Chaos in Tune — GOD OF CARNAGE at MVT

As I sit in the audience at Manoa Valley Theatre, the lights come up, the play begins, the premise of God of Carnage stutters out of the characters’ awkward back and forth niceties, and I find myself wondering: how will I react one day if some kid beats up my daughter? What if my daughter is the aggressor? As a new mother, I’m particularly sensitive these days to anything dealing with what it means to be a parent. But I don’t think you have to be a parent to relate to and enjoy Carnage—the play is primarily a study of human character, of the psychology of relationships and social interaction.

Carnage shows what might happen when four “civilized” adults, caught in the perfect storm of personality and circumstance, get together to discuss a schoolyard incidence of violence between their two sons. Basically, what starts out as a polite discussion ends up in domestic chaos, resulting in a pretty hilarious night of theatre. The comedy in this production comes from two sources: acting and blocking, in other words “playing for laughs,” and the script, which is written by playwright Yasmina Reza with the kind of humor that comes from the inside—from the truth within the madness. For me, the play works best when the comedy arises “naturally” from the reality and absurdity of the circumstances. And “naturally” really means well-rehearsed and impeccably timed.

Timing—not as in counting, but as in the music of life in motion—that has to be the most important aspect of a play like Carnage. That, and well-defined characters. The result, when it all comes together, is similar to the feeling one gets when listening to a great piece of music. One note is born out of another—or, in this case, one character’s outburst is born of another’s—in a flowing, swelling and surging, brimming and bursting kind of way. Each character is like a different instrument in the orchestra. They all make their own sounds, but they must all play together, sometimes in harmony, sometimes not so much… Easy, right? Director Vanita Rae Smith and her cast often make it look to be so.

The lights come up on two very obviously different couples. Power suits versus Earth-tone casuals. Set in the home of the Earth-tones, the Power-suits look uncomfortably out of place. On one side of the stage sit the Earth-tones, comfortable on their modern sofa with plenty of pillows. On the other are the Power-suits in two unremarkable chairs. The opening plucks are tentative, unsure, ready to end before it begins. After all, these Power-suits don’t really belong—they’re eager to go. But the instruments, both the power and earth notes, despite themselves, continue to converse. Soon, they are breaking out of their shells, crossing sides, realigning, and eventually wailing like no one could have imagined from such a soft opening, though the hints were always there.

This play is especially engaging because the characters are recognizable. Not stereotypes, but people being perceived by one another as stereotypes. This is what makes each eventually desperate to break out of the role they’ve adopted for this social interaction and show the others that they, not “I,” are the phonies. The first time the F-word flies you realize things are about to get very interesting.

Tricia Marciel plays Annette Raleigh, the female half of the power-suit couple. Her descent from perfectly polished and poised to strutting, spitting, slurring, and sobbing hits all the right notes. Watching her character unravel literally had me, at moments, on the edge of my seat. At one point, I actually gasped and covered my mouth with my hand. She had me hooked to all the outrageousness because her character was so authentic, even when she was being a phony.

Marciel’s husband, Alan Raleigh, played by Stu Hirayama, comes off sometimes rude, sometimes indifferent, sometimes meek, sometimes other… Spending more time on his cell phone than anything else, I think Raleigh is supposed to be the cynic of the ensemble. The fast-paced, smooth-talking suit totally above meeting with these people over their children’s incident. I say “I think” because watching Hirayama, I could never get a clear read on his character. His performance was energetic and expressive, often providing the more overtly comic bits, but I couldn’t quite recognize Raleigh enough to pin him down.

The earthy wife, Veronica Novak, played by Brenda-Lee Hillebrenner, is thoroughly genuine and very fun to watch—a woman of contradictions, a big personality that can’t quite let things go, she propels much of the action. Hillebrenner’s relationship with her onstage husband Dwight T. Martin (Michael Novak) is a match made in…marriage purgatory. They could be your neighbors, the nice couple that appear so happy and liberal minded, while under the surface fester all the little weaknesses and negative opinions. The two subdue and provoke one another in a most delightful way.

James Davenport and Jennifer Eccles have created a set that aids the realism and also the fantasticality of the play. There are just enough elements to the “living room,” not overly crowded in an attempt to imitate an actual room in a house, which allows for something greater than mere authenticity, like the massive backdrop mutely resembling the fires of hell. Dusty Behner’s costumes and Greg Howell’s hair and makeup help each character stand out as a real individual while matching and contrasting with their partners, each other, and the set. One thing that would have brought the stakes up a bit: a newer, more expensive-looking cell phone. I won’t say why, so as not to spoil the live moment.

I enjoyed this play, especially when all the elements were in tune. At an hour and a half without intermission, the whole thing propels and spirals with such energy that one can’t help becoming sucked into the vortex. It’s quite a ride. And you’ll probably even learn something along the way about what it means to be a parent, and a spouse, and a human being.

For more information go to the MVT website.