Rude Mechs present I've Never Been So Happy [Theater Review]
through May 7
Off Center Theater (2211-A Hidalgo)
$25, 8 pm
[info] | [tickets]
It's a meditation on competing visions of the Wild West. It's a love story to Austin. It's about two dachshunds, a mountain lion, and the people they're tied to (sometimes literally). The Rude Mechs have managed to pack all of those things into I've Never Been So Happy, a video-enhanced, dance-spattered musical that lives up to the promise of its title.
The Rude Mechs have made their name with original, collectively created theater, and their latest offering is no different. From the seed of an idea sparked five years ago, Kirk Lynn and Peter Stopschinski have built a bouncy, sweet, utterly delightful love story that's family friendly, save a few curse words.
Annabellee (Meg Sullivan), the co-star of a country & western variety show with her father, wants to find true love and to get the heck out of the house once in a while, preferably with her dachshund, Sigmunda (Jenny Larson, tiny and excitable) by her side. Meanwhile, Jeremy (E. Jason Liebrecht) has been thrown out of the women's commune where he was raised, and is tied to a mountain lion by his mother (how else is a young man supposed to learn to be tough?). The commune is on our heroine's daddy's land, so of course these would-be lovers are about as star-cross'd as they come. Against a backdrop of sharp two-stepping, string-heavy orchestration, and flashy projections, the pair struggle get “horrible free” of the things and people holding them back (or maybe just holding them close).
With so much to see and hear, one might fear getting lost, but the simplicity of the basic storyline leaves the Rudes lots of room to delight and distract their audience. A terrific ensemble keeps the plot anchored as Miwa Matreyek's video design (the best I've seen in Austin) combined with Stephen Pruitt's lighting transforms the set's freshly swept barn look into the desert sky at night, the variety show, and even illustrates the mountain lion's fury. The cast maintain a sense of sincerity and energetic fun, and Cami Alys in particular as Jason's commune-bound mom, Julie, wails through her songs with a fierce, rock n' roll snarl.
The lines of inquiry the show opens up - looking at what “the West” means, how one effectively raises a child, the search for true love - make their way into the games in homegrown carnival midway out in the Off Center yard during intermission. It's a fun way to tie together the show's themes and encourage the audience vent some of the energy that is bound to infect them inside the theater.
But the wonder of this funny, smart, delightful piece is the way its most loving moments sneak up and complicate its characters. When the Sheriff (Kerri Atwood) asks remorseful momma Julie to recall her feelings about her son as a way to track him down, her response seemed to make the whole room take a tiny inward breath, a little gasp at an unexpected moment of beauty. The same, too, for the final scene, an earnest love song to all the little things that make Austin special, regardless of how silly they might seem. It's beautiful to see the great possibility that this creative, sometimes-too-comfortable city offers come to fruition in a production that shoots for the heavens while staying firmly grounded in love, art, and breakfast tacos.
(The remainder of the run is sold out, but a waiting list starts at the door at 7 each night. Go. It's worth it.)
