CSC production of ‘Dead Man’s Cell Phone’ drops the call
CSC Theatre’s production of Sarah Ruhl’s “Dead Man’s Cell Phone” plays like a call from one’s estranged mother, dropped just before she could reveal the meaning of life.
A dark comedy of conflicting emotions, “Cell Phone” spends half its time as a neo-luddite’s indictment of the alienating qualities of technology. And yet, if not for the dead man’s cell phone, the play’s encounters could not have happened.
Jean, played by Amanda Pintore, is at her quirky best, delivering deadpan silly lines and wearing Diane Keaton’s wardrobe from “Annie Hall.”
Gordon, played by John T. Bryan, III, is a loquacious businessman of dubious credibility whose suit and bowler hat recall surrealist painter René Magritte’s “Son of Man.”
A dipsomaniacal terror, Pam Junck-Wright’s Mrs. Gottlieb dominates her scenes, both in power of character and because she is dressed like her closet vomited up a random assortment of furs, skirts, and hats.
The other characters are a disjointed blundering blur around Jean’s all-too-kind fabrications about Gordon’s life.
Continuing the dropped call metaphor, intentionally or not, every deep philosophical exploration is demolished by some odd interruption, or abrupt change of direction.
When Jean reveals her desire to “remember everything, even other people’s memories” she gets a heartfelt reply from Gordon’s younger brother Dwight, played by the slightly out of sync Shannon Smay.
Dwight maunders on about “I love you” being meaningless when said over a phone. Then, out of left field he stammers, “I work at a stationery store.”
Adding to the production’s disjointed feel, the scenes were interspersed with music expressly chosen by Neidhardt to enhance the emotion of the scenes. However, while enjoyable, the songs came primarily from two artists whose lyrics only contributed in an abstract way.
And then, there was the dancing. I loved and hated it almost equally. The two ensemble pieces were clunky and awkward’ it was unclear what they were supposed to convey.
However, Jean and Dwight’s dance was a delight. The paper effects were great, and their intensity genuine. Here, the soundtrack fit perfectly.
Despite its titular importance, Gordon’s cell phone is little more than a plot device. The characters’ focus on it provides some interesting comments about dependence on technology, but their poignancy is lost in the long dull spots between the brilliance.
When a reverie joins Jean with Gordon in his own private hell, we learn that she was brought there because of an unacknowledged—and impossible—love for him.
All the while, I could not help paying far more attention to how flippantly insane everyone was. These matters are part of the writing’s own schizophrenia and have nothing to do with the cast’s portrayal. A better title for the play might be “The Social Anxiety of Strangers.”