t feel like they all belong in the same show.
Caroline (Sophia Marcelle) and Roland (Gerardo Velasquez) have vibed with each other at parties and clubs but are finally getting together to move forward on the flirtatious connection they share.
They meet on the porch of Caroline’s parents’ place (handsomely realized by Stephan Azizi): an unimportant, yet attractive historic home in a Chicago suburb. While the couple will eventually go inside to consummate the attraction they share — flirtation peppered by Holter’s great ear for zingy, pithy dialogue —- it’s the porch/front lawn that serves as the show’s setting.
At first, as news of something amiss trickles in, the couple shrugs off any panic. “We deserve to pretend things are normal,” Caroline says, exhausted by all the fights she’s had to wage in a Trumpian world.
Yes, his name is mentioned. This isn’t some pretend era we’re dealing with. Holter plops us down in real-time, arming his characters with phrases like “lamestream right-wing media” and having Caroline rail against kids in cages, closed borders, and loss of reproductive rights.
All fair and meaty fodder, however here it feels like squeezed-in commentary rather than a natural outgrowth of the story at hand. The world is maybe ending, panic is abounding, and disease runs rampant….is now the time to rail at right-wing injustice?
It is if the whole premise of the show is a metaphor, Holter insists. The infection is not out there attacking us, but instead something we’ve brought on ourselves. Something too easily familiar coming back to feast on our choices.
Caroline’s neighbor Josephine (Sally Burtenshaw) comes over to check on her, eager to share the one website that has the real scoop on what’s happening. Forget the news, forget Facebook or any other social media platform, Josephine says. They are all lying or otherwise controlled. Her site is the only one telling the truth.
And a brutal truth it is. Sickness, death, attacks. Things you need to arm yourself against.
The design detail illustrating this feeling is where the production shines. As sirens wail endlessly, and night turns to day turns to blackout, Sound Designer Robert Leslie Meek and Lighting Designer Nicholas Lam provide exemplary tension-filled atmospheric nuance to the show.
It’s hard to discuss much more about Holter’s script without spoiling his intentions. The fate of Caroline, Roland, and Josephine plays neatly if not at all believably into his bigger picture.
From a rom-com point of view, the connection between Caroline and Roland feels far too thin to withstand what Holter throws at it. From a horror scenario, there are dumb decisions in every classic slasher narrative. Still, knowing how many of us felt/behaved at the outset of the pandemic, the dumb decisions here felt idiotic.
Perhaps Holter wanted to show compassion for those swept up by the modern-day contagion. But he then needs to parse the fear of death as no one wants to hug or care for a relative stranger that is sure to kill them one way or another.
The final straw is the late-stage tossing in of a hive-mind plot twist. Sure, it kind of fits with the whole abdication of responsibility/ Big Brother notion. But we’re exhausted with metaphors at this point. Or at least ones that we both saw coming and knew didn’t quite fit.
Holter ends his show with a setup of good and evil. One that will fight the righteous battle against the side that will suck our very souls.
It’s the stuff of fairy tales, and frankly too binary and simplistic for a fiercely creative talent like Holter.
Put Your House In Order makes its point, but so muddled is it on its path, that any insight, fun, or fright is diminished along the way.
Put Your House In Order continues through November 12 at Rec Room Arts, 100 Jackson Street. For tickets visit recroomarts.org. $21 to $52.
This article appears in Jan 1 – Dec 31, 2022.
