The story of a small-time drug dealer and his naive, artistic son, Reinaldo Povod's Cuba and his Teddy Bear seems dawdling and dated. If the show's pace and structure are any indication, Povod subscribed to (but misunderstood) Naturalism, a style of theater in which actors attempt to exactly mimic reality. Long-winded discussions? Check. Repetitive dialogue? Check. Guests who meaninglessly come and go? Check. But here's the thing about life: you get to watch TV during it. After the fourth time Cuba (Madrid St. Angelo, the play's only redeeming aspect) instigated an argument with his son, Teddy (Christian Blackburn), about whether or not Teddy should sell some pot to a friend, I was ready to trade this life-like theatrical experience for a "Real Housewives of Atlanta" marathon. At least "Housewives" has an editor.
While the second act boasted more action than the first, and director Marilyn Camacho's tableaus struck a chord, it would behoove her to have trimmed the two-and-a-half-hour production, and toned down Hank Hilbert. As the inane, offensive Jackie, Hilbert mugged his way through the production, comic relief at its most base. Speaking of baseness, although familiar with the concept that a character may, for the sake of plot and drama, speak lines the playwright himself does not endorse, I can see no justification for the racist, anti-Semitic, sexist vitriol the characters mouthed. Although some of the audience members chuckled when Cuba described Jews picking their noses, and claimed he'd endowed himself with good luck by sleeping with a black woman, many appeared unamused.
As the endless first act looped in increasingly futile circles, I invented a new drinking game. Each time Cuba pointlessly unbuckles and re-buckles his pants, take a drink. If only the show had been BYOB. At intermission, as a group of audience members fled, I heard one say to another "Where in God's name is the nearest bar?"
A good question - in fact, the only question this supposedly contentious play raised.
Reviewed by Centerstage!
