Theatre in Review: Cold War Choir Practice (MCC Theater/Clubbed Thumb/Page 73)If the Thirties were, as W. H. Auden insisted, "a low dishonest decade," the Eighties were all about agita, not least because of persistent nuclear jitters. For those who were there, a visit to MCC Theatre brings it all crashing back, providing a useful reminder that we have been on the brink before. Amazingly, this terrible era is restyled for farce in Ro Reddick's sly satire of past political traumas. Cold War Choir Practice is just about the last thing one expected to see this season; among Reddick's many wicked inventions is the notion that a Syracuse roller rink might be a center of international intrigue. Apparently, atomic secrets turn up in the oddest places. The play's skullduggery swirls around Meek, who, at ten, is in a "peace choir," dedicated to ending the standoff between the US and the Soviet Union with volleys of youthful song. Perhaps because of this activity, Meek certainly keeps up with the news: It's Christmas time, and her wish list for Santa includes "a pound puppy, a Speak & Spell, and a nuclear radiation detector." Writing to her Soviet pen pal, she notes, "War is imminent. How are you today? Did you know the voice of a child has the power to stop a nuclear attack? Choir Leader told us that, so I thought I'd share it in case it's useful." (Proving that every cloud has a silver lining, she adds, "A kid from choir said I don't have to worry about getting bombed in my neighborhood because only Black people live there and they always bomb important people first.") In the Yuletide spirit, Meek's pen pal mails her a coveted Speak & Spell, but this surprise gift is a Trojan horse, acting as a two-way communication device with the Soviet Union. Soon, her Russian friend is soliciting her help in stealing US government documents belonging to her Uncle Clay. Forget the Spy Kids films; she may be the first pre-teen double agent. Clay shows up at the family-owned roller rink looking for a place to deposit his basket-case wife, Virgie, while he attends to urgent government business. (Mikhail Gorbachev is Washington-bound, and hopes are high for a Russia-US treaty.) Clay, a striver of the first order, is on the outs with his brother (also Meek's father), Smooch, and their mother, Puddin', for his job as deputy national security advisor in the Reagan Administration. Virgie, a refugee from Mindspring, a cultish self-realization movement, needs constant monitoring, thanks to a regimen of "productivity exercises" that has left her dehydrated and easily manipulated. What nobody realizes is that Mindspring's leader also has designs on the classified papers in Clay's briefcase. Reddick's script remarkably mines the dire facts of geopolitical conflict for seemingly innocent, yet thoroughly mordant, humor. An excerpt from a PBS peace choir broadcast, filled with pricelessly wooden exchanges, features a parent asking her daughter, "What's the matter?" to which the child replies, "I'm feeling kinda down, what with the threat of nuclear war and all." Meek notes that since it takes an intercontinental ballistic missile thirty minutes to reach the US from Russia, her choir's concerts all run twenty-eight minutes to the second, "just in case. We'd still have two minutes to hug our families before we die." Other elements include a farcical hostage situation and an explosion that sends showers of Atomic Fireballs (the candy, not the fallout) raining down on the stage. Knud Adams, not a director known for comedy, nevertheless orchestrates these comically sinister doings -- including chases, fights, and the biggest pack of dynamite seen outside of a Road-Runner cartoon -- while never losing track of Reddick's more serious intentions. "I don't know why you worried 'bout them Russians. The FBI just bombed a bunch of Black folks in Philly," Smooch says, referencing the notorious MOVE bombing by the city's police, which ended in the destruction of 61 homes. Smooch, who fondly remembers the era of the Black Panthers' community programs and who has sunk his money into the rink to help jump-start his neighborhood economy, has no use for Clay's conservative politics and careerism. And even Clay, proudly noting, "The world's falling apart, and these men get to sit down and figure out how to save it -- and I'm right there with them," concedes, "The whole time I'm sitting there, the only thing I can think about is that little question mark that pops up right there, right on the brow of every man in that room as soon as I open my mouth, asking, 'Who left the side door open? Who let that negro slip through?'" Adams' cast skillfully mines these absurd proceedings for every bit of humor, beginning with Alana Raquel Bowers' Meek, a dry-eyed observer of the adults rocking her world. Also fine are Will Cobbs' Smooch, Crystal Finn's barely there Virgie, Andy Lucien's perpetually aggrieved Clay, and Lizan Mitchell's Puddin, taking son Clay's measure by coolly noting, "We haven't seen you since the wedding. Course we were sitting so far back, hardly felt like we were there at all." The wildly overqualified trio of Grace McLean, Suzzy Roche, and Nina Ross, led by choir leader Ellen Winter, beautifully deliver Reddick's lineup of inspiration ballads; they also take on various roles and function as a de facto Greek chorus. Afsoon Pajoufar's abstract roller rink set, consisting of wood paneling, a "neon" sign, a counter, and a mirrored hallway, makes a strong statement but is, arguably, a little too abstract for a play set in such a specific time and place; Masha Tsmiring lights it fluently, however. Brenda Abbandandolo's costumes provide some canny character details, not least Virgie's full-length fur coat, and Kathy Ruvuna's sound is at its most evocative when the television is on, offering bits of the ABC newsmagazine 20/20, an early Oprah Winfrey broadcast, and Ronald Reagan, announcing, in his signature rasp, "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall." Funnily enough, Cold War Choir Practice seems eerily in synch with today's headlines, spiked by fears that international adventurism will distract from dire problems on the home front. In any case, Reddick has a comic voice all her own and, thanks to the support of these three fine theatre companies, she has the right cast and director to support it. The Cold War has rarely been so amusing. --David Barbour 
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