Theatre in Review: Still (DR2 Theatre)

	Tim Daly, Jayne Atkinson. Photo: Joey Moro

Beware of exes' reunions; they can lead to unexpected repercussions. That's the big takeaway from Still, a slender two-hander that, with some success, mirrors the challenges of living and loving in our disunited world. Helen and Mark, an item thirty years ago, are catching up in a hotel bar. She is a Baltimore-based novelist, successful enough to make the best-seller list -- "just for a couple of weeks," she protests, ever so slightly disingenuously. His life is less distinguished; as he wryly notes, "Of all of the lawyers in Colorado Springs who are five foot ten and named Mark, I'm probably the most important." Recently divorced, his daughters grown, he seems more than a little adrift. He's in town for "meetings; talking to some people about some things." Really?

The conversation is playful, teasing, and laced with memories of feelings from days gone by. He gently reminds her of the character she based on him, a charge she only partially denies. (He is extremely well-acquainted with her books.) These sixtysomethings have mortality on their minds: He has had a mild heart attack; she has undergone a double mastectomy and her prognosis is uncertain. On the topic of aging, she says, "When you picture your face -- and then you see your real face -- do you get surprised?" He insists she hasn't changed; she points out that he entered the room and passed her by, not recognizing her. Yet, every so often the conversation hits a brief pause; the silence signaling that something is up.

Helen initially resists, but Mark is so warmly affectionate, so clearly interested in her as a person that they end up in his hotel room; as the aftermath of their tryst makes clear, it was exceptionally satisfying and, so far, we're happy to see this accomplished, intelligent pair getting together. The penny drops when Mark starts hinting around that he might be in the metro DC area more often, as there's a good chance he'll be running for Congress. Helen is thrilled...until she discovers he'll be on the GOP ticket. Stunned, she says, "I wish you had told me that before we...," her voice trailing off. "Do you only go to bed with liberals?" he asks. "I don't know -- of course not!" she insists. A beat later: "Well, maybe."

You've got to admire the skill with which playwright Lia Romeo entangles her attractive characters in a net from which there is no easy escape. Helen and Mark are linked by past ties and a present attraction, but the sudden, divisive entry of politics turns an otherwise charming interlude into a pained standoff. This proves to be the perfectly awkward (or awkwardly perfect) moment for relitigating the issue that broke them up: Helen's decision to have an abortion.

Having gotten us this far, Romeo's control over the material slips a bit. As it happens, Helen's next book -- which is in the early stages -- is about that abortion; it's a too-slick twist that threatens to turn a pleasantly autumnal comedy with serious underlying concerns into a single-issue drama. In a sign of how toxic our politics has become, Helen's long-ago abortion is a chief reason why Mark is hesitating over running. "I don't want to have to talk about it with strangers," Mark says. "You mean reporters," says Helen, ready to reinterpret his visit as an attempt to neutralize a potential political bonfire. She is overly cynical; indeed, Mark is haunted by an alternate scenario in which he and Helen remained together, raising their child. Had they done so, he wonders, might he not feel quite so lost in the world right now?

This is the point where certain nagging questions arise: Mark claims he has always been conservative; how did Helen not know this? Also, as Republicans go, Mark is pretty squishy; a defender of individual rights and a close friend to a gay couple (one of whom is borderline MAGA in his thinking, to be sure), he adds, "I believe government intervention is usually not the best way to get things done. I believe people in different places have very different feelings and needs and values. I believe that if things have been done in a certain way for a long time, there's probably a reason, and we should think about that before we try to change them. I believe people on both sides need to figure out how to talk to each other and compromise on things." But the play never asks what Mark thinks of the modern right wing with its rage politics and showboating ways. Is he at ease in such company? Is there room for someone with his carefully considered views? At a time when moderate Republicans are fleeing Congress in droves, isn't he swimming upstream?

Indeed, Still is sufficiently engaging that one wishes Romeo had extended the play's brief, seventy-five-minute running time, allowing herself to further explore her characters' hearts and minds. Even so, it's fascinating and touching to see how differently Helen and Mark interpret her abortion. "I don't believe it's murder the way murder is murder," he says. "But I still believe it's a miracle. A baby." When he notes he always thought Helen would want a child, she replies, "I thought I did too. Or at least I thought I would. At some point. I figured some switch would click and...That's how it is in the movies, right? Or she finds out she's pregnant and her arms go over her belly and some... well of maternal instinct kicks in." Or maybe not.

Under Adrienne Campbell-Holt's acute direction -- which, amusingly, includes the awkward aftermath of a random kiss and a charming tableau of post-coital bliss -- neither of her stars misses a nuance. Jayne Atkinson's Helen is a relaxed, witty presence, her eyes sparkling as she leads Mark on with a phony confession about her romantic life; underneath her good humor, however, is a note of regret, a sense of time passing too quickly; she is particularly touching when tentatively undressing, nervous about revealing her body to her partner. Tim Daly's Mark is an easy charmer but his smile barely masking a deeper loneliness, a sense that his life went irrevocably off-course when he wasn't looking. He is especially effective when playing a faintly desperate game of "what if," trying to envision a scenario that contains a way forward for them.

Surprisingly, perhaps, this brief, intimate play has what may be the most elaborate production ever seen in the small DR2. Alexander Woodward's scenic design employs a turntable to take us from the chic bar, with its rear-illuminated wall of wine bottles, to a photorealistic hotel bedroom; he even provides an attractive show curtain. Reza Behjat's naturalistic lighting catches each shift in the characters' moods. Barbara A. Bell's costumes are attractive and suitable. Hidenori Nakajo's sound design includes a preshow playlist of hits from Helen and Mark's salad days (by the likes of Boston and Creedence Clearwater Revival), along with piano music and traffic noises.

The production occasionally strays into cutesiness, most notably an argument that causes Helen to hurl the contents of her capacious bag, including an avocado and a ukelele. The latter item, however, cues a deeply touching bit in which she offers a quiet, melancholy rendition of "Can't Help Falling in Love." It sums up the predicament of these wayward lovers caught between red and blue, past and present. Is there a way forward for them? Is there for any of us? -- David Barbour