Adelind Horan, Ayana Workman, Sathya Sridharan, Japhet Balaban (Photo: Joan Marcus)

Glass. Kill. What If If Only. Imp.

By Carol Rocamora

She's done it again!

Undoubtedly the most consistently daring, influential, impactful dramatist of our time, Caryl Churchill, author of almost three-dozen ground-breaking plays, has once again astonished us with the form and content of her newest works. Grouped into one evening at the Public Theatre (under the unifying title Glass. Kill. What If If Only. Imp.), this eighty-seven-year-old British playwright amazes us with their stunning variety, depth, and power.

Her plays often begin innocuously, with a question. Take Glass, the first in this four-play evening. The lights rise on four actors seated on a plank of wood raised in mid-air. Where are they? What are they doing? Though they are dressed in ordinary clothing (costumes by Enver Chakartash), we soon find out that they are not people at all, but rather ornaments (on a mantle, presumably). One is a girl made of glass; the second, a clock; the third, a plastic dog; the fourth, a vase. Then, without any indication, they become people, engaged in fragmented, incomplete exchanges. The quartet (Ayana Workman, Sathya Sridharan, Japhet Balaban, Adelind Horan) switch from animate to inanimate roles with no indication or explanation. In the end, the glass girl perches on a windowsill (evidently), jumps off, and is reportedly smashed into pieces.

What is Churchill saying? That life is fragile? Easily shattered? Or she teaching us how to listen in the theatre and find meaning, even if there isn't any?

Deirdre O'Connell (Photo: Joan Marcus)

The second one-act, entitled Kill, offers a radical contrast to the first. Sounds of howling wind introduces a lady in mid-air, sitting on a cloud, wearing an ornate white pants suit (Deirdre O'Connell). She launches into a breathless fifteen-minute monologue, recounting horrific, violent acts one after the other, involving family and war. Matricide, fratricide, patricide, infanticide, cannibalism, people getting beaten, killed, chopped up… Gradually, we recognize passages from Greek mythology, describing Iphigenia's sacrifice, the Trojan War, Odysseus's journey, and other bloodbaths, etc.

By now we've determined that the woman is a Goddess, recounting all the Greek myths in condensed form. Her horrific narrative crescendos until its final moments, when, accompanied by the sound of thunder, the Goddess/narrator shouts: "We don't exit" "You created us!!" Evidently, she's saying that violent behavior over the millennia is the fault of mankind, not the gods (since they don't exist). "STOP" the goddess shouts.

Is this an anti-war play? That would be in keeping with the themes of Churchill's other great works (Far Away, Escaped Alone, etc.). But Churchill leaves it up to us to draw our own conclusions.

In the third one-act, What If If Only, a young man (Sathya Sridharan) sits alone at a desk on the stage, mourning the loss of his wife. Then a woman's shadow appears in an upstage screen. She enters the stage, saying: "I'm the future that never really happened. Make me happen!" Suddenly, numerous actors enter, representing possible future characters in the man's life. He chases them away, with the exception of a child (Ruby Blaut). "I'm going to happen," she insists.

Here, Churchill seems to be writing about death and those who might (or might not) appear in one's future life... Meanwhile, the only thing that's certain is "the now"...

As always, Churchill subverts expectations and surprises us again. Imp, the final one act, is the only conventional, realistic drama by Churchill that I've ever seen. It features two middle-aged cousins ‐ Jimmy (John Ellison Conlee) and Dot (Deirdre O'Connell again) - who cohabit in a non-romantic relationship somewhere in contemporary England. The ordinary living room is easily recognizable. Jimmy walks five miles a day; Dot suffers from various ailments. Otherwise, their lives are utterly uneventful. Into their small, mundane world come two people of the new generation ‐ a young man named Rob (Japhet Balaban) who is looking for a job; and Niamh (Adelind Horan), a young woman who is starting a career. They all interact over a period of time. Rob and Niamh become romantically involved, part, and reunite.

The only non-realistic element in this conventional scene is an empty bottle with a cork that sits on the floor beside Dot's chair. She maintains that the contains an "imp" who can determine the future, once it escapes. Someone has removed the cork, and Dot is panicked. But nothing unusual happens, and all ends well.

John Ellison Conlee, Deirdre O'Connell (Photo: Joan Marcus)

I sat there for over an hour, waiting for the surreal wonders of the previous three plays to creep into this one. But they don't appear. What is Cary Churchill saying? If the bottle doesn't contain an imp that can determine the future, then what can? "I can't go on. I'll go on," wrote Beckett, a source of Churchill's inspiration. Is that the meaning of this play?

Between the one-acts, there are two surprising events. Two extraordinary acrobats ‐ a gymnast (Junru Wang) and a juggler (Maddox Morfit Tighe) ‐ entertain us with their amazing skills. Why are they there? Is the director saying that the plays of Caryl Churchill, both tragedies and comedies, are part of the circus of life?

One final note: the excellent set designer (Miriam Buether) sets the one-acts in a giant picture frame of light bulbs, as if to say: these are portraits of moments in life. Look at them. See them for yourselves. Think about them (or not). And live...

 

Glass. Kill. What If If Only. Imp.

At the Public Theater

425 Lafayette St.

Tickets: https://publictheater.org/reserve/reserve?productionseasonNumber=51110&performanceNumber=52279

Through May 25.