Theatre in Review: Fairview (Soho Rep)

	Heather Alicia Simms, Charles Browning (background). Photo: Julieta Cervantes.

In Fairview, the playwright Jackie Sibblies Drury empties her bag of tricks so thoroughly you have to wonder if she will have anything left for the future. Her new work consists of a barrage of devices -- some of which can't be discussed, for fear of giving away too much -- designed to comically kiss off the traditional family-drama format while posing painful questions about race and privilege. Ultimately, Drury is less interested in breaking the fourth wall than in pulverizing it, while simultaneously reorienting the places of the actors and audience. The net effect is that a number of probing points are obscured by her showboating ways.

Alas, Fairview is also a satire in which the laughs are often strangely half-hearted. (At the performance I attended, aside from a couple of moments, the audience was notably quiet, with the exception of a woman who screamed at every line, as if desperate to broadcast to the entire house how with-it she is.) At times, it plays like an episode of a 1970s Norman Lear sitcom, but without the vaudevillian zingers that would spice things up. It also faintly recalls "The Last Mama-on-the-Couch Play" by George C. Wolfe in his comic-sketch omnibus, The Colored Museum. It unfolds in the combination living room/dining room in the home of Beverly and Dayton, an early-middle-aged couple. She is frantically peeling carrots in preparation for the big birthday dinner of her mother, upstairs. (The fact that Beverly does so much of her food prep in the dining room rather than the kitchen is either (a) an indication of less-than-naturalistic intentions or (b) sloppy playwrighting; take your pick.)

Anyway, Beverly and Dayton bicker lovingly while fussing over the details of dinner, and it couldn't be more banal -- which, I guess, is the point, although it becomes wearying before too long. A notable exception is Roslyn Ruff as Jasmine, Beverly's pot-stirring sister, a woman who could teach passive-aggression on the PhD level. Swanning around the stage, wine bottle (her solution to every crisis) in hand, she builds a depth charge of criticism into every remark, simultaneously waving away any hint of hostility. This fine actress doesn't get assigned too many comic roles, but she is delectable here.

And still, nothing much happens, even when their daughter, Keisha, a high-schooler, shows up, acting strained and nervous. (Drury plants a couple of lines making clear that Beverly worries that Keisha is too close with her best female friend, Erica, if you know what I mean, a fact that adds to the tension in the room.) But none of this is particularly amusing on its own terms, nor is it vigorously spoofed. Even the characters' penchant for slipping into dance moves at the slightest provocation -- the kind of cliche favored by every black-themed sitcom from Good Times to The Cosby Show and far beyond -- is done so much that the joke is lost.

Then, in the middle of a family squabble, Beverly faints, and there is a blackout. When the lights come back up, the scene begins again, this time silently. Instead, we hear a running commentary by a gaggle of white characters discoursing cluelessly on race. It begins with, "If you could choose to be a different race, what race would you be?" and it goes downhill from there in terms of civility and self-knowledge. In this case, Drury hits some of her targets -- I was quite fond of the Frenchwoman who enters the conversational fray, dismissing Americans as unhealthily obsessed with race before offering a few howlers of her own. At five or ten minutes, this bit would work beautifully, but, because the playwright is locked into the idea of repeating the entire first scene, it drags on and on, making a single point ad nauseum.

After this, things really get squirrely: The action returns back to Beverly and Dayton's house, with a grotesquely set dinner table and appearances by Beverly's mother and brother, Keisha's best friend, and another lady, all of whom are, shall we say, non-traditionally cast -- and, perhaps, the worlds of the first two scenes have collided. A play that began as a stylistic spoof descends into mass chaos, leading to a very funny sequence in which one wild accusation after another is hurled, as if every family fracas ever written is being mashed up into the mother of all climaxes. Then the big switcheroo happens; I can't say more, except to note that there's a good chance (at least, if you are white) that you won't finish the performance in your original seat -- which is a pity, because it's also likely that you may be more or less cut off from the actress MaYaa Boateng as she delivers the big speech that should provide the evening with a powerful wrap-up.

Clearly, Drury has set out to provoke and disturb the audience, accusing it of insularity and privilege, but she tips her hand too blatantly, too soon, and Fairview doesn't maintain the baseline level of engagement needed to prep us to hear what she has to say. The piece is at times overwhelmed by its own theatricality; one grand gesture, even two, can make for a transformative evening, but a show that consists of nothing but such things becomes, well, just a show.

Nevertheless, Sarah Benson, who directed, keeps the action bubbling along -- she does very well by a climactic melee that lays waste to the stage -- and her cast, including Heather Alicia Simms as Beverly and Charles Browning as Dayton, are clearly up for anything the playwright throws at them. (I cannot name the other actors without giving away the game.) Also, Mimi Lien's setting -- the first realistic interior I think I've ever seen from her -- is just right for the characters, as are the costumes by Montana Levi Blanco. Amith Chandrashaker's lighting becomes a bit unpleasant in the final scene, but I guess that it's intentional. Mikaal Sulaiman's sound design, including a steady underscore of Motown and disco hits, plus the voiceover sequences, is unusually accomplished.

Drury is not someone to be dismissed. She is clearly talented, and no one will ever accuse her of being afraid of taking a risk. But Fairview is a satire that swings wide, only occasionally earning a hit. Even when you're trying to demolish a theatrical genre and racism in America, less can be more. -- David Barbour