Posted on Jul 24, 2013
2 out of 5
It is unfortunate that for certain reasons I am not allowed to go into detail about Allie Jordan's current production at the Fishtank, because to be blunt I have rather a lot to say about it, about the practice of scriptwriting and what I would in all candor have to call gi--ahhh, but there, you see? I can't even say the word without giving the game away.
Look. I'll try to dance around the thing as much as I can, but if you haven't seen the play, it's really best for us all if you STOP READING NOW.
Suffice to say that Ms Jordan presents two brief playlets on the subject of, well, herself. The first one is a straightforward if somewhat cutesy bit about books waiting to see if they will be culled prior to her moving house. The second is a bit of metatheatre, a play with in a play, and clearly the main course of the evening. Again, I cannot go into what happens, but when it does, it marks a genuinely interesting turn. This viewer settled in to her seat, excited to see where this new twist was going to take us... only it didn't. That was it. End of play. We spent the whole rest of the hour listening to them explain just how they got to be so gosh-darned clever, by the end of which yours truly had frankly cooled on the whole concept.
Now, this reviewer loves nothing more than experimental theatre, don't get her wrong. But that's just the thing, you see? If you're going to be experimental, -be- experimental. Something that was edgy and clever in 1978 ain't so much in 2013 unless you take it somewhere new. Or somewhere at all. I mean, if you're going to do the thing, do it right, for heaven's sake. Oh, well.
I'm glad Ms Jordan is stretching herself as a playwright, and it's good to see her work is getting such reactions in the community, but in the end I'm afraid I have to chalk this one down as a missed opportunity and move on.