The Newest Take on an Old Theme

So, a man walks into a bar … and is accosted by a woman trying to collect his spit into a plastic bag while asking him if he believes in petting on the first date? … and is asked by a stumbling girl reading from her note cards "Du yu yus a speshel sampoo?" … and sits down next to a girl involved in a passionate discussion with a sock puppet? Mono is a far cry from classic American group-in-a-bar plays like The Iceman Cometh.

In Mono, 13 characters have collected at a bar for the night. Their personalities and backgrounds run across economic and ethnic bounds, but they all share a certain desperation. Many of them cling to the phrase "this is my night" even as they lose their grip on the path of the evening and are forced to face their delusions, fears, and futures. There are many moments that could be turning points for the characters, but it's up to us to decide if any of them actually change.

In this surreal yet uplifting new play, Steven Tanenbaum, who both wrote and directed Mono, explores modern forms of communication––verbal and physical, immediate and long distance––between strangers and between friends. Clusters of chairs and low, candlelit tables are spread around the studio space, leaving us twisting in our seats to catch what pieces of conversation we can.

Tanenbaum's script is a mixed bag that relies heavily on monologues. Although some moments seem randomly thrown in for shock appeal, the play is sprinkled with simple but piercing sound bites that lend power to the rest of the script. When the painfully shy note card girl (Kiyono Ai), who, for some reason, is just now learning how to enter society, reveals, "To reach the next level of my therapy, I need to make a new friend," we realize how many of the characters are going through a similar, if less explicit, form of recovery.

The technical side of Mono requires some imaginative work from the audience. Neither the lighting and sound nor the drawings and light-up mannequins that decorate the space transplant the audience into a bar. Sound designer Brett Hammond throws in the occasional canned laugh or clinking glass to re-direct our attention rather than add to the atmosphere of a place for dysfunctional nightcrawlers. However, Mono is more about character than location, and the deficiency in production does not significantly alter our experience.

As a director, Tanenbaum values individuality and actor freedom. While discussing the interchangeability of the cast in this production, with each actor playing three roles during the run, company actress Dara DeVito commented, "We each play the characters very differently; [the director] really lets us give our own interpretation." In this round of casting, some actors seem more in control of their characters than others.

All the characters are entertaining, but some are so exaggerated that they can only be comic while others maintain a believability that allows them to send a message about real humans. As a clueless, wannabe-chic recording engineer, Jimmy Drago never lets the audience forget that he's acting. On the other hand, Sabrina Ladani, the mute sister of a not quite recovering alcoholic, plays an equally extreme character, but her ultimate "normalness" leaves us wondering how far we are from her level of isolation.

Mono relies on our eventual conclusion that the characters represented are not as unlikely as we initially thought. One unusual confusion helps us make this discovery. Because of the integrated set, the audience participation, and the strange group of characters who attend this East Village theater, we have a hard time determining who's cast and who isn't until the actors step out for their bows.

Mono opened on Sept. 21 at the Surf Reality Theater (172 Allen St. btw. Stanton and Rivington Sts.). The second cast will begin performing on Oct. 19. Performances are Thursday-Saturday at 8 p.m. Tickets are $12. Call 358-3447 for tickets.