If anything, "bobrauschenbergamerica" - which opened last Thursday at Leeds Theatre with select performances earmarked for next weekend - will be received by the skeptics among us as prime evidence that, given a chance to traverse Brown's main stage in even the most tacky, alienating and derivative emblems of pseudo-profound, performative Rococo, the average Brown theater major will fall all over himself to get his name on the playbill.
The title says it all. A rhapsody on themes of Americana, the play attempts to recreate on stage the "junk art" techniques employed by Robert Rauschenberg, an artist whose giant hodgepodges of silkscreen and mundane artifacts like tires and bed frames became popular in the 1950s and 60s. A one-word, showily chic melding of name and country, the title was chosen by playwright Charles Mee to signify the collapsing boundaries between artist and subject.
What comes out of this idea is a nonlinear medley of theatrical vignettes, staged to demonstrate the notion that "there is art to be found in everything" and, less formally, to prove that a play can, in fact, still be interesting even if it lacks any semblance of a story. Of course, such intentions would be captivating if they weren't so damned unoriginal. From the looks of things, one might assume Mee's hack-job to be some product of the 1960s, when performance art was in vogue and George Maciunas was busy founding Fluxus.
Like his predecessors, Mee organizes his play scene-by-scene, each depicting a diverse element of the human experience. A mother (Aja Nisenson '07) gazes lovingly at family portraits projected upon a hanging tablecloth; a romantically confused woman (Farra Ungar '06) launches into a diatribe about the emotional differences between men and women through a mouthful of cake; a homosexual (Colin Baker '08) gasps and sobs for a ponderous four and a half minutes over the random murder of his partner (Kurt Roediger '07).
Unlike his predecessors, however, the playwright assembled this hyperbolic nonsense just a few years ago - 30 years after the swinging avant-gardes had mobilized toward something new. By the time the ensemble is hauled out on stage for a bafflingly awkward attempt at line dancing - "No one line dances to the frickin' Dixie Chicks!" a peeved spectator was overheard whispering to her date - it becomes painfully clear that instead of a nostalgic look at the 1960s' creative output, the play is really just a wannabe output of the 1960s.
In his program notes, Director Stephen Buescher, a visiting professor from the Brown/Trinity Repertory consortium, cited the "dynamic pull between what is in the air and what is on the ground" as one of the main themes he tried to bring to his staging. If this were to be taken as his sole mission, Buescher might have crafted a production of some depth. "Bobrauschenberg" puts the Leeds stage to good use with a collage of action, placed on several makeshift planes above the ground.
Also to its credit, this bric-a-brac performance has profited from a company of talent behind the scenes. With costumes ranging from the shimmery to the absurd - an impertinent chicken, its tail feathers cut from a tutu and comb from a red glove, is made visually interesting - Theatre, Speech and Dance designer Phillip Contic has once again proven his expertise. The partnership of the department's set and lighting designers, Michael McGarty and Tim Hett, has yielded a few delightfully imaginative results as well.
Aiding Buescher in his quest for theatrical bootlegging, the play's cast is disappointing - though this may not be entirely its fault. Of the show's veteran actors, many have shown subtlety onstage in past productions, and yet here, the director seems to have made hammy scenery chewing a top priority in rehearsal. As Phil's Girl and Phil the Trucker, Leta Hirschmann-Levy '08 and Christian Luening '05 overact through a romantic scene that is sure to entertain - once the two actors start rekindling the same sly comic irony they have brought to other roles.
Meanwhile, Alex Clifford '06, devilishly funny in "Cannibal! The Musical," is left to flounder as Pizza Delivery Boy, a tongue-in-cheek bit part with lines that might be darkly comic if he were directed to play them as such. Having stabbed his sister "30 times," the character is now looking for the man who ordered a pizza - "I don't go around picking up pizzas if nobody ordered one," he says absurdly. The contrast between his sinister past and current focus on food is key to delivering the role. But as played, it feels like a joke without a punch line.
With all this working against it, what will save the play from its detractors? Here, an answer might be inferred from a monologue delivered by actor Roedinger halfway through the second act. Speaking out of character about its origins, he recalls that the play really came about in defense of artistic freedom. After all, one could look at a work of art and declare, "That's a piece of junk." But despite his play's impulsive, tossed together appearance, he observes that spectators "don't really hold it against the show."
Though this is probably no more than Mee's weak attempt at shielding his own work from the criticism it deserves, it might serve to buttress another agenda as well. For regardless of its nonjudgmental take on art, the show will never admit to robbing the audience of its own freedom to judge.
