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Requiem, through April 6 at Cleveland Public Theatre
Death is a bitch. It is everywhere—often on our minds and certainly in the works of many playwrights. The only good part is that, once it finally happens to us, we will be able to stop thinking about it. At least, we hope so.
Until then, we have a galaxy of plays dealing with our collective dirt naps, including Requiem by Hanoch Levin, now at Cleveland Public Theatre. In this 90-minute show by Levin, who was a leading light in Israeli theater for many years, death is mulled over from multiple directions.
Based on three short stories by Anton Chekhov, and under the thoughtful direction of Raymond Bobgan, it creates a rich, consistent tone with many humorous jabs and feints. But by keeping the energy and performance invention at a low ebb, other theatrical opportunities are set aside.
There is a good deal of edgy wit and truth-telling in the script, the last play written by Levin after he received notice of his impending death. It begins with The Old Man nagging at his wife about her constant wheezing as she does her daily chores. Meanwhile, he is contemplating his sad lot as a coffin-maker in Poopka, a town so small it can't provide a steady supply of dead people and the rich lifestyle he'd prefer.
As he says, "There were a few old people around, but they hardly ever died, stingily, out of spite. Barely any wars. Not even any plagues worth mentioning. Everyone was...hanging onto life like barnacles." That's some dark and funny stuff.
Beginning in satire and ending in the surreal, Requiem delights in tossing various ideas and end-of-life scenarios into the air. In addition to The Old Man and the apparently dying Old Woman (Venetia Whatley), there is a Mother (Yuval Tal) whose dying baby she carries with her, and a sleigh driver (Hosea Billingsley) whose son died in the recent past.
As they lament their fates and learn to accept their lot, Levin continues poking fun at them along with other people, such as prostitutes, drunks, and the world's worst Medic (an oddly spaced-out Eric Wloszek) who prescribes the same treatment for anyone visiting his clinic with serious ailments—damp compresses and unnamed powders.
This comedic take on death is intended to be both a physical and spiritual journey. Director Bobgan focuses on the spiritual, which is fine and results in some poignant moments. But the physical joy of life, embodied by the whores and drunks, is muted. Those folks are basically trapped on board a troika, which bounces along as they remain motionless inside, which is neither realistic nor particularly engaging.
In the central role of The Old Man, Peter Lawson Jones strikes a mellow mood, never erupting in anger or frustration, and avoiding outward expressions of fiendish joy when he dreams of the net profit death could provide. By not taking risks with this character, Bobgan and Jones leave the play without a vital, pulsing hub around which the other characters can orbit.
The two prostitutes—Kat Shy and Corin B. Self—display some moxie and provide some much-needed juice to the proceedings. But they are seldom heard and barely seen, which is mostly true for the rest of the ensemble.
The scenic design by Cameron Caley Michalak is also a mixed blessing. There are leafy bunches of branches that are carried and deposited in different places, along with falling leaves and snow shaken out of long poles that create a lovely aura. But the stage is dominated by a turntable which is not required by the script and is over-used throughout the play. It is pushed around so frequently it's as if they were getting a bonus every time it completed one more revolution.
This is the first time Requiem has been performed in the U.S., which seems odd since it has such wonderful potential and has been performed in much of the rest of the world. There are rich veins of ideas relating to life and death in this material. And while this CPT production delivers part of it, the sum total is blander and less involving than it might be.
Requiem
Through April 6 at Cleveland Public Theatre, 6415 Detroit Avenue, cptonline.org, 216-631-2727.
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