Theatre in Review: Jerome (Playwrights Horizons)

	Jeorge Bennett Wason, Stephen Spinella. Photo: Maria Baranova

The problem with dramas about three-way relationships is that the math never works out. Last season's Danger and Opportunity and 2017's Afterglow both take forever to reach the obvious conclusion that, in a triangular relationship, sooner or later, three will feel like a crowd. Sarah Ruhl's How to Transcend a Happy Marriage introduces a threesome to shake up the lives of two conventional married couples, but no good comes of it. No matter how daringly such plays start, they somehow end up walking back their initial propositions, reaffirming the status quo.

Similarly, Jerome begins on an intriguingly idiosyncratic note before turning increasingly conventional, even sentimental. The title refers to a real-life Arizona ghost town that draws tourists looking for old-time Wild West thrills. Among its citizenry are Con and Doane, a male couple in their sixties, looking at their thirtieth anniversary. It is 1992, and the first sight of them, in costume at the "Northern Arizona Pride Alliance Annual Halloween Bloodsucker Ball," is priceless: Con, dressed in a black bear costume, is ready to pass out from the heat; Doane keeps cool in a sparkling mini-dress and a covert supply of martinis. Underneath this amusing image, however, discontent is brewing. "Do you ever wonder if we've been doing this whole homosexual thing correctly?" wonders Con. "Oh shit, I know," replies Doane, wearily. "You've been watching on TV that lady with the big red glasses."

Well, they're not quite ready for The Sally Jessy Raphael Show, but their relationship has seen better days, and Con thinks sexual experimentation might be the answer. But how to manage it? Con is a walking medical chart, with various health issues related to his problematic kidneys. Doane is more robust, but there's his acid reflux and "incurable" athlete's foot; in any case, their sex life is on hiatus, and Con is convinced that bringing a third into their bedroom might pep things up. Doane, demurring, says, "I'm telling you the truth, Connie: You're all that I need." "It doesn't mean I'm all that you want," Con replies.

Con and Doane are easy to like, even if they seem much older than their advertised ages. (You can tell Jerome is the work of a young writer from the way it depicts anyone in the sixty-five range as ready for the rocking chair.) Still, Con and Doane's relationship has the ring of truth, especially in its affectionate bickering. The trouble comes with the introduction of Bruin, a hunky fifty-year-old whom Doane recruits for a three-way romp. Admittedly, their introductory session isn't ideal, what with Con and Doane airing various age-related complaints (arrhythmia, bad legs, high cholesterol; who wouldn't be aroused?). But Bruin, an ex-Mormon who came out later in life -- he's a young and strapping fifty -- is hard to read, stripping to the waist and coming onto the guys but also taking time outs for mild panic attacks. Such mood swings would give anyone whiplash, but Con and Doane look right past them.

Their first bedroom session is so successful that Bruin moves in, gets a job in a local dive, and becomes a member of the family. But something is off: As Con's health declines -- soon, he is using a walker -- Bruin begins avoiding him, sneaking around with Doane for clandestine one-on-ones. Bruin, who declines to talk about his past, is also hitting the bottle hard. And what's with all those late-night phone calls to San Francisco?

There's an intriguing story rattling around in Jerome, but Caswell doesn't supply the details that would bring it to life. The Bruin-Con-Doane relationship never feels convincing. Why would Bruin, with his pronounced fear of mortality, attach himself to a pair of elders well-known in the local emergency room? (The sound of Con's timer, announcing the next dose of medicine, is enough to send Bruin into a funk.) And really, what do Con and Doane see in Bruin? In the play's scheme, Bruin must remain a virtual blank until an eleventh-hour fishing trip during which all sorts of secrets come tumbling out. His story, when revealed, is complicated enough for a play of its own; the rushed treatment it gets here doesn't satisfy.

By this point, it's clear that Con, who (rightly or wrongly) thinks his end is near, is busy teeing up Bruin as a replacement husband for Doane, a brazen move that only exacerbates the tensions among all three. (It's also a gesture right out of a vintage Hollywood women's picture; the cable service Jerome surely must include TCM.) With its remote setting and complicated backstory, Jerome is Caswell's semi-oblique comment on the psychological scars left by the AIDS epidemic, but if you lived through that era (or are well-versed in the dramatic literature about it), you may find this artificial skirmish about domestic arrangements to be surprisingly weak stuff. Jerome wants to evoke that world-historical nightmare, but is much too skittish about its ugly details.

The good part about Dustin Wills' production is the three fine performances at its heart. Stephen Spinella never lets a laugh line off the hook, and he lands some beauties here, including an out-of-left-field comment about Angela Lansbury that reliably brings down the house. He also unsparingly charts Con's physical decline, his rage at the idea of death coming knocking too soon. He spars beautifully with Jeorge Bennett Watson's Doane, whose amused tolerance and quiet generosity hint at decades of loving devotion. (Con and Doane's history, meeting in the military during the Korean War, followed by a separation of several years and a renewed commitment, is worthy of further examination.) Playing Bruin is an unenviable assignment -- well into the second act, one can't help thinking, who is this guy anyway? -- but Ken Barnett works hard to make sense of the character's conflicting impulses.

The weak parts of Wills' production include its uneven design. The director is also responsible for the set and, even if the script notes that Con and Doane's house is carved out of a cliffside, that's no reason to make it look like they're dwelling in a mineshaft. (The set does execute a couple of impressive transformations of a sort rarely seen at Playwrights Horizons.) This is another production too often staged in near or total darkness, but at least lighting designer Barbara Samuels manages some attractive silhouetted looks. Rodrigo Munoz's costumes are fine -- love that bear outfit! -- as is Leah Gelpe's sound, which includes some effective bowels-of-the-earth rumblings in an unnecessary dream sequence during which a panicked Bruin is chased around by Con, his chest covered with Kaposi's sarcoma lesions.

The latter scene underscores Caswell's penchant for externalizing his plays' conflicts with horror and science fiction tropes. (Man Cave, a thriller about immigration, unfolded in a potentially haunted house. In Wet Brain, also seen at Playwrights Horizon, the members of a dysfunctional family get blasted into outer space.) But the most telling parts of Jerome unfold in quiet, intimate moments. There's plenty of interesting material here, but it needs focusing and more probing treatment; the characters' pasts are often more compelling than their present.

You'd think that polyamory would be an ideal source of conflict, but this particular form of dramatic geometry continues to elude playwrights, even as it becomes a talking point in magazines, online forums, and newspaper style sections. (Arguably, the only playwright to crack the throuple code was Noel Coward with Design for Living, but that was a long, long time ago.) A forced happy finale in another tourist attraction (Cinque Terre, Italy) only adds to the play's aura of glossy unreality. Jerome is both a horror story and a fairytale of sorts, and neither aspect convinces; like Bruin, it too often shies away from ugly truths. --David Barbour