Many writers have examined tensions in the Middle East, a particularly thorny issue. Playwright Monica Raymond does so with a poetic eye in her new work, The Owl Girl. Taking the conflict to an absurdist extreme, she distills the historic schism down to two families — one Arab and one Israeli — and places them in the same dwelling. Both can reasonably claim ownership of the home. Zol and Leedya were raising their teenagers, Joze and Anja, in the house when they were all sent to a camp in the West Bank. Rav and Ora then purchased the property for their family, which includes daughter Stel and young son Capi.
Stel still feels the spirits of the other children in her room, where she chooses to keep two marks on the wall that indicate Joze and Anja’s heights at the time they were forced to leave. Meanwhile in the camp, Joze has also started to feel a draw, eventually convincing his father to give him the key to the old front door so he can visit one last time. He happens to choose a night when Stel is home alone and the two form an instant connection. Stel invites Joze to come back, but when he does, his parents and sister follow. Rav, Ora, and Capi return, and the eight decide to share the space as a cultural experiment.
Yaara Shilony and Julian Alexander as Stel and Joze in The Owl Girl
Raymond employs a number of metaphors to make her points about battles ideological, cultural, and territorial. The most graphic of these symbols is the Owl Girl of the title. Anja stopped developing at the age of 13, literally stunted by losing her place in the world. Stuck in exile, she fell under the spell of her rage-filled grandmother. Since Anja hasn’t matured into a woman, she tries on a number of animal personas, settling on the owl. These birds represent power and destruction in her culture, but also possess vision and insight. Returned to her rightful station, she not only starts menstruating, but swoops about the house, eventually sprouting literal wings in order to gain a better vantage point.
Ms. Raymond has been developing this piece for 15 years, and some sections flow with the passion she obviously feels for her subject. Her understanding of the thin line that can exist between enemies is well articulated, at one point represented by a literal string running down the kitchen. Her use of magic helps her reveal emotions that can be difficult to articulate. But she defuses her message by adding too many layers. There are aggressive chess matches, a hellish hidden room, and a jar of mysterious ointment. Then in the middle of the second act, Raymond introduces a subplot involving the lust Rav feels for Anja. Eventually, like a child’s painting, the metaphors are so thick that they turn muddy.
The Owl Girl is presented by THML, a majority female-run theatre company that promotes stories by and about women. It is therefore unsurprising that the exchanges that have the most rhythm are the ones between the two mothers. They share a frustration with their sexists husbands and are both raising challenging younger children. Ora and Leedya bond as almost any two women will eventually do, finding common ground and poking a little fun at their differences. Director Bryan Raanan Kearney who plays Ora has good timing and provides some comic relief. The other relationships don’t work at least in part because many of the actors are miscast. One in particular is the wrong age and ethnicity and has not gained mastery over an unnecessary accent. The exception is Julian Alexander, who brings a delightful softness and sense of wonder to Joze.
Having received awards from the Castillo Theater, Peacewriting, Portland (Maine) Stage, and the Jewish Plays Project, The Owl Girl is a promising work that still needs to find a clear voice. It is playing through March 20 at The Center at West Park, upstairs in the Balcony Theater. Tickets are $30 and can be purchased at https://www.eventbrite.com/e/the-owl-girl-tickets-53977563345.
The Cake
The Cake is like one of those imperfectly filled jelly donuts: a few sweet spot surrounded by too much bland. At a time when we could use serious conversation and considered insight into the critical issues that divide us as a nation, this comedy by This Is Us producer Bekah Brunstetter offers too little that is satisfying. Though it concludes with some timid steps towards a “love is love is love” message, it gets there via worn out arguments on both sides of the issue of gay marriage.
Fans of That 70s Show may delight in seeing Debra Jo Rupp as Della, the owner of a sweet shop in Winston-Salem North Carolina (Brunstetter’s home town) about to find fame on a national baking show. Her opening monologue cleverly lays the groundwork for the rigid discipline Della applies to all areas of her life. Soon after, she is reunited with Jen, her deceased best friend’s daughter, who is in town preparing for her October wedding. Initially Della is thrilled when asked to provide the wedding cake. But when she discovers Jen’s intended is another bride, she clumsily rescinds the offer. Their ensuing awkward discussion leaves both Della and Jen rattled and searching for the roots of their beliefs and accompanying feelings of shame.
Director Lynne Meadows does her best with a space that is too wide for a story this intimate. Rupp is her usual perky self, delivering most of the better lines with comic flair. To some ears, Della will simply come across as a bigot (though a chirpy petite one) who uses someone else’s pleasure and pain to mend her own relationship. But there are moments when Della’s turmoil feels genuine. Rupp is most grounded in her scenes with Dan Daily, who has the most joyful character arc in the role of her domineering husband, Tim. (Daily also provides the voice of the appropriately oily George, the host of the American Baking Show who functions as Della’s conscience.)
Rupp and Angelson in The Cake. Photo by Joan Marcus.
The relationship of the lesbian couple is more problematic. Disappointingly, though the words are often there — particularly in Jen’s vivid and horrifying description of her heterosexual encounters — there is no palpable connection between the two actresses. The fresh-faced Genevieve Angelson brings a sweet restlessness to Jen as she is tossed between the realms of her conservative childhood and newly found freedom discovered in New York. As her betrothed, Marinda Anderson gives Macy some well-earned rough edges, though the script occasionally requires her to speechify. But as a couple, they never seem to click.
The overall look of the piece is spot-on. Scenic designer John Lee Beatty has chosen candy colors to surround his baker, with mint green and strawberry cream pink swirling through her shop and home. In contrast, the engaged couple is staying in the only earth toned room on the set. Wardrobe by costume designer Tom Broecker follows a similar scheme, with Jen alternating palates. Philip S. Rosenberg’s ’s lighting sharpens the intensity of Della’s inner dialogue and softens the conversations between lovers.
With The Cake, Ms. Brunstetter has tried to make the point that recent cultural shifts have occurred too quickly for some goodhearted people to catch up. The irony is that since the time the play was first produced, those same shifts have given rise to a slate of superior projects with bolder things to say. From our current cultural vantage point, this work is a disappointing use of Rupp’s comedic talent as well as a waste of several delectable-looking cakes.
The Cake is playing through March 31 at MTC at New York City Center – Stage I. Theater-goers under 30 qualify for special $35 tickets. Full priced tickets begin at $89 and can be purchased online at www.nycitycenter.org, by calling CityTix at 212-581-1212, or by visiting the New York City Center box office (131 West 55th Street).