A wrought iron railing incorporating bicycle parts leads up to the raked house of the adorable Hudson Theatre, where there lies its little, but mighty open proscenium stage. Precious, sometimes jazzy flute music, sounding like the theme to a candy store, by composers Ben Phelps and John Nobori, plays before curtain. Based on an original concept by Rogue Artists' Sean T. Cawelti, he cowrote the script with Katie Polebaum, et al, about a (literal, figurative, and otherwise) nuclear family, headed by Mr. Rogers (Guy Birtwhistle), who works for the pharmaceutical company Conservation Corporation. Not only is their house tract, their entire lives are. The family members are so perfect and well-oiled, they quite possibly poop rose pedals, and, if they don’t, there is probably a prescription they shamefully take for this condition. Part of the peroxide blonde Mrs. Rogers’ (Nina Silver) duties as wife and mother is to manage the family pill popping with a Stepford stare, especially during emergencies. The kids burst with energy and speak in sing-songy unison. The argyle-vested Dick (Michael Allen Scott) is ever eager to please, and the less capable Jane (Taylor Coffman) perks up and repeats her name whenever addressed by her moniker.
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| Michael Scott Allen, Guy Birtwhistle, Taylor Coffman |
The characters don’t live their lives, but go through the motions in spite of themselves, not knowing what they’re feeling and why. The mother conducts her day akin to Audrey’s I’s fantasy “Somewhere That’s Green” in Little Shop of Horrors, winking at a dinner plate she dries off with a few non-contacting rubs of her hand. Between their highly questionable home-schooling lessons (Jane provides a soundtrack to the proceedings with a music box), they take fake-tanning breaks with a kind of yoga-like reverence.
Though the setting and attitude is 1950s, the walking advertisements that the Rogers family signify are very current. It’s never certain when Dog takes place, but its mystical timelessness is part of the point. The set and costumes may be post-WWII, but the commercially-owned mindset of today (and perhaps the future) is more pervasive than anything. The mixture of technology creates a non-descript era where the father may use dial-up internet, but it wirelessly communicates with what a appears to be an iPad (if I have that correct).
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| Nina Silver, Taylor Coffman |
In a possibly risky move to keep old myths alive, the father tells his children the tale of previously existing animals (humorously pronounced by Mrs. Rogers as AHN-eh-mals), in a style referencing Plato’s Cave. It awakens a primal instinct in the children, which contrasts their relatively unnatural existence. Once the zebra is let out of the bag, the son begins to develop a Truman Show-like curiosity. Mr. Rogers’ has an extremely tenuous hold on keeping everything together but sometimes “a blue” can’t “undo,” in regards to a pill that is supposed to solve anything. Air vent creatures are soon introduced, which sound like the critters from Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark. Yet, when the visitors emerge (care of Heidi Hilliker and Ben Messmer) like some kind of materialized Day of Reckoning out of The Monkey’s Paw, the audience is treated to some unexpected thrills. With their heavy breathing and ominous presence, the production seamlessly marries traditional straight theatre with puppetry.
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| Guy Birtwhistle |
With a live-studio introduction of the Rogers family (the entire cast is exceptional) at the beginning, this is the first play I’ve ever seen offering closing credits. Several commercial breaks in the story occur hawking the brands of Maxwell House, Betty Crocker, and Aunt Jemima Syrup. Video is projected onto Polebaum’s beautiful monochromatic-blue kitchen. The excessive lighting cues run rampant at first with occasionally ill-measured basic spotlighting becoming casualties of the production’s otherwise stunning and quaint visual effects—more outstanding than most film CGI these days. The window above the sink not only denotes the time of day with a fake view of their backyard, but the entire mood of the household circumstances.
Dog continues to have some ambiguous fun with some seemingly simulated production choices like pretending to pour coffee and pulling meals out of what is probably a less operable Easy-Bake Oven. Very little is real here, which is ultimately my biggest criticism of the immaculate production. Bursting with irony, the play contains little heart. Outside of the slow deterioration of the ailing mother who can’t keep up with appearances, the audience searches for connection. The climax comes out of nowhere and attempts to inject the story with a weak sentimentality that vibrates underneath the artificial façade of Polebaum’s remarkable kitchen (did I mention the set is A-maze-ing?). Like many dystopian science-fiction stories before it, one character asserts the truth has “always been there, you just didn’t want to see it.” But, we as an audience do, and we want to empathize with it. D Is for Dog is part of the 2012 Hollywood Fringe Festival and plays the next two weeks on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays at 8 PM, with additional Saturday matinees (3 PM). You can buy tickets here. Favorite off-stage moment: A techie briefly poked out from the wings by accident with a trunk that impressively matched the set.
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