Three half naked cowboys in boxers take the stage in a small black room with a low ceiling with two pissed off, outrageously dressed southern women holding a shot gun and a revolver. The cowboys, cowering in fear, are forced to dance with each other while the girls cackle away. “Dance, boys!” shouts one of the women. A loud BANG follows and one of the lights goes out. “I said DANCE!” The boys miserably comply, dancing around the room in the various feminine articles of clothing the women forced them to wear. Sound like the next Quentin Tarantino film? Even better. This is only one scene from the Nomadic Theater’s production of Sordid Lives.
This fall marks the 25th anniversary of Georgetown’s Nomadic Theater troupe, and their feature production is Del Shores’ black comedy Sordid Lives. The aptly titled show opens with the death of a Texan matriarch and the fallout that ensues. The first twist is that she dies while tripping over the wooden legs of her adulterous lover. Intrigued? You should be. Sordid Lives is an arresting, yet hysterical look at small town family melodrama and features every deliciously sordid plot twist that one could hope for.
The production starts out resembling an art house. The set is elegant but simple, the cast is small and the plot is bizarre. The cast of characters is a colorful bunch and includes a transvestite-channeling Tammy Wynette and a maniacal psychologist who solicits said transvestite. Further adding to the play’s sordid qualities are plenty of guns, cigarettes and a few cowboys in boxers.
Running for a little over two hours, the play benefits from excellent pacing: the viewer is subjected to neither excessive monologues nor irritating, frenetic dialogue. The writing is sharp, and the plot never wanders off on a tangent.
The chemistry between the cast members adds cohesiveness and rhythm to the performance. This tight rhythm is what makes Sordid Lives a pleasure to watch rather than a painful exercise in concentration and forced appreciation. The acting appears effortless, which is no small feat for actors who utter lines that would make even Mark Foley blush. The cast, at the behest of the director Mark Visona, had to “practice screaming out uncomfortable words” during the first couple of weeks to make their performances as real and enjoyable as possible. The practice has clearly paid off.
While the slapstick elements of Sordid Lives are entertaining, the subtlety of its message is what really endears the viewer to the story. Most attempts by soul-searching dramas to confront “big” issues like the oppressive nature of small town life or the death of a family member prove painfully boring and trite. This play, on the other hand, is fresh and funny presenting these crucial issues in ways that don’t make you want to eat your own hand. Ironically, it’s precisely this comedic style of production that reminds the viewer of the seriousness of the issues.
Instead of the classic sappy scene that always directly follows the death of a loved one, we see two women who knew the matriarch very well gossiping in a kitchen while eating pie. One is popping herself with a rubber band to remind herself to not to smoke. The distress is clearly evident in both women, but instead of a big, showy display of grief it’s shown contained in small actions like the desire to smoke again or indulging in gossip. Acknowledging bizarre steps in the grieving process is just one example of what makes Sordid Lives unique. Another memorable scene shows the lover of the dead matriarch attempting to set his wooden legs on fire for causing the untimely death of his lover. It’s funny because it’s ridiculous, but laughing at him makes the audience acutely aware of what he is really experiencing.
In short, anyone from a podunk town, anyone from a weird family, and anyone interested in scantily clad cowboys and guttersnipes can appreciate Sordid Lives. It’s hilarious, touching and way better than anything playing at Loews.
The production runs October 25 – 29. Tickets can be purchased online at http://performingarts.georgetown.edu.
