Constance Congdon’s “Tales of the Lost Formicans” landed at Pear Avenue Theatre last weekend, giving new meaning to the term “abstract art.”
There just really isn’t a delicate way to put this: The show is a complete train wreck, from its incomprehensible script to Rebecca Ennals’ clumpy stage direction to the shrill way many of the actors feel they must yell to be heard inside the tiny black-box theater.
“Formicans” is Congdon’s rambling study of the “Are we alone in the universe” question. It is one of her most produced works. Why exactly that is, no one can say. Ninety-nine percent of the show makes absolutely no sense. That it goes on for two-and-a-half hours is simply painful.
Since “Formicans” is hard to follow, trying to describe the action is next to impossible. And if you are looking for guidance from Ennals’ director’s note, try this on:
“We may feel ‘lost,’ as if our lives are controlled by clueless aliens,” she writes, “but without pain, without love, we become alienated ourselves — on the outskirts of the universe, cold and alone.”
That’s all nice and dandy, but this isn’t English class. It would have been more helpful had Ennals laid off the poetry and just given us a synopsis of the play. We could have used it. Instead, the playbill plies us with a “glossary of useful terms,” as if we are too dumb to know what “aliens” and “nomads” are.
The first thing you’ll notice after taking your seat is a giant screen in the corner of the room. This is the biggest distraction of the production, and you’ll assume it’s going to be an integral part of the action. It’s not. But because the screen is lit up like the control panel of a space ship, with buttons and other data scrolling across it, you can’t help but stare at it throughout the show. Sadly, some of the images that flash across the screen are much more interesting than what’s happening on stage.
After a promising opening scene with a flashlight, a nerd, a bald guy and some funky sunglasses, the show goes downhill. As it turns out, the bald guy with the cool shades is the Chief Alien (Mike Reynolds), who spends the duration of the show as a sort of peeping Tom, watching a family of humans interact. To mix things up, Chief Alien also gives us a few lessons on the many uses of chairs, porn and pot.
The only redeeming part of this production is Troy Johnson, who plays Jerry, the only human character who doesn’t double as an alien. Playing the part of a tabloid-obsessed conspiracy theorist, Johnson is actually quite funny. But then, it also helps that a couple of aliens, at one point, unzip his fly and attempt to inflate his manliness with a dust buster.
Needless to say, this isn’t a PG-rated show.
Isn’t the whole point of community theater to make the public excited about the arts, rather than scare them away? Just because a play purports to be deeply philosophical doesn’t mean that it is. And the fact that Congdon’s script has been hailed by many critics as “the best new play in recent years” doesn’t mean that is is. (Turns out, it doesn even mean that it’s stageworthy.) Those critics should have their medication adjusted. More to the point, Pear Avenue Theatre’s producers should have known better.
INFORMATION:
What: Pear Avenue Theatre presents “Tales of the Lost Formicans” by Constance Congdon
Where: Pear Avenue Theatre, 1220 Pear Ave., Unit K
When: Thursdays through Saturdays at 8 p.m.; Sundays at 2 p.m.; show closes April 9
Cost: $15-$20
Contact: (650) 254-1148
