Bluff, a play written by Jeffrey Sweet, launches its audience directly into a world that feels eerily like the one in which we live. Sweet's cynical outlook on the values and sexual norms of today's youth comes through in a lyrical flow of dialogue and intimate scenes which eliminate the wall between actor and audience. The characters' candid asides and monologues make the play an introspective journey that balances disturbing realizations with comedy that the audience approves with incessant laughter.
It is this unlikely pairing of reactions that the Johns Hopkins University Theater's superb cast, under the direction of Jim Glossman, was able to capitalize on, to make for a successful, evocative production this past weekend at the Baltimore Museum of Art (BMA).
The play opens with a scene in which Neal (Loren Dunn) and Bonnie (Elizabeth Gilbert) are engaged in a lusty late-night rendezvous, which is interrupted by a loud crash from outside Neal's Manhattan apartment.
Baseball bat in hand, Neal runs outside to confront the trespasser, only to find a wounded victim of a mugging (Tarik Najeddine) and Emily (Kateri Chambers), who coincidentally comes across the two while Neal is holding the baseball bat above the wounded man. Emily mistakes him for the assailant, but after they finally clear up the misunderstanding the two begin the love affair that drives the plot of the show.
Almost immediately after beginning their romance, Emily introduces Neal to her "mother's husband" Gene (John Astin), whom she refers to as only "technically" her father-in-law. It becomes clear that Emily has minimal contact with her alcoholic mother, Georgia (Laura Gifford), and that her relationship with Gene is dysfunctional and mutually abusive. But out of their animosity they reach shocking revelations that strike a chord with the most cynical and tenaciously romantic viewers alike.
In an interview following opening night, Sweet revealed the key to writing realistic dialogue, which is what really propels this play forward: "Improvisation is writing in the moment, standing up," he said.
Apparently, it is this "writing in the moment" that facilitates the brilliant sense of the passage of time in Sweet's writing; the cast's quick asides, fervent one-on-ones with the audience, and flippant explanations of history allow the plot to move forward without pauses or slow moments. The production does not reach one single climax. Rather, the themes are woven throughout -- peaking at points, recycling and adding on prior concepts only to build momentum again.
Sweet examines relationships primarily through the character of Gene, a crude self-proclaimed "jerk" who continuously shocks the audience with his discussions on nearly all topics ranging from infidelity, showing respect for different professions (namely, his as a dental supplies salesman) while mocking others (such as Neal's as a lawyer), his former lovers, aging and "settling" in a relationship, and, most poignantly, the notion of love.
He is a despicable character, yet through his honesty he reveals the realities of non-idealized love. Waxing nostalgic about the time his wife cut back on her drinking for his sake, he says, "You can love someone for making them better." This concept of love is rooted not in the usual ideas of passion and devotion, but rather in self-congratulation. His fervent bouts of self-deprecation, in particular, are effective in engaging the audience.
Scenes range from humorous to sobering. Astin epitomizes the presentational actor as he harnesses the potential of Gene's role to illuminate some difficult issues. He also keeps the production light with his impeccable delivery for jokes. In one scene, in a bar, he compares Neal and his "predecessors," the men who dated Emily before him, to milk cartons.
He goes on to offer Neal advice because, as Gene confides, "with these guys [the predecessors], I could see the expiration date. With them, I didn't have to do anything. Time would take care of it."
The bar scenes are the most powerful moments in the play, both comically and dramatically speaking. Astin and Dunn seem to feed off each other's energy, exuding an enamoring chemistry. It feels as natural as eavesdropping on a real conversation at the neighborhood bar.
Dunn's intensity is always perfectly in tune with the situation at hand and is able to tackle both the difficult dramatic scenes and lighter scenes with equal ease. Gilbert flaunts her own impressive range in these scenes as well, playing her part with sensuality and a coy demeanor.
Watching this production of Bluff was a lot like the guilty pleasure of watching one of the fad TV reality shows. The cast and crew were fixed so acutely on the realism of the work that some of the scenes were almost voyeuristic. Sweet's quirky flow of natural dialogue works in balance with the bleak image of society he so casually sets forth.
A true feat by actor, writer and director has been accomplished when serious issues can be internalized by the viewer while a humorous undertone is maintained throughout. Dunn, who is also a teaching assistant to Astin in an acting and directing workshop here at Hopkins, probably put it best when he said in class that "acting is powerful when something is really happening." Looks like Astin and crew are keepin' it real.
