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Bash
ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER In viewing Neil LaBute's "Bash, the Latter-Day Plays" it might be easy to conclude that the playwright is having the last word on the Mormon church within which he was raised. But LaBute has stated that his reason for writing "Bash" was to show that evil "transcends all boundaries." If someone raised as a Mormon can commit despicable acts, what can we expect of everyone else? And "despicable" is the word for three of LaBute's four characters, although Oanh Nguyen's new staging at The Chance Theater in Anaheim Hills leaves plenty of room for us to feel less repugnance and more pity toward the folks on stage. In the play's three segments, LaBute's characters deliver monologues, speaking calmly and matter-of-factly about seemingly innocuous events in their lives, revealing their own dark actions only gradually. The first two segments are solo performances; the third offers two characters, one of whom innocently reveals an ugly side of his personality while the other is an unknowing bystander. Nguyen garners outstanding performances from all four of his young actors, and it's precisely because he creates more ambivalence - more moral shades of gray - that we're able to see more depth in LaBute's text. Jocelyn A. Brown imbues the first scene with exactly the right degree of fatalism, as a troubled young women obviously in a prison holding cell addressing, we presume, her attorney. The tale of hardship she spins is grittily depicted in language that's almost visually evocative. LaBute's scenario is richly laden with analogies and the symbolism of Greek tragedies (the piece's subtitle, "Medea Redux," may tip some off to its ending). Brown does a wonderful job of depicting the girl's fractured perception of reality as eerily typical in today's society, showing the girl's emotions only at crucial points in the story. In the second segment, Joseph Horn's character is also a Mormon - in this case relating his personal tale of woe to a stranger he has met in a bar at a Las Vegas hotel. The young man (Horn) tells his new acquaintance that he and his wife have finally begun to get over the death of their infant daughter the previous year. He also relates his recent career history and how he wound up working on the road for his company. It's only late in the monologue that we're let in on the connection between these two seemingly disparate story threads. Horn captures the young man's mixture of outer wholesomeness and inner panic, his near paranoia and his acute sense of self-preservation. He's convincing as one embittered in dealing with life's ironies, someone who truly believed he was helpless in making a life-changing decision. After throwing us one curve, LaBute also tosses in a "Twilight Zone"-like surprise twist to end the one-act. The third story follows John and Sue, a young Mormon
couple, juniors at Boston College, as they venture into New York City
with two other couples for a glamorous ball. John refers to the affair
as a "bash" - wry humor on LaBute's part, as later in the evening,
John and his pals take "bashing" literally when they assault
a gay man in Central Park. The graphic description of the murderous beating
is a stomach-churning account of gratuitous violence, fully realized by
Casey Long's portrayal of John as an alert, prideful, righteous young
preppy. Erika Ceporius is wholesome and elegant as Sue, sweetly oblivious
to John's deeds. She describes the same milestone evening in their lives
in glowing terms – a device that puts an extra spin of irony on the
proceedings.
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NORTHERN LIGHTS It's brutal, it's disturbing and it's compelling. "Bash," currently running at The Chance Theater in Anaheim Hills, is all that and more. Written by award-winning filmmaker Neil LaBute, "Bash" is a trio of one-acts, subtitled the "Laterday Plays." Controversial, since its 1999 New York Debut, "Bash" details the slim line between normalcy and the inconceivable leap into heinous acts of violence. The stories are quite different. The only common threads that link them together are the lengthy monologues, surprising brutality, and Mormonism. LaBute - himself a Mormon and graduate of Brigham Young University - said he wanted to show "the pervasiveness of evil, (and) how it transcends all boundaries." Even those seemingly less likely to be confronted with such things - for example Mormons - are just as susceptible. "If evil can affect the best people," LaBute explained. "It can affect any one." The first act has Jocelyn A. Brown, as a 28-year-old prisoner, putting the record straight on how she wound up behind bars. It's a sad - and all too familiar -story of lost innocence and ultimate revenge. In a riveting 40 minute monologue, Brown becomes the naive 13-year-old she once was, succumbing to flattery and a long-remembered first kiss. Unfortunately, it was from her teacher. Their lives will never be the same. The best written of the three acts, LaBute comes up with unusual twists in the tale, resulting in an unexpected and unsettling ending. Brown -eyes brimming with unreleased tears - was superb. She quite believably ranged from 13 to 28 and offered up the accurate halting delivery of a young teen, who almost knows the things she's been taught. Not for a second did we catch Brown "acting" the part. She was that troubled young girl. Her vulnerability was palpable and heartbreaking, which made the ultimate outcome of her story, even more disturbing. In the second act, Joseph Horn plays a Utah businessman on the road. Over drinks, he recounts his life, to a bar pick up, that he has brought back to his motel room. This is LaBute's weakest of the three acts. The storyline involving the death of a baby was brilliant, but was drawn out too long with the addition of a business subplot. Horn - who often reminds me of Dana Carvey as Jimmy Stewart - did an excellent job with the material, turning in another in a long line of strong performances. This twist ending, however, was inexplicable and didn't ring true. Also the set designer, Horn's use of chain link fencing, stuffed with trash, was stark, fresh and set the mood right from "lights up." The final act had Casey Long as a college-aged young man and the son of a Mormon minister. He and a group of friends were on their way to a party in New York City. His girlfriend, of six years, was played with sweet composure by Erika Ceporius. This was the most disturbing storyline of the evening, as the couple seemed to be the American ideal. In a black cocktail dress, accented with a diamond necklace and bracelet, Ceporius looked like she just stepped off the cover of Vogue Magazine. In a rumpled Tuxedo, Long looked like a frat boy, out for a big night on the town. It was a perfectly romantic setting, except for the "gay bashing" incident! That it happened was only slightly less repulsive than how quickly it was put aside. Ceporius' character was blissfully unaware of the "bash" and Longs' character - able to effectively compartmentalize the unthinkable - was Ricky Nelson gone terribly wrong. As actors, Long and Ceporius were solid, performing in a series of "he said/she said" monologues, alternately funny, touching and frightening. Meticulously directed by Oanh Nguyen, "Bash"
is heavy thought-provoking material. "It's hard to sell out the house,
with a hard hitting show like this," Nguyen stated. "If you
liked it, tell your friends it's a comedy, with lots of music!" OK,
Oanh... It's brutal, disturbing and compelling and it's -"King's
X" - "a comedy, with lot of music." In other words, it's
a controversial show, excellently presented, and I liked it a lot!
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AOL DIGITAL CITY Looking for a breezy, escapist night at the theater?
Well, stay far away from Neil LaBute's uncompromising 'Bash,' which, despite
a few laughs sprinkled in the mix, takes the titular verb and uses it
to assault the audience's collective psyche. The ultimate tragedy or horror
in these three one-act plays takes some time to develop, but by the time
the lights go out, their pain is undeniable. LaBute's film resume includes
provocative pieces like 'In the Company of Men' and 'Your Friends and
Neighbors,' and even in his seemingly lighter work such as 'Nurse Betty,'
the dark undercurrent is never far from the surface. Chance veteran Oanh
Nguyen directs a cast featuring Joseph Horn and Erika Ceporius in roles
originated by Paul Rudd and Calista Flockhart.
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