REVIEW: Octet (Studio Theatre)

In Sinosphere numerology, eight is considered one of the luckiest numbers. For example: the Chinese equivalent to Black Friday is August 8th, the Beijing Summer Olympics started on 8/8/08 (at 8:08:08pm local time, which is GMT+8), and every gambling ad from Hobart to Harbin has "88" plastered all over it. In Mandarin, it's roughly homophonous to the word for "wealth" (八 bā  / fā  發 ).  

So there's a sinister irony to its symbolism in Studio Theatre's production of Octet, Dave Malloy's a capella chamber musical making its DC debut this month. Instead of the auspiciousness of this number, we're forced to reckon with its negative consequences.  In computer science, a byte has eight bits--an octet-- and the logarithmic scaling of those over the last several decades has created a Monster beyond human control, to the point where the vertical swirls of the number 8 are more akin to a maelstrom of putrid reactionism than the infinite upward spiral of human achievement. Malloy seems to understand this more than anyone, and through this comprehension has crafted one of the most important musical pieces of the century; a near-perfect encapsulation of the nadir of techno-optimism that is executed with a thrilling in-the-round staging by artistic director David Muse.

Book/Music

Longtime readers already know how I feel about Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812, Dave Malloy's opus and best-known work. After premiering in 2013, it hit Broadway in 2016 and closed after about a year under dubious circumstances, but not before racking up 12 Tony nominations. (If you're not a longtime reader, then I'll keep it short: it's my favorite musical ever, and was fundamental in how I appreciate and critique the theatrical art form.)

But Comet wasn't for everyone. It was dense, maximalist, and characters literally have several different names. His other works, such as the ephemeral Ghost Quartet and still-in-progress Moby-Dick, are similarly complex, which work to varying degrees. The one thing Malloy does not seem to miss the mark on ever, though, is his subject matter, which are merely interesting (at worst) or downright mesmerizing (at best). Octet's bold swing tackles the modern scourge of the interne —err, “the monster” —and smartphone addiction through a metaphorical and often abstract lens; all set in a prototypical [Insert Addictive Substance Here] Anonymous meeting in a dingy church basement. Eight individuals have been convened at this weekly meeting through the invitation of one "Saul", an unnamed and unseen individual with no actual online presence to speak of. After opening with a group hymn, which hauntingly establishes the tone of the meeting, things kick off into an A Chorus Line-like form of group therapy, beginning with one member who’s in recovery after being cancelled online. Each member gets a song over the 100-minute runtime, and while each are as baroque as Malloy is always known to be, there is enough musical savoir-faire within each to distinguish, the genre diversity is sublime. Each of the addicts’ ailments are unique, too, and just as creatively written (Malloy also did the book). Think Candy Crush-afflicted sweet teeth, the glare of screens eroding married intimacy, and the appearance of a little girl who may or may not be (or may be) God. Of them, a number reviling the trauma of generations raised on shock and gore websites felt particularly poignant to me; it's easy to favorably compare Octet with Max Wolf Friedlich’s Job (2023), which is thematically congruent. There’s something new behind every corner of this piece, and it’s enthralling to the very end, which is a pointedly less sordid than one might expect. I have half a brain to see it one more time. Or potentially seven. 10/10

Acting

Eight roles, eight thrilling turns, with a healthy mix of talented locals and New York performers. The cast by-and-large is immensely charismatic and effusive in their roles, which is surprisingly most exemplified during the individual sharing numbers. While the soloists each shine to great degrees, pay attention to how the rest vocally ricochet into the echo chamber of recovery.  Malloy's vocal arrangements for the a cappella piece are incredible, and it is often indistinguishable when the dialogue ends and the songs begin. But of course there is the occasional group number, such as the raucously entertaining robotic mischief of "Fugue State", the midway point where a minute of meditation becomes a portal into the online psyche. It's always a pleasure to see Aidan Joyce (Toby), Tracy Lynn Olveira (Paula), and Angelo Harrington II (Henry) separately for their talents here in DC, but all three together is nothing short of a treat for the senses. The pop-punk intensity of Joyce's performance of "Actually" late in the show was a personal highlight, a breaking point for all the psychic damage the Monster inflicts upon the characters and the audience; and the subsequent anecdote of optimism from Amelia Aguilar's Velma is a great saccharine cure to offset the salt. 10/10

Production

For such a small space and a similarly small demeanor, it seems like it would be a challenge to not just sit back and let the piece speak for itself. But Muse expands the chambers to feel all-encompassing: an engrossing flood of inclusion and equitable digital victimhood. The octagonal set by Debra Booth features not one but two (!) nested revolves, used sparingly but succinctly, and the production design is just realistic enough to be inviting without entering theatrical facsimile territory. But it's Mary Louise Geiger's lighting designs that are the strongest storytelling aid, using brilliant techniques to simulate everything from the holy glow of corporeal ascension to an omnipotent Alexa. Still: if your visual interest isn't impressed enough from this alone, Ashleigh King's delightful choreography is detailed enough that you could watch this thing on mute and practically pick up every character detail (it doesn't hurt that the costumes by Moyenda Kulemeka are so well-designed for the characters.) 10/10

Viz

In keeping with the spirit of the show, this is one of those “phone pouch” productions. Refreshingly, it’s not due to any content that they’re keeping out of public eye, but to immerse you with the octet themselves. And immerse it does. There are eight-sided motifs all over the set, which itself is a homey, post-bingo scene in the church basement. The show even begins with the cast casually arriving to put their own phones in a lock box inconspicuously. No monsters allowed in this room, for sure. 10/10

Verdict

Octet is a revelatory achievement across the board: a can’t-miss event of sophisticated musical artistry, brought to life with a stellar cast and intelligent direction. 40/40