Theatre in Review: A Room of My Own (Abingdon Theatre Company/June Havoc Theatre)

	Nico Bustamente, Kendra Jain. Photo: Ben Strothmann

The characters in Charles Messina's new play are so unruly, not even he can control them. No matter how much he -- and we -- may want them to shut up, they insist on venting, usually at the top of their voices. Billed as a semi-autobiographical comedy, the play is narrated by its putative author, Carl Morelli, who often sits on the edge of the stage with his laptop, guiding the action and trying to revise the dialogue whenever the decibel level gets too high. Never gonna happen, as they say in the Italian section of Greenwich Village, where the play is set: Nobody on stage pays the slightest attention to his or her creator's wishes, not even when he runs on stage to protest. Even then, he is ignored; the only character who recognizes him is Little Carl, the youthful version of himself, who warns him to stick to the facts. It's no wonder that the adult Carl takes a healthy swig of Pepto-Bismol before introducing us to his fractious family.

They include his mother, Dotty, the breadwinner, who toils unhappily in a bakery and has a mouth like a stevedore. Upon hearing that the principal of the school called up about unpaid tuition, she flies into a rage, calling the nuns "gangsters with habits on their heads" and threatening to take the good sister's crucifix and stick it someplace I'd rather not tell you about. Peter, her husband, stays at home, thanks to a heart condition that keeps him out of work, and sort of runs the house. His health issues don't keep him from helping himself to the most fat-filled treats that Dotty brings home from work, leading to epic gas problems that offend everyone else. One floor above them is Jackie, Dotty's flamboyant brother, who swoops in at regular intervals to spread his disapproval. (In what passes for affection in this clan, he calls Little Carl a "no-good son of a bitch," just the thing to tell a small boy.) Jackie isn't the type to get married, if you know what I mean; a 43-year-old file clerk, he has plenty of opinions on everything, including the vast difference between the Alastair Sim and Henry Winkler versions of A Christmas Carol. (The play is set between Christmas and New Year's Eve 1979.) Even if he doesn't use the word "gay," he insists he "was born this way." Dotty, irritated, asks, "You were born in white jeans and a T-shirt with Sandra Dee?" "It's Doris Day! Love Me or Leave Me," replies Jackie, who brooks no errors in such matters.

Anyway, as Jackie insists, "Sex ain't somethin' this family understands," and he may be right about that. Dotty and Peter live with their kids in a Thompson Street studio, which means that Peter and Little Carl sleep on the fold-out couch while Dotty and their daughter, Jeannie, a teenager, take the daybed. If romance is in short supply, money is even scarcer; the action of A Room of My Own focuses on the lack of funds for Christmas presents, tuition, or just about anything else.

Messina gets some fun out of his playwright-as-arbiter concept. As Carl, setting the scene, reads from the script, "The apartment is decorated to the nines for the holidays," the lights up come up on Brian Dudkiewicz's amusingly run-down studio apartment set, with holiday cheer, such as it is, represented by two straggling little strands of garland and a tiny tree that appears to be suffering from malnutrition. Joli Tribuzio comes on strong as Dotty, earning laughs from some of the most profane dialogue to be heard outside of the works of David Mamet. As Jackie, Mario Cantone gets plenty of opportunities to work his specialty, alchemically converting sheer rage into comedy gold; in his first appearance, standing in the hallway and venting a nuclear takedown of "that transvestite fag" in a nearby apartment who keeps him up all night with his punk rock records, his delivery is as hilarious as it is toxic. Whenever he is present, A Room of My Own takes a turn for the better.

However, after introducing his F-bomb-dropping, malediction-casting, self-destructive clan, Messina can do little but let them run amok for two hours. He absolutely nails the atmosphere of the old Italian Village, a neighborhood where whether one goes to Mass at St. Anthony's or Our Lady of Pompeii speaks volumes about one's choices in life. But none of the characters move beyond their initial, and ear-splitting, impressions, remaining screaming, arm-waving Italian stereotypes to the last. The playwright affixes traits on them -- for example, Dotty is an accomplished shoplifter with a gambling addiction that gravely worsens the Morellis' poverty -- but they are mere talking points, raised and then dropped. It's never clear why Peter can't get an office job that wouldn't tax his heart; there is also an underdeveloped subplot about his sister, Jean, from whom he is estranged in a dispute over some family real estate. This allows Liza Vann to show up in Act II, spar amusingly with Jackie, and deliver the check that functions as the play's deus ex machina.

It's possible that another director might have gotten more modulated performances from the cast, but Messina has encouraged them to keep the action at a wearyingly unsustainable pitch. The exceptions are Cantone, who knows when underplaying will get a bigger laugh, and Ralph Macchio as the adult Carl, who serves as an affable audience ambassador, at one point taking a seat in the theatre in frustration at his characters' acting out. We are told that Little Carl suffers from massive stomach problems, thanks to the family's constant infighting, but you wouldn't know it from the tough-as-nails performance of little Nico Bustamante. Tribuzio and Johnny Tammaro, as Peter, gesture and curse with abandon, as does Kendra Jain as Jeannie. Vann makes the most of the purely functional role of Jean.

In addition to Dudkiewicz's beautifully observed set, Catherine Siracusa's costumes are both accurate to the period and amusingly right for the characters; these include Dotty's glittery New Year's Eve outfit, Jackie's Santa Claus-themed bathrobe, and Jean's fur, which becomes the object of one of Jackie's most devastating wisecracks. Michael A. Megliola's lighting and Ian Wehrle's sound design are both solidly done.

The play's title refers to Little Carl's Christmas wish: his letter to Santa expresses a desire for a space where he could enjoy a little peace and quiet. After twenty minutes or so of Messina's play, you'll know how he feels. There were news reports last week that A Room of My Own is being developed as a television sitcom. I think this material may have found the right medium. -- David Barbour