REVIEW: The Figs (Rorschach Theatre)
Finally! I’m at long last checking out something from the spiritual wanderers of DC theatre, Rorschach Theatre (I’m still mad I missed The Human Museum). It seems like every time I hear about them, it’s because they’re putting on some quirky, uniquely-staged fantasy that sounds like it barely makes sense; but the things I’m hearing are nothing but positive.
And, finally, I see why! The Figs — though closed as of this writing (I caught the final performance)— is a spritzy fairy tale that is bursting at the seams with imaginative storytelling and creative direction.
Book
In some far-off storybook land, there’s a king. This king really loves figs. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to get them: plundering, pillaging, pirating, plucking, you name it. Before long, he swears off the whole “violence” thing at the behest of his squire; but only after he’s eradicated the syrupy fruit from his dominion. His solution? Pawn off the hand of his daughter, Sadie, to whomever brings him some of the good stuff. Meanwhile, a lowly fig farmer June and his sassy swan struggle to maintain order as the sole caretaker of his two unruly siblings, and Sadie has dreams of her own that do not involve being pawned off to some rando. Through all of this, a Storyteller whisks the audience between scenes with the snap of a finger (while also playing double triple multiple duty as a variety of supporting roles). Doug Robinson’s book is dreamlike, not in the sense of floaty whimsy (though there’s plenty), but in the sense that all of these elements maintaining a strong streak of absurdity that the characters, like one’s asleep persona, just kind of rolls with it. But this isn’t a shortcoming, in fact far from it. This good-spirited silliness is what keeps everything together, as the plot delves further into the magic of the world by the end. The characters are impressively consistent and well-written, walking the tightrope of believability versus fantasy, and even side characters maintain deep relevance that linger long after their final line. Even through all of the shape-shifting waterfowl, fish with pockets, alcoholic bears, mystical tinkerers, non-tipping demonic entities, and an abrupt setting change to the current-day, The Figs is a narrative ride of such unserious personhood that it was outright refreshing; a book that fully lets go of the expectations of not only the tropes of fantasy, but of the “breaking” of those tropes, too. 10/10
Acting
The production is delightfully acted and smartly cast, especially among those with multiple roles (I’ll get to those). The Storyteller at the final performance wasn’t the usual Mollie Greenberg, but the understudy Daniel Brody; and honestly, if you’d told me they were the principal, I’d believe you. Brody is devilishly cheeky, sly with all their snaps and interjections, which teeters the character on an axis of unreliability. Robert Pike is childishly ferocious as the fig-obsessed king, and Lisette Gabrielle serves as a collected, cloudy foil to his energy— and her chemistry with Katrina Clark’s Lorna was effortless. June, the protagonist, is played with a rugged carefulness by Arika Thames, showing an empathetic, hunky-dory masculinity that makes it so easy to attach oneself to (plus, nearly all of their scenes involve the hilarious “honks” of Rebecca Husk’s Swan.) Abel Haddish and Charlotte Kim serve as the multi-hatted wildcards for the remaining roles, which range from goofy and disposable soldiers to jovial aquatic jesters to (especially in Haddish’s case) a hauntingly dejected embodiment of Death. Their range as performers was surprisingly refined given the roles, and only added to the quality of this ensemble. 10/10
Production
An abandoned retail space next to Farragut North metro isn’t what one would call “fantastical”. But I don’t think director Randy Baker, nor the brilliance of set designer August Henney, care about that. Interestingly, the play does not begin where it ends; while you’re waiting around in the lobby, the Storytelling suddenly arrives to bring everyone together for a story introducing the plot and stakes. It’s here the ideas of a false reality enter the fray, as it takes almost a Brechtian form as you’re led to a new set, down below the lobby — and how you get there depends on your program color, since it dictates which character to follow. This directoral choice was excellent, an easy way of promoting video game-like replayability. Once in the “dungeon” of sorts, the play is split in half by a giant, well-detailed fig tree. On one side, a bar, the other a screen and some chairs. It’s not superfluous, but also never feeling cheap. This especially comes into play with said screen, which doubles as a shadow puppetry venue that was yet another exciting design element. As the audience is split diametrically, I did have concerns about the giant tree in the middle, but Baker never has the audience feeling like they’re missing something. Aesthetically, there’s a lot to enjoy: Cody Von Ruden’s weathered costumes are all stuffed with personality, my favorite being the Swan’s very, er, swan-like dressing (the glasses were a great touch). Michael Winch deserves particular praise for his sound designs, too, from the reverberating snaps to the kerplunks of fish, there’s a lot of texture in the sound effects that bring the storybook feelings home. 10/10
Viz
“What if everything turns out alright?”
That’s what the show asks as attendees approach the venue from the south. It feels like the kind of optimism we need, though perhaps a little softer than how much of the show goes. Still, there’s a tree adjacent to it, and the title of the show is pretty direct. Now, the lobby area where the action begins is utterly non-descript for the setting and atmosphere of the show, but what it succeeds in is its colorfully disjointed attitude towards the space itself, which in a way, is exactly how the production plays out. 9/10
Verdict
The Figs is a mosaic of ideas, dreams, tropes, and aesthetics that rejects “shoulds” and embraces “coulds”, and does so with effusive direction and a stellar ensemble. 39/40
