I know someone who once found himself in the awkward situation of having to tell our mutual friends that one of our number had died unexpectedly. That’s sort of the situation that Jean (sad sack Polly Noonan) finds herself in at the top of Sarah Ruhl’s new black comedy. Jean, annoyed by the ringing phone of a neighbor in a cafe, accosts him, only to find that he has expired in the midst of eating his lentil soup. Impulsively, she takes his phone and takes on the responsibility of explaining to Gordon’s callers—for she eventually learns his name—what has happened to him.
There’s some comedy to be found here: we learn that there wasn’t much love in the businessman Gordon (a dyspeptic Rick Foucheux), but yet Jean lies to each of his loved ones that Gordon thought well of each one in his final moments. But that’s not what Ruhl is after. Rather, she’s interested in exploring the alienating effects of technology, as she explains in a program note:
I don’t think we’ve caught up, emotionally, culturally, or physically, to the digital age. We live in an instant culture. But we don’t have instantaneous bodies.
And one of her characters in the play says, more poetically, “We’re all disappearing, the more we’re there.” The sort of business Gordon deals in is a commoditization of the body.
While the first act closes with a beautiful stage picture of paper houses descending from the flies while Polly finds a moment of connectedness, the second act plotting, with its necessity to introduce Jean to Gordon face-to-face, feels forced.
The multiple scene shifts required by this production are managed neatly by Production Stage Manager Taryn Colberg’s crew, who are dressed in suits to match Gordon’s smart three-piece number.
- Dead Man’s Cell Phone, by Sarah Ruhl, directed by Rebecca Bayla Taichman, Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company, Washington