Theatre in Review: Angry Alan (Studio Seaview)

	John Krasinski. Photo: Jonny Cournoyer

Think of Angry Alan as an act of cultural spelunking: It follows Roger, its lead character, into a psychological cave darker than the one that trapped Floyd Collins, hemmed by grievance and a distorted world view, and unable to see daylight. At first glance, Roger is the definition of average: a mid-forties Midwesterner with an ex-wife, a teenage kid, a live-in girlfriend, and a job as a grocery store manager. His life is fine, if uneventful, at least on the surface. Then he falls "into your average Google vortex." As it happens, it's a trip without a return ticket.

During a five-hour Internet binge, Roger absorbs the writings and videos of the title character, an influencer whose theme is "how modern men are in crisis." Turning to us, Roger asks with the fervor of an initiate, "Did you know that young men are now less likely to go to college than young women? But they're more likely to become victims of violent crime, or die in combat, or commit suicide? Alan says [that] due to societal shifts, men are experiencing a period of unprecedented uncertainty."

To Roger, Angry Alan's words are sweet reason, giving him a new clarity about his quiet, slow-burning unhappiness, which has many sources. Wounded by the failure of his marriage, he feels alienated from his son, Joe. His current partner, Courtney, neglects him for her artist friends; he is unnerved when he finds her "in the kitchen, frothing oat milk, wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the following: 'Carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man'." Still gnawing at him is the loss of his job at AT&T, a demotion in social status that left him permanently humiliated. Bereft of meaningful connections, ashamed of his career reversals, lacking any meaningful activities outside the workplace, he is, as far as the Angry Alans of this world are concerned, ripe for the plucking.

Soon, Roger is skipping child support payments to attend Angry Alan conferences, bucking for status as a "gold donor" to his online mentor. Through his new mentor, he hooks up with a crowd of like-minded souls, learning to laugh at crude jokes about rape, one of which was greeted with shocked silence at the performance I attended. By now, you can call him Angry Roger, as he spews bitterness about gold-digging women, ungrateful children, and a system structured to screw him over. In the America he inhabits, you're nobody until you're a victim of oppression.

Far from being a self-congratulatory tract for liberals, however, Angry Alan demonstrates how scarily easy it is to get lost in a funhouse of political lies. To her credit, playwright Penelope Skinner refuses simple answers. Many of Angry Alan's points are accurate: American men are, in many cases, struggling; especially telling is the point that "we need to start examining why men don't express their emotions." Courtney may be more mature than Roger, but she isn't immune to echoing buzzwords about decolonizing the Western canon. (For all her feminism, she is also a closet fan of Woody Allen and the Fifty Shades of Grey franchise.) Jen, Roger's ex, is not especially sympathetic; among other things, she is a less-than-stellar mother. Roger's only real friend, Dave, lost his job after telling a (pretty mild) dirty joke at a work event; his marriage in tatters, he lives in a shed, a wide-eyed recluse planning a wrongful termination suit he can't afford. In many ways, Angry Alan posits Robert D. Putnam's "Bowling Alone" theory, that the erosion of church, social, and civic societies has left millions of Americans isolated and empty. Skinner ups the ante, suggesting that fascism is rooted in too many disappointments without redress.

Skinner also artfully builds suspense as Alan awaits a get-together with Joe, having been warned by Jen that something has gone terribly wrong with their boy. (The script cunningly uses an incident from Courtney's family as an act of misdirection, making us fear that Joe has turned violent or worse.) In a quietly stunning twist, Joe is perfectly fine. But he has an announcement to make that shakes Roger's new world view to the core, driving him into a fury that has profound consequences for his future happiness.

Despite its dire conclusions, Angry Alan is often hilarious, especially when Roger is dubiously analyzing the concept of women and children first; when, on the phone, he is caught up in dueling conversations with Courtney and Jen; or when trying manfully to wrestle open a sofa bed. With his open, boy-man face -- he looks like a refugee from the Archie Andrews universe -- he handles this ninety-percent solo turn with a standup comic's poise; at the same time, his Roger is not a caricature but a sensitive soul in pain. He is joined in the homestretch by Ryan Colone, who holds his own during the climactic father-son faceoff. I've often had critical things to say about Sam Gold's handling of classic plays, but here, as always, he is a first-rate director of contemporary works.

Gold has obtained fine work from his design team, beginning with the scenic design, by the collective dots, which uses a turntable to deliver Roger's living room and a hotel event space where the Angry Alan conference unfolds. Video designer Lucy Mackinnon fills the extra-wide proscenium with images of offstage characters, text conversations, Angry Alan's online come-ons, and a series of moments, involving bursts of red static, when Roger feels "red-pilled." These bits are assisted by sound designer Mikaal Sulaiman, whose contributions also include various ambient effects and Bruce Springsteen singing "I'm Goin' Down." Isabella Byrd's lighting draws clear distinctions between various times of day. This is hardly the most challenging assignment to come costume designer Qween Jean's way recently, but she has Roger's oh-so-standard wardrobe down to a T; she also dresses Joe in a way that supports the news he brings to his dad.

It's interesting that the British Skinner should have such a beady eye for the details of American culture and politics. But, apparently, Angry Alan was developed with "co-creator" Don MacKay as a rapid response device that can be accommodated to political conditions around the world. According to a program note, it has been performed globally in various languages. In any case, the writing is eerily accurate. It's also brave: Angry Alan turns a coolly appraising gaze on a phenomenon that, years after the rise of the Tea Party, followed by the digital antics of everyone from Steve Bannon to Andrew Tate, remains poorly understood. We need to come to terms with the Rogers of this world, pronto; if we don't, we're in more trouble than we know. --David Barbour