Theatre in Review: Bikeman (BMCC Tribeca Performing Arts Center)If you're keen to relive the horrors of 9/11 in New York, Bikeman is just the thing for you. Otherwise, you may want to think twice about this singular, and singularly off-putting, piece of work. Thomas F. Flynn, a CBS News writer and producer, was early on the scene at the World Trade Center that day, making him an eyewitness to the worst of its horrors. (The play's title derives from the fact that he biked downtown from his home in Greenwich Village.) And, like so many others, he found himself racing to escape the clouds of ash and smoke after the buildings went down. His testimony, which is filled with harrowing details, is surely a valuable part of the historic record of that even-now-unimaginable event. But Flynn, a reporter trained to record the facts as dispassionately as possible, has chosen a form of blank verse for his account, and this is where Bikeman, to my mind, goes seriously awry. Bikeman isn't a drama; it is a spoken-word piece featuring Robert Cuccioli as Flynn, with backup from a quartet of actors who stand in for other witnesses -- an ambulance worker, a neighborhood woman, etc. (Michael Bush, who directed, worked with Flynn on adapting this piece to the stage.) A simple recitation of the facts would be gripping enough, but Flynn insists on fancying everything up with self-consciously poetic descriptions and metaphors. Thus, there are references to Navajo windtalkers, the ashes of Pompeii, and The Wizard of Oz. Watching hundreds of notes from the dying falling out of the towers, he describes the descending sheets of paper as being "as useless as dandruff." When the first tower falls, he says, "I am witness to the burly beast's last gasp." He finds "a parking garage, offering sanctuary from the murdering rain." Describing the rush of events, he says, "The pain of death travels like boxcars on a train." Watching a woman throw herself out of one of the towers, he notes, "I am an intruder in the most private act of her life." Listening to this line, all I could think was, and you've made us intruders as well. This is not to suggest that Flynn's sincerity is in question, and one can well understand his need to exorcise such horrific experiences by rendering them in prose; that is what writers do. But his adoption of a lofty 19th-century poet's tone has unintentionally creepy side effects. It's as if Matthew Arnold or Tennyson suddenly showed up via time warp, an approach that feels utterly unsuitable to the occasion. The author's approach has the unfortunate effect of trying to aestheticize events that remain too raw and grotesque in one's memory for such treatment; indeed, his too-carefully wrought formulations steal focus away from the momentous subject matter. The result is something dangerously close to sentimental kitsch. Furthermore, Flynn has nothing new to add about the events of 9/11. If his narrative has a certain power at times -- his account of being trapped in a parking garage is vividly dramatic -- almost everything he describes has been said many, many times before, and his you-are-there account by its very nature has nothing to add in the way of perspective. As a result, Bikeman comes off as simply one more wallow in the ugly details of an event that has been covered to the nth degree. This is nothing against Cuccioli, who executes his grim duties without adding any additional melodramatic flourishes. He is well-supported by Richard Topol, Elizabeth Ramos, Irungu Mutu, and Angela Pierce, who appear in different guises and speak portions of the text with authority. James Noone's flexible set design is dominated by a pair of video walls; the downstage unit breaks into three pieces and turns around to reveal staircases, allowing for the creation of various locations. The projections, by Darrel Maloney, include an introduction by Dan Rather, Flynn's journalistic colleague, as well as the requisite shots of the Twin Towers in various states of destruction. Kevin Adams' lighting gracefully shifts focus from one vignette to the next, helping to maintain a headlong pace. Karen Ann Ledger's costumes are eerily covered with dust, a shockingly effective representation of what the characters have suffered. Sam Kusnetz's sound design is good when presenting the cacophony of the day -- explosions, flickering flames, police sirens -- and less welcome when reinforcing Jonathan Brielle's original music, which sounds like it came from the score of a B movie thriller. The most effective statement in Bikeman is Flynn's assertion that he and the others in the play "have not lived" through this terrible event, but instead "we just did not die." Powerful words indeed, and one wishes the rest of Bikeman achieved this level of tragic dignity.--David Barbour 
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