Despite contrary opinion, Theatre and dating can mix as long you cross your fingers that traffic obliges. Many of you have come to expect that my experiences will often begin with an adventure, and yet once again, I will not let you down. As I recount my Thursday evening venture to the play! theatre; please keep in mind that I do not ask for such chaos, it finds me.

As he is a former ‘theatre nerd’ as well, and is fully aware of my obsessive compulsive time induced anxiety, my date promised to pick me up at 7 even though the show we were attending was not starting until 8. I paced nervously in my living room; he called to report that Mopac was “a parking lot.” I felt my heart race, my anxiety heighten yet hoping that my voice would remain calm, so as to not frighten the presumably just as stressed individual on the other end of the line. We discussed our options, and agreed that he would call when he knew more of a time line.

Several moments later, he called again, this time to let me know that the police were shutting down Mopac and he would be unable to travel south unless cutting across town. My mind raced, my roommates were buzzing around me like attentive insects; one rolling cat hair off of my skirted behind, and the other in my ear whispering game plans.

I was unnerved, and agreed that in order to save time I would meet him on the east side. I hung up, and my roommates exploded in excitement, “We are going to the east side for dinner, we will drop you off!” They finished with sing-songy punctuation and immediately disappeared into their rooms before I could protest, mouth agape.

One shouted from her room, “Call him! Tell him we are taking you.” I didn’t want to refuse their kindness, but also felt that that this was a lot of 3rd date pressure; exposing the date to the zany counterparts. Alas, he seemed content and much to my excitement; the girls were on their best behavior when they met him, silly grins and all. He and I were thankful we would make the play on time, and decided to ignore the obvious remnants of frazzled nerves until they worked their way out of our minds.

The theatre was tucked away in a tiny residential nook on the east side, with a home like appeal that struck me fondly. A handsome, bearded gentleman greeted us with a smile, and I later drew the conclusion that he was the director, and primary writer/creative genius responsible for the madness which was about to be revealed. The box office was to the left of the door, which I could foresee being problematic during a largely attended event, yet the faces we met were all kind, and I was happy to donate to the concession fund in exchange for a glass of OCD suppressing wine.

I laughed aloud in the lobby as I skimmed the unique dialog of the program, and was pleasantly amused by the disclaimer alerting the audience that the “play has nothing to do with the original Tartuffe by Moliere. In fact we think that play kind of sucks.” I could tell that this was to be more than a play, but an experience. My instincts were reinforced as we walked into theatre to take our seat.

I was immediately mesmerized by the presence of a live band nestled into a corner of the intimate black box theatre. The floor was adorned with a crude red and white pattern obviously painted and strangely comforting. The crowd was diverse in age and style, yet all were eclectic and obviously enthused. A few even brought their laptops to participate in the live chatting on screen as encouraged. My date remarked that for a small theatre, there was quite the crowd for a Thursday night, and I had to agree.

The show began with a proverbial bang, as words begin to scroll via computer based projector onto a white screen, and thus, entered God…of France that is. After a humorous soliloquy and exit, the remainder of the cast barreled onto the stage with a vivacious and contagious presence, dressed in brilliant and inanely colored costumes, which were highly unmatched but strangely perfect.

The comedic elements coupled with the intellectual, satirically-based dialog were distinctively refreshing. The scenes were divided and complimented by song, and the band seemed like discrete members of the cast. The choreographed dance numbers were oddly goofy purposefully, and tantalizing to the senses. Most impressive is the ridiculous, sardonic, yet addicting plot line which brought pain to my sides as I doubled over with laughter.

From the farcical Parisian Texans, to the evangelistical ranting of Captain Jesus, this show is certain to provide entertainment that is without comparison. The writer(s) effectively unite a dark, perverse undertone and mind-stimulating comedy, which leave the most seasoned theatre patron thinking that they have seen a few “firsts” upon departure.

The fusion of film and play was an interesting element, and all of the characteristics of this absurdist play were complimented by the level of acting. The cast cumulatively possessed a very high caliber of acting ability , with especially memorable performances by Joe Hartman (Bobby), Doug Rutherford (Brian Jr.), Hannah Kenah (Ms. Fuckme), and Dave Buckman (Captain Jesus).

I am not Tartuffe is an aesthetically heightened theatrical experience, and Morgan brings to theatre what Pollock brought to the canvas. It is sensory overload in its best and most raw form and I was smitten in moments. It is not suited for the easily offended or for those who wish to stay within the confines of the theatrical ‘box’, for this production steps outside the the traditional parameters, seducing the audience with hilarity, wit, insanity, and good old fashioned Rock and Roll.

I AM NOT TARTUFFE
Directed by Jonathon Morgan
Yellow Tape Construction
March 29, 30, 31, Thurs, Fri and Sat at 8pm
play! Theatre, 1204 Cedar Ave
Admission: $14.00, Advanced Tickets: http://www.yellowtape.org/