Sparkling Verbal Symphony — The Theatre @ Boston Court's 'Cassiopeia'

What's the average distance between two airline seats? An inch? Less if you're on the fluffy side. Or maybe it's a couple feet, at most, in the not-paying-your-fair-share section. Either way, that distance is infinitesimally small compared to the imaginary chasms we create between ourselves and strangers, acquaintances, even friends and family members. Vast distances separating us, based on reasons as shallow as skin tone. Excuses as intangible as thoughts themselves. Speaking of thoughts, did you know a good dose of static shock can be 50,000 volts, while a memory is little more than 1/10 of a single volt? To what should we give more credence?



Such philosophic/scientific ruminations are the focus of The Theatre @ Boston Court's world premiere production of David Wiener's "Cassiopeia," a non-stop cerebral dervish, which — under the astute direction of Emilie Beck — plays like a highbrow, phantasmagoric spoken word duel. A symphony of words, heavenly vocals, and (fantastic!) original compositions, technically produced and executed to gorgeous, minimalist perfection.

The present action of the play is split into three scenes aboard a turbulent airplane. Here, we meet two people who, from our limited perspectives, "couldn't be more different." Quiet (yes, that's his name) is a small, white, Ivy League scientist with an undiagnosed case of Asperger's (played by a razor sharp Doug Tompos); and Odetta, a strong, street-wise Southern black woman with loads of baggage all her own (an emotional Angela Bullock). He's silent, engrossed in formulations he drew on a napkin, pretending to be unaffected by everything and everyone around him. She's afraid of flying and garrulous; too loud for, yet curious about, her surroundings.

Unlike for Quiet, numbers are no comfort to Odetta. She don't wanna hear about air disaster statistics and the relative safety of air travel. She'd rather fellowship with an actual person. Instead, she and Quiet end up debating paradoxes like Schrödinger's Cat. (Dark fairytales, Odetta calls them.) Quiet's surprised she's heard of Schrödinger. "What? You think 'cause I talk like this I ain't read no books?" She presses him for a solution to the Box problem. "It doesn't matter," he mutters, just like everything else in his nihilistic POV. She scoffs, "It matters to the cat!" From the plane window, Quiet sees lights, then a void, then more lights. It's a river, Odetta admonishes. Yes, it's possible that even when you see nothing, something significant can exist.

Intertwined through the airplane scenes, each character monologues about their child and adulthood struggles, giving us the whys to the whats we see in the present. And as the rapid-fire, often overlapping lines build up (It's amazing how Bullock and Tompos riff like jazz masters.), they begin to illuminate a mosaic of universal themes. Loneliness, being one. Odetta often gives herself a dead arm to feel like she's being hugged in her sleep. Quiet, obsessed with stars, finds comfort in staring endlessly at the sky — even though he "knows" that the lights are illusions, remnants of distant, long-dead stars. Flowing between the scenes is another character, The Voice. A Greek chorus of sorts, with a flare of Soul (gorgeously vocalized by Pasean Wilson). It was a delightful privilege to float from scene to scene with her wordless melodies set to the original, ethereal compositions of sound designer Jack Arky.

Beck, her cast and crew, worked closely with Mr. Wiener to mount the text's first (wonderful) production. The culmination of their efforts and experimentation is awe-inspiring. The impressive set symbolizes time and space itself. Charming star effects appear and fade along with the expert lighting design of Jeremy Pivnick. There in the heavens floats an ominous door and a house, once connected, now split in two. One side is rigid, the lines exact, with a professor's chair and equations on the floor; on the other, everything is decrepit and askew, the floorboards half-covered with dirt.; both sides, a reflection of each character's inner turmoil. Dissecting it all is The Voice's elegant dress. Masterfully crafted by E.B. Brooks, the dress is both a set and costume piece, with its resplendent überlong train symbolizing the river, the great divide allegedly between us all.

Yes, the production is (seemingly, relatively) simple; the script, phrenic and on the dense side. But that's what makes "Cassiopeia" so great, so necessary, so important. It's the Yang to the Yin of "Hairspray" and MTV's "Buckwild."

"Cassiopeia" continues at The Theatre @ Boston Court until February 24, 2013. Get your tickets here or by calling  626-683-6883.

   

   

LA Theater Reviews by LA Theater Critic.