Here’s an earnest new comedy of hybrid parentage: Dwayne J. Clark, a

By Brian Miller • March 2, 2015 4:54 pm
Potter’s therapist tends to her flock.
Potter’s therapist tends to her flock.

Here’s an earnest new comedy of hybrid parentage: Dwayne J. Clark, a local businessman, is the newbie fictionalizing his past experiences in a men’s therapy group; writer Bryan Willis is the stage professional who helped him shape that circular sharing into a two-act structure. (John Langs directs at a brisk, welcome pace.) With a female shrink running herd on seven neurotic dudes with various maladies, the laughs here ought to come quick—provided we don’t have any serious belief in therapeutic outcomes. Back in the day of unenlightened Broadway or Hollywood romps, mental illness was simply joke fodder; no one cared about being cured, since that would kill the source of the laughter.

But now we live in different times. Therapist Michelle (Kirsten Potter) implores her group to share in good faith, to keep their secrets sacred, and above all to believe in the process of healing. Seven Ways is nothing if not sincere about that process, which tends to undercut the comedy—or seriocomedy, really. Since the male characters here never emerge beyond types, you at least want them to be funny types. This is a situation verging on sitcom, where you need the experienced joke-smithery of a Neil Simon. Again, however, this is a tyro team that falls back on the obvious: easy male put-downs, talk of a porn co-op, the guys bursting into pirate banter, spontaneous dance parties, even a fart joke or two. If the conceit is thin, the writing is thinner.

Among the various patients (angry, indecisive, sex addict, etc.), Charles Leggett makes good use of comic silence and withholding (almost as if he knows the lines aren’t worth delivering). Darragh Kennan brings a lot of urgency and energy to his resentful, court-mandated attendee, but the character feels like a Randle P. McMurphy knockoff. Bradford Farwell’s tormented painter adds the most pathos to the piece—almost too much; he’s the odd man out in this comic ensemble. Meanwhile their strained but patient therapist keeps encouraging them to open up and take more risks. Would that the play did the same.

bmiller@seattleweekly.com

SEVEN WAYS TO GET THERE ACT Theatre, 700 Union St., 292-7676. $20–$65. Runs Thurs.–Sun.; see acttheatre.org for exact schedule. Ends March 15.