Pack a bag full of whimsey and climb aboard Bonnie’s Last Flight. This imaginative new play by the prolific Eliza Bent is taking off at Next Door at NYTW. Your experience of the extended metaphor begins as soon as you receive your confirmation from the theater. First class passengers are allowed to enter first and receive pre-performance wine and snacks. (Though bibs on the back designate them as First Class, Comfort Plus or Economy, all the chairs are the same and there are no bad seats in the house.) Upon entering, you are immersed in a representation of a cabin surrounded by oval windows and Virgin inspired overhead lighting. Leg room is generous, though there is a limit of one carry-on per person.
Despite the title, the head of your crew is Jan. Thirty-one years ago during the rise of feminism, the then sexually naive teen found herself pregnant and alone. She chose to carry the child to term. Though she gave her daughter up for adoption, the chapter derailed her lifelong ambition to become a writer. Taking a job as a “waitress of the skies” she continues to jot down ideas between trips down the aisle to serve brownies. Her inspiration is a manic Mark Twain who is almost always by her side. Recently accepted into a renowned Chicago based writing program, she’s finally hanging up her wings to follow her abandoned dream.
Jan’s story is one of many we learn during our fictional flight to Chicago and it is by far the most linear. The remainder of Ms. Bent’s script includes several personal episodes told by the rest of the crew as if glimpsed through cloud cover. Jan’s counterpart is the well-meaning, high-energy and somewhat dimwitted LeeAnne who is also struggling to course-correct her life. Rounding out the cabin team is Jan’s devoted longtime colleague Greig, moved by items he finds left in seat back pockets and under seats. Up in the cockpit is Tony, whose obviously lack of fitness to fly is one of the play’s plot holes. His calling his co-pilot Erik “Jesus” is a running joke. The troupe also portray other characters from the past. To reveal more about the titular Bonnie would be a small spoiler, but she too is on board.

Ceci Fernandez in Bonnie’s Last Flight. Photo by Shun Takino.
In the elegant and graceful body of Barbara Walsh, Jan is a marvelous character, surprisingly well rounded and deeply sympathetic given the short amount of time we get to spend with her. Greig Sargeant’s Greig isn’t given as much depth, but he acts as a sweet partner and balances Ceci Fernandez’s frantic and funny LeeAnne. While those three are tonally in sync, the others seem to have stumbled in from a much more farcical piece. The cockpit duo played by Sam Breslin Wright and Federico Rodriguez veers firmly into stock character territory. Playwright Eliza Bent’s own clown-like Twain nearly pulls the piece over the slapstick edge, though this is apparently integral to her vision for the work.
Director Annie Tippe cleverly choreographs the motion using the confined space defined by airplane body, aisles and jump-seats. A good portion of the runtime is devoted to skits and business including clips of inflight movies. This necessitates looking from side to side like a tennis match and occasionally completely turning around to see a curtained area behind you. A few times, an unwitting “passenger” is included in the action. Scenic design by Meredith Ries and costumes by Heather McDevitt Barton make the best of a small budget. Small overhead monitors expand the performance space and creative wigs and accessories make for quick changes. The live action is supplemented by videos by David Pym and sound by John Gasper, which in previews had some technical glitches. (For anyone who has tried to use Go-Go inflight wireless, this is not out of step with the rest of the gag.)
With tickets starting at $25, Bonnie’s Last Flight is a pleasant diversion, delivering some great fun and mild food for thought. Can we lose our emotional baggage as easily as a major carrier sends the suitcase clearly marked for Rome to its hub in Abu Dhabi? It is playing through March 2 as part of Next Door at NYTW, 83 4th Street near 2nd Avenue. Tickets are available online at NYTW.org, by phone at 212-460-5475, or in-person at the NYTW Box Office. Be warned that similar to a real flight, it will be impossible to leave before reaching the final destination.








Blue Ridge
Alison only knows one way of being. All waving arms and defensive language, she’s a fast talker in all the meanings of that phrase. Having been incarcerated for taking a hatchet to her lover’s car, she’s been released into the loving care of a church-sponsored sober house in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Western North Carolina. We meet her at her very first group session where she recites Carrie Underwood lyrics instead of the bible passage she’s supposed to have prepared. Within minutes she’s telling the circle why she’s not really responsible for her crime and emphasizing that, having never done drugs, she doesn’t have need of any one of the twelve steps.
Anyone who has experience with someone in recovery will know exactly how this story is going to unfold. That’s the essential problem with Blue Ridge, now playing at the Atlantic Theater Company’s Linda Gross Theater. While Abby Rosebrock’s script is beautifully written with textured dialogue, it doesn’t have anything new to say about mental health, boundary issues, or the powers of addiction in its many forms. Only those who find a new path have a real prayer of moving on intact enough to survive in the outside world.
From lower left: Peter Mark Kendall, Chris Stack, Kyle Beltran, Kristolyn Lloyd, Nicole Lewis and Marin Ireland in Blue Ridge. Photo by Ahron R. Foster.
In the hands and body of stage steady Marin Ireland, Alison is particularly irksome. Her constant shrillness and twitching makes it hard to believe anyone in this substitute family would warm to her. This is especially true of her devoted roommate Cherie, played with deep sincerity by the excellent Kristolyn Lloyd. The male housemates’ reactions come from two diametrically opposed yet equally predictable directions. Peter Mark Kendall brings genuine vulnerability to the easily beguiled Cole while the endlessly watchable Kyle Beltran’s Wade creates friction in his struggle to find inner strength. The program’s co-founders are equally ill-equipped to lead everyone safely through a troubled journey. Pastor Hern (a smooth Chris Stack) weakly attempts to guide the housemates in a more mindful direction, and Nicole Lewis’s insufficiently defined Grace generally lives up to her name by simply finding the good in what comes naturally to each of her residents.
Director Taibi Magar successfully explores the shifting mood as the house moves from warm community to too close for comfort. Confrontations have a palpable and fiery emotional core. Her pacing is off, though, with the play running nearly 15 minutes over the prescribed two hours on Thursday night. Mikaal Sulaiman provides the intelligently curated soundtrack for both conflict and healing. Unfortunately, some of the other design choices are distracting. Why is the ten year old furniture of Adam Rigg’s set in a palate associated with the late 70s? Why does Amith Chandrashaker’s lighting incorporate an incongruous brilliant December sunshine streaming through the window and ugly fluorescent overheads that play a supporting role for just a few minutes? Why, while indicating the passage of time through Thanksgiving throws and a Rudolf mantlepiece, do we need to break the story’s flow and see each item put in place by the glow of a proscenium of LEDs?
Taken as a whole, this production of Blue Ridge is flawed and consequently frustrating. Writer Rosebrock has obvious talent, but her storytelling has not yet been brought into focus. However, if you are fascinated by the ways in which broken people can either fit together with or puncture those around them, you may find enough with which to engage. This limited run is scheduled through Sunday, January 27th. Regular tickets begin at $65 and can be purchased online at atlantictheater.org, by calling OvationTix at 866-811-4111, or in person at the Linda Gross Theater box office (336 West 20th Street between 8th and 9th Avenues).