Austinist Theatre Review: Thrush: A Play with Songs

The women are soon discovered and brutally raped by Furst (Jason Newman), a sociopath who abuses everyone in his power, and Pint (Mark Stewart), Furst's weak, Renfield-ish lackey. Furst is a hard, mean man, and with Newman's boyish features and lean frame, we were unsure how he would play in such a role. However, he delivers in full; with the curl of a lip and the clench of a jaw, he ruthlessly lords over everyone he encounters. In this and many other moments, he victimizes others sadistically and relentlessly. It is unpleasant, distasteful...and a gorgeous piece of acting.

Bette's reaction to the rape is flat acceptance, but Minerva is deeply wounded, perhaps for the first time. They have no choice but to move on, and are soon presented with the opportunity to escape their aimless wandering. To gain entrance into anywhere-not-here, a line of refugees is required to pass muster as it is conjured by Pint (Mark Stewart). In a strange, hysterical scene that brought to mind Kirk Lynn's Pale Idiot, Stewart leads a much needed, lighthearted break from the meaner side of Thrush. Quirky and very odd, he hams it up without going over the top. The chorus steps down to participate, making it abundantly clear that this is a transitional point in the work. Adam Sultan, strumming his guitar, and Gina Houston, singing melancholy little songs, stay firm in their roles as observers. Their music spins threads of allegory that run throughout the piece. Without them, the play would just be a play; still very good, but somehow less meaningful.

Separated from Bette, Minerva once again finds herself lost and without the ability to help herself. This time she is picked up by Keck, played by Jude Hickey who infuses the wayward solider with guilt, sorrow, and fear. Keck stood by in shame while the women were raped; exploring the question of what constitutes guilt, we're unsure whether Keck is a villain or a hero. However, with depth and sensitivity, Hickey establishes Keck as a good guy, and a comfortable fit for Minerva. Like Bette, he shows a real tenderness towards her. Unlike Bette, he seeks intimacy; whereas Bette quickly stifles Minerva's abstract memories of a gentler time, Keck shares them. Again, the chemistry between actors is rich and fulfilling, and pulls the audience back into the emotional center of the work after several shocking, painful scenes.

Shock and pain are key elements of Thrush, and the production takes a realistic approach to violence. In the odd environment of live theatre, there are times when you can't help but wonder whether an actor must be injuring himself. In an intimate space, convincing depiction of violent acts can be all the more challenging. Such uncomfortable business is frequently either half-heartedly executed or ends up being gratuitous, but in the case of Thrush, the actors hold nothing back, and the story is made all the more meaningful by the authenticity of their physical performances.

All of this takes place on a curious little platform of light, dust, and dirt. In SVT's as-yet unfinished space, Leilah Stewart has created the cleverest little stage: framed by a chute of random garbage, and a small platform for the chorus, sits a tidy, rectangular pad of dry, clumpy earth. The actors run, crawl, dig, scoot, and are dragged across it, creating unique and interesting effects: dust flies, piles are formed and unformed, lines are created and erased. Magically, the dirt stays within its well-defined borders, and the actors don't appear to be any the worse for wear, in spite of how they crash and careen within the space. Add Diana Duecker's spare, industrial lighting -- much of it inventively piled on the floor surrounding the stage -- and the entire scene is otherworldly and intriguing.

That the desolate setting of Thrush is generally vague and unknown doesn't present much of a problem. It exemplifies Caridad Svich's style throughout the piece, which sometimes wanders into ponderous, fragmented speeches and short, ill-defined sequences. All of the actors -- Wakehouse and Hickey in particular, who are given the preponderance of it -- handle the more challenging language with ease. However, the production is already so rich, and the overreaching mythos already so nicely defined using the chorus, that these abstract passages often frustrated us, and occasionally prompted us to yearn for some tweaking here and tightening there. Nevertheless, it is by far a beautifully written, moving script.

As we tend to do, we last but by no means least must mention Jenny Larson's direction. When we see a work like this with consistently strong, thoughtful performances and design, we have to tip our hats to the director. With a keen eye, Larson has led her cast, designers, and crew to create a cohesive, captivating tale. From start to finish, everything clicks into place so solidly that there's clearly an experienced, astute hand at work. While Larson has plenty of directing work under her belt, this is a knockout mainstage debut for her at SVT, and we look forward to seeing more of what she has to offer.

At the emotional core of Thrush is the notion that holding on to one's humanity, as painful and damaging as it may be, is the only way to keep oneself sane. It's a message that speaks volumes in current times, and one that makes this play with songs all the more meaningful. With a rave-worthy production in a promising new space, we put this on the top of our list of things to see in Austin right now.

Thrush: A Play with Songs
Th/Fr/Sa, 10/19-11/11
Salvage Vanguard Theater [map]
8pm
Tickets: $12-$35 (sliding scale). Available online or by calling 474-SVT6.

Photo by Matt Wright.