(Photo © Brett Singer)
Truth is a rare commodity in Keith Reddin’s Almost Blue. Lies spill from each character’s mouth so often that it’s difficult to keep track of what’s going on. To compound matters, some of the lies become truths, while what initially seems to be the truth is exposed as false. The Actors Playground production of Reddin’s play, directed by Hal Brooks, contains some interesting moments but ultimately gets bogged down in the script’s twists and turns.
The ensemble cast is led by Joe Passaro as Phil, an alcoholic ex-con recently released from prison and currently living in a dilapidated flophouse. Phil receives frequent visits from his downstairs neighbor, Blue (Kurt Everhart), a mysterious man with an effete demeanor. In the play’s opening scene, Phil is also visited by Liz (Antoinette LaVecchia), who claims to be the ex-wife of one of Phil’s jail buddies. By the end of the play, both of these characters’ motivations remain unclear. Why does Liz seek out Phil? What’s the secret of Blue’s hidden past and why does he fixate so much on his neighbor? Perhaps Blue’s overplayed mannerisms are meant to suggest that he has an unreciprocated homosexual crush on Phil, but this is not explored.
The plot thickens with the arrival of Steve (James Biberi), Liz’s supposedly dead ex-husband. Steve wants Phil to murder Liz. Blue wants to help Phil run away. Phil doesn’t know what he wants, and instead allows each of the characters to draw him this way or that until the climactic final scene, wherein Phil at last takes decisive action. (To say what that is would ruin the play’s final plot twist.)
Character development is pretty much absent from both the script and the production. Everhart railroads through his part without playing any kind of subtext that would make his character’s obsessions legible. LaVecchia exudes sex appeal and brassiness but cannot make this thinly written part seem anything more than an exaggerated cartoon. Biberi seems stuck on a one-note portrayal of the stereotypically sinister tough guy. Passaro fares best, his bewildered expressions comparable to those of the audience as the play’s events cascade out of Phil’s control.
Brooks keeps the intermissionless 90-minute play moving at a crisp pace, its short staccato scenes broken up via blackouts and blaring music. Aaron Black’s atmospheric lighting dimly illuminates Michael V. Moore’s appropriately claustrophobic set, filled with ratty furniture. Yet these technical elements fail to provide the play with any substance; rather, they underscore the impression that the production is more concerned with creating mood than in achieving coherence.
