Paulanne Simmons
Dead Man's Phone Tells Tales in "Dead Man's Cell Phone"
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| Mary-Louise Parker. Photo by Joan Marcus |
"Dead Man's Cell Phone"
Directed by Anne Bogart
Playwright's Horizons
416 West 42nd Street
From Feb. 9, 2008
Tues. thru Fri. 8 p.m., Sat. 2:30 & 8 p.m., Sun. 2:30 & 7:30 p.m.
Tickets: (212) 279-4200 or www.playwrightshorizons.org
Closes March 25, 2008
Reviewed by Paulanne Simmons Feb. 28, 2008
Sarah Ruhl's new play, "Dead Man's Cell Phone," covers much of the territory so dear to contemporary playwrights: the failure of communication, the fragility of love, the traumatic nature of familial relationships. But it does all this with an originality and eccentric humor that should make critics and audiences alike sit up and take notice.
In the first place, the central figure in the play, a man named Gordon (T. Ryder Smith), is discovered to be dead in the first few minutes of Act I. The person who discovers him is a young lady, Jean (Mary-Louise Parker), who is sitting diagonally across from him in an otherwise empty café.
Her discovery is prompted by the incessant ringing of Gordon's unanswered cell phone, and it is the cell phone which draws the mousy, sexless Jean into Gordon's life. Jean meets his overbearing mother (the wonderful Kathleen Chalfant), his wife, Hermia (the enigmatic Kelly Maurer), his mistress (the equally enigmatic Carla Harting) and his nebbish brother Dwight (David Aaron Baker).
Despite mounting evidence that Gordon may not be a very nice person, Jean keeps concocting stories and quotes designed to make Gordon's nearest and dearest believe that the departed was a better and more caring person than they had imagined.
It is the utterly ridiculous nature of Jean's relationship to a dead man that becomes the source of much of the comedy in "Dead Man's Cell Phone." "I'll stay with you as long as you need me," she tells the corps. "I only knew him for a short time, but I think I love him in a way," she announces at one point.
Just as the play makes fun of love and relationships it also takes a stab at religion (when Gordon's mother calls for a hymn, the choir sings Rodgers and Hammerstein's "When You Walk Through a Storm"), and theatrical and literary genres (at various times the play parodies the detective novel and film, the romance and fantasy).
Ruhl also has a lot of fun with both high and low culture. Gordon's mother, a wealthy dowager, has set place cards for a dinner with four people. But she's right on when, complaining about cell phones, she asks, "Is there no privacy?" "Is there no dignity?"
The second half of "Dead Man's Cell Phone" lacks much of the sparkle of Act I. Even Anne Bogart's deft direction, which keeps the play moving quickly, with the aid of sliding doors and descending light fixtures, cannot save the play from becoming something of a disappointment. Gordon reappears, and this reviewer, for one, thought he should have stayed quietly dead. Smith is appropriately nasty and cynical. But the character is much more effective as something of a mystery than an actual man.
Perhaps Ruhl began to take herself too seriously. Or maybe
she just worked herself into a hole her screwball characters wouldn't
let her climb out of. Still, there are many electric moments in "Dead
Man's Cell Phone." It's unlikely most people in the audience won't
want to stay connected until the very end.
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