Theatre in Review: Spiritus/Virgil's Dance (Rattlestick Theater) Spiritus/Virgil's Dance finds writer-performer Dael Orlandersmith in a minor key, so much so that I wonder if theatre is the right format for it. In pieces like Until the Flood, Forever, and Horsedreams, she has stunned us with pitiless accounts of abuse, addiction, and racism. No hair-raising detail is omitted from these tales, but, whereas others would give in to overemoting, Orlandersmith always uses her calm, patient delivery with authority, forcing us to look at realities from which we'd rather turn away. In some ways, she has served as a kind of Virgil, guiding us through various levels of society's hells. This time, Orlandersmith plays a character actually named Virgil, who, in middle age, remains in search of her life's purpose. The star is, once again, an effortless presence, taking the stage and instantly asserting, even before speaking, that she is here and has a story to tell. This time, however, we are well into the evening before we have any idea where her tale is headed. This is because Virgil herself is a bit of a lost soul. She grows up in Brooklyn, the child of parents who work to live -- but, to her eyes, they don't live especially well. Her father announces, with little enthusiasm, "Today's Sunday...gotta get ready for Monday...for that GRIND." Her mother keeps herself busy with the daily round of household chores. And yet, in Virgil's view, they are drifters, wasting time with endless television watching (even in the bathroom!). Even as a child, however, she can feel the clock ticking. One Hallowe'en, running around Woodlawn Cemetery with friends, looking for ghosts, she stumbles upon the grave of Duke Ellington, where she has an epiphany: "I wanted to connect to SOMETHING MORE." So, it's off to Manhattan and college at Hunter, followed by careers as a downtown DJ, and, later, a music journalist. Although the first opens new worlds and the second provides a boost in income, a nagging dissatisfaction lurks in the back of Virgil's soul. An era of partying, filled with lovers and booze, winds down without providing satisfaction. Time keeps passing, offering no new insights. It's only after her mother's death that Jimmy, a family friend, provides key facts about the deceased: her love of French cinema and cuisine, her dreams of running a bakery. Virgil also learns surprising things about her father: his affection for Dion and the Belmonts and his thwarted dreams of becoming a jazz musician. Like so many in middle age, she must confront the idea that she didn't know her mom and dad at all. Throwing herself into her ailing father's care, especially after he transfers to a hospice, Virgil draws closer to Jimmy, a professional mortician. She also befriends Peggy, the preternaturally cheerful nurse who considers it a privilege to guide her patients to the end; she is a variation on Dante's Virgil, leading souls to the edge of eternity. All of this has a profound effect on our Virgil who, in her early forties, finally understands what she was put on this earth to do. I don't want to say too much more, except to note that her new line of work is not something most of us might choose although she is, I suppose, acting as another kind of Virgil (in the Dantean sense) for those whose lives have ended. I will add that, thanks to Virgil's friendship with Jimmy, I now know more about the mortician's trade than I ever wanted. Still, as is her wont, Orlandersmith presents the grisly details without sensationalism; facts are fact, she seems to think, and we're better off treating them as such. However, under the guidance of Orlandersmith's frequent director Neel Keller, Spiritus/Virgil's Dance is a surprisingly mild experience; it's rich with incident but lacking in conflict. The people, both real and imagined, in her previous pieces are often trapped in appalling circumstances, fighting for their lives. This, in contrast, is the story of a woman gradually coming to terms with herself over many years. It might make a captivating novel; onstage, it doesn't bore, but neither does it exert much of a grip. Keller has also obtained a design that is both striking and sometimes problematic: Scenic designer Takeshi Kata puts various everyday furnishings -- desks, chairs -- behind a series of circular fringed curtains, which, uplit by Mary Louise Geiger hauntingly evoke a kind of memory landscape. But they are oddly arranged; if an audience member is seated too far to the left or right, Orlandersmith may be difficult to see at times; it would help if Keller didn't allow her to linger upstage as much. Still, the curtains make an unusual and effective screen for Nicholas Hussong's projections of city streets, green landscapes, and mortuary interiors. Lindsay Jones' original music and sound design are nicely evocative, especially the sound of ratting subway cars. Costume designer Kaye Voyce has a knack for dressing Orlandersmith attractively. One doesn't want to insist that Orlandersmith provide us with fresh horrors in each new work, and it is always welcome to see major artists grappling with spiritual matters. To be sure, a later section detailing Virgil's career working for the city, dealing with its cast-off citizens, has a clinical quality that will unnerve many. But some texts work better on the page than in a theatrical environment. Spiritus/Virgil's Dance allows the artist to display many of her fine qualities, but the effect is muted; it is prose, not drama, and that's the difference. --David Barbour 
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