Collektor's A Lie of the Mind: Missing Piece of the Puzzle

There are many reasons why the work of Sam Shepard has risen to such prominence in the Theatrical realm: a sharp sardonic gallows humor, an outsized mythology, characters that vibrate with life, a deft absurdist touch. Underlying all of these however, is the ability to create worlds filled with emotion in its purest form; he is one of the few playwrights of his generation that is able to turn the delusions of desperate and abusive/abused people into the stuff of grand poetry. Implicit in this is the truism that the perpetrators of abuse are often the victims of it -- and while that thought may seem wholly influenced in kneejerk pop psychology and found to be cliché, it doesn't make it any less true.

To be sure, Shepard's work isn't as blunt as that facile distillation, but it is a key to understanding a large majority of his output.

It is only fitting that buried within True West, Sam Shepard's oft-produced tale of sibling rivalry taken to an extreme, Shepard ends up providing a map to the reason why his work holds such universal appeal among audiences. If we accept that the straight-laced Austin represents the audience, then we can see that his relationship to Shepard's archetypal drifter Lee mirrors our reaction to his plays. Lee is desperate, haunted and damaged, though his willful lust for life and determination to live to the fullest regardless of circumstances and bleak worldview makes him a magnetic presence. We see the poetry of life in his pained-yet-hopeful existence, such that we are pulled to want to experience some of that Romantic life, if only for a bit, damn the consequences.

In order to fully present Shepard's work in the way they're intended to be experienced, productions need to inhabit a heightened emotional state, which presents something of a challenge. However, it is a thin line between heightened emotion and unearned histrionics and it is for fear of the latter that most companies end up avoiding the former altogether -- truly a regrettable circumstance, for the power of Shepard resides in its sometimes overwhelming nature.

Collektor's production of Shepard's ">A Lie of the Mind, running as part of ACT's Central Heating Lab, has a lot going for it, not least of which is a top notch cast doing great work. What it is missing, however, is a unifying thread, whether thematic or emotional, to tie those performances together.

We are presented with two protagonists, Jake (Ray Tagavilla) and Beth (Aimée Bruneau). Before the play begins, Jake has beaten Beth so badly he believes he has killed her. This forces him to retreat into himself, into his childhood home specifically, where he cocoons himself to deal with the repercussions. Meanwhile, Beth, not dead, lands in a hospital, where she's suffering from severe cerebral trauma. Soon, her family arrives to take her back into the fold and nurse her back to health. From here we are made to understand the forces that shaped both of them; this is done through the characters' mirrored trajectories as we come to know Jake's and Beth's families: Beth feels her true personality is trapped inside her mind's trauma, while Jake chooses to keep himself trapped in his mother's embrace; and so on. (Jake's traumatic past includes a caustic visit to his estranged father South of the border, a Shepard leitmotif; the most explicit example was seen in Gesamtkunstwerk's production of The Late Henry Moss, where the details of that fateful trip to Mexico are fleshed out.)

It's in the filling out the details of the respective family dynamics that Lie separates itself from the rest of Shepard's ouvre. We see parents who enable their children's worst traits, and who play favorites among their kith; we see characters whose desperation leads to an arrogance, which has been fed by insecurities which leads either to abuse or victimhood. An effect of all of this is that Jake and Beth believe they are made for each other, at least at the outset. What forces them apart is Jake's susceptibility to his insecurities, which make him jealous at the slightest provocation. Couple that with an willful inability to understand certain aspects of Beth's character and vocation and trouble was bound to happen.

The problem is that they, and the characters around them aren't always in the same play. At times, Jake's family life resembles a better example of a Lifetime movie, while Beth's is more of an absurdist sitcom. That these settings could definitely be found in the text is not in question, but without something to ground them, the result is often muddled and enervating. The reason why amounts to this: The production doesn't fully commit to the extremes inherent in the work. By shying away from being overwrought, they end up avoiding the rich operatic fertile grounds that could be found within. Any other issues to be found with the production could be swept away had that central issue been addressed.

This is not to take away from the work that the majority of the company is doing. Bruneau's fearless turn as Beth demands recognition, Tagavilla once again displays a commanding presence, though Jake's dominating spirit could've come out a little more. Tim Gouran as Frankie and Eric Riedmann as Mike are the performers that most seem to be inhabiting Shepard's world. There are also a good number of moments that connect well, such as when Jake talks of there being a volatile nameless force that lives inside his head that compels him to act irrationally; or when Beth describes how Jake resides in her -- there are other examples of humor, bite and engagement to cite. However, it is those moments that makes the issues stand in sharp relief.

Granted, it was an early performance, and as David Schmader pointed out in a recent editorial comment, sometimes shows take a while to gel to perfection. It would not be unreasonable to expect the same to happen here. As it stands, the performance viewed was frustrating because of the promise displayed.

On the other hand, Collektor's Lie also led more thought on the playwright than your correspondent has had reason to give in a long time. That is rarely a bad thing.

Thursdays through Saturdays at 7:30p.m.; through October 1 //ACT Bullitt Cabaret Theater, 700 Union Street // $15 - $25, tickets available here