"Peeling the Onion"
Brad Birch’s mostly compelling one-act, Tremor, is one of those onion-like plays in which the playwright
keeps peeling back one layer after the other until he gets to the core, presumably
at the very end. In Tremor, however,
the head-scratching conclusion of this otherwise flavorful onion seems to
belong to some other dramatic veggie; it’s more likely to leave a confounding aftertaste
than to aid your theatergoing digestion.
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| Lisa Diveney. Photo: Mark Douet. |
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| Paul Rattray, Lisa Diveney. Photo: Mark Douet. |
When the play begins, Sophie has just shown up, unannounced,
at Tom’s house, where he’s begun a new life, having married, had a child, and
begun a business by selling things online; it’s a job that insulates him from
the necessity of having to deal with people face to face. These facts slowly
emerge as the skins peel off and we learn, not only about the accident but why
Tom is ill at ease in Sophie’s presence, and why she’s chosen to visit him.
While Birch feeds our hunger for the specifics of what
happened by sprinkling them like Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs, the substance
of his 65-minute play is essentially a debate between two people trying to come
to terms with their reactions to the life-changing disaster that separated them.
Precipitating their discussion is Sophie’s revelation that the bus driver is dying
of cancer and seeking forgiveness.
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| Paul Rattray. Photo: Mark Douet. |
From this seed sprouts a contentious and heart-wrenching dispute
during which a host of emotional and political issues are raised, including
forgiveness, justice, the judicial system, the media, guilt, xenophobia,
terrorism, and Islamophobia. While much of this sounds primarily UK-instigated,
many of its darts strike at American sensibilities as well.
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| Lisa Diveney. Photo: Mark Douet. |
For every reason Sophie puts forth to support her
viewpoints, Tom responds with equally cogent and, sometimes, surprising
counterarguments. While the play’s multiple issues may sound like playwriting
overkill, Birch juggles them sufficiently well to hold our interest if not
necessarily to convince us one way or the other about any of them.
The actors, directed by David Mercatali, have nowhere to
hide as they pace around on a set by Hayley Grindle that’s little more than a
whitish-gray circle resembling the surface of the moon, with only a child’s toy
or two, and nary a piece of furniture to
cling to or sit on.
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| Lisa Diveney, Paul Rattray. Photo: Mark Douet. |
Rattray, a pleasant-looking guy with a rich Welsh accent, and
Diveney, a slender, pretty woman, are fully invested in their roles, regardless
of the audience in the tiny venue being only inches away. Their initial insecurities
about seeing each other again, and their mutual wariness, evolve into an impassioned
questioning and defense of their beliefs.
But no response is afforded Tom’s closing speech. In it, he moves
the debate in an unforeseen direction, attributing the tragedy to a cause that,
instead of eliciting a rebuttal, offers the puzzling image of Tom bathed in
golden light while stretching his arms out like the statue of Christ the
Redeemer overlooking Rio de Janeiro. This is one dramaturgic tremor Tremor could well do without.
OTHER VIEWPOINTS:
59E59 Theaters/Theater C
59 E. 59th St., NYC
Through June 10
