“Paradise Park” Ran until April 6 at the Signature Theater’s Peter Norton Space, 555 West 42nd Street, Clinton; (212) 244-7529, signaturetheatre.org.
I’m back from a long stint of analysis and memo writing in the less exciting world of municipal and state politics, phew. What a bore. At any rate, I did not write this as I had planned – punctually, that is – but I saw a play called Paradise Park. Let’s see if I can recall it:
It was an interesting harmony of mediocre dramatic performance and acting. The play, largely an a-synchronous reflection on postmodern themes is disorganized without a cause. The theme park of this play, our mixed up simulacrum-filled world, is staffed by an up and coming homosexual Indian immigrant who’s just trying to get paid. He spends the play in a goofy mouse costume, more or less his “park” uniform, and falls in love with a white closeted elderly man who mediates his sexuality through a talking dummy. Most unfortunate, our meek minotaur is glad to have the dummy with which to spoon. Puke, this is not worth the ticket unless you are some kind of masochist. Of course if you go to see a play these days you are either a masochist, an elderly person or a fop. So of course I went and I was not at all disappointed – though neither was I moved. “Paradise Park” is a not-disorienting, disordered peregrination through an outdated and hyperbolic conception of post modernity and the changing postmodern. Early in the first act, Nancy (Veanne Cox) proposes excavation:
The thing is:
I think we should go back to where we were
because, if you think about it,
the thing is, right now, we are in the present,
and before we were in the present,
we were in the past
so if we want to get oriented
we should go back to the past!
Moments like Nancy’s above make one think now here’s a real thinking play and you brace yourself for a great dramatic feat like “The Dining Room” by A. R. Gurney performed recently by The Keen Company at Theater Row. Yet, after an hour of “Paradise Park” it begins to seem like the playwright, Charles Mee, was simply trying to squeeze in as many dramatized postmodern thought experiments as possible. The New York Times reviewer, I see, called this a “frustrating” lack of “cogent structure.” I would call it a frustrating lack of talent or professional courtesy. The scenes are cross stitched together by the mere identity of its spastic-actants and the pallid side plots that float among them. The playwright succeeds and his audience is moved to experience a postmodern confusion, or perhaps just confusion. There is a tasteful thought experiment/scene, wherein Darling (Vanessa Aspillaga) addresses her terrified father through the rear view mirror of the family car. Her heartfelt confession about reality is a bit over blown – like the play as a whole, but I don’t think this symmetry is intentional – though the idea that her father must keep one eye on the road having only one eye left to divide between his wife and daughter is cleverly performed. The scene, however, like every other side show in Mee’s performance, comes out of nowhere and lacks even the grace and style of actual side shows. Mee frequently makes an unqualified use of technology.
As he has tried to tackle the tough questions he seems only to have fondled the least relevant of them. “Paradise Park” is a joyride through the various politics of identity: moral, sexual and racial. I think he unfortunately drops the ball with the latter and simply ruins the former two. Mee has built a silly merry go round of a play and has called it cultural commentary. Off hand, I’d say it’s not so safe to ride. Hopefully, you’ll see it anyway. In a nutshell, the thoughts are good, the dramatic performance smelly. This play would fill the funnies section of any paper, though nothing here would qualify a laugh. Mee needs to work harder on the whole picture. I would really like to see this shake n’ bake assembly of themes and provocative situations integrated into a meaningful whole. The depth is decent, but unity and finesse make a lasting work. If ever you are presented with the opportunity, proceed at your own risk.
See the New York Times “Paradise Park” review
Sincerely,
Sam
