Opening
Nights

Broke-ology

Seattle Public Theater at the Bathhouse, 7312 W. Green Lake Ave. N., 524-1300, 
seattlepublictheater.org. $10–$30. 
7:30 p.m. Thurs.–Sat., 2 p.m. Sun. Ends Oct. 20.

An ill, aging parent determined to stay in the old family home. Two grown sons pulled in opposite directions—one to stay close (with a pregnant girlfriend), the other hoping to stay away. The King household happens to be black in Nathan Louis Jackson’s ghost-haunted 2008 family drama, set in Kansas City, Kansas, though the pressures felt inside are universal.

In a short prelude on Craig Wollam’s homey set, pregnant Sonia (Amber Wolfe Wollam) hopes for a better future and a house with no bars on the widows. The lights dim to purple and Motown music swells until widowed William (Troy Allen Johnson) wakes some 30 years later. Same bars, same windows, same house. Nothing has changed, except that William has multiple sclerosis and a bad eye as he hobbles stiffly about the place.

And what of Sonia’s old hopes? Her sons bound in, full of enthusiasm that will wane over two acts. Jovial firstborn Ennis (Corey Spruill) is trapped in a restaurant job, pressured by his baby mama to work extra shifts. He’s quite aware, even resentful, that his carefree days are about to end. Studious Malcolm (Tyler Trerise), meanwhile, has the prospect of a career in KC, but he’d rather be back in Connecticut, where he got his master’s degree. So who’s going to take care of William during the coming decline? He’s forgetting his meds and starting kitchen fires. “I want to go,” says Malcolm. “We need you here,” Ennis insists.

The conflicts and characters here aren’t terribly fresh, though director Valerie Curtis-Newton and her likable cast do their best with the hand they’re dealt. Written at Juilliard, Broke-ology feels very much like a first-time effort, which it is. The pacing is slack, and Jackson doesn’t bring much outside pressure into the Kings’ home. Ennis gets a few cell-phone calls from his irate girlfriend—which, incredibly, he takes outside. (Note to aspiring playwrights: The audience wants to hear those calls.) William and Sonia are pretty much saints, working-class folk who raised their boys right. And if Ennis and Malcolm can’t be mad at their parents, could they at least attack the system that both has them feeling so stuck?

No, Jackson doesn’t bother with context, even when Sonia’s ghost makes us think of the big economic picture. “This is not the life I dreamed I’d be living,” she says. “This is not where I thought I’d end up.” Looking at the past three decades, most Americans would agree with her, which gives the play an almost accidental topicality. Brian Miller

The Servant of Two Masters

Seattle Repertory Theatre, 155 Mercer St. (Seattle Center), 443-2222, seattlerep.org. $12–$80. Wed.–Sun. Ends Oct. 20.

In this rendition of Carlo Goldoni’s mid-18th-century romp (adapted by Constance Congdon, directed by Christopher Bayes), the plot exists mostly as an excuse to get a bunch of toy-like commedia dell’arte characters together to let rip. Two couples—one thwarted by parental tyranny, the other by a disguise and logistics—have to sort things out with the questionable assistance of free-agenting servant Truffaldino, whose single true loyalty (to filling his belly) provides many of the laughs and whatever tension there is. Bayes has assembled a large, crackerjack cast of able improvisers—some of whom appeared in the original Yale Rep production. All are more than capable of executing the shticky lazzis (gags), slapstick, and rhythmic accidents that become dances. The timing of these bloopers-by-design is crucial, as many are coordinated with sound effects (some provided by a live onstage duo) or with multiple actors who can’t see one another.

There’s much to admire in the craftsmanship here, but the two-and-a-half-hour show still drags. (At Intiman three years back, Bayes’ pithier A Doctor in Spite of Himself ran only 80 minutes.) Even Truffaldino, lithely played by Steven Epp in three-quarter mask and baggy harlequin pajamas, complains about this repeatedly. Fortunately, as per commedia tradition, the performers ad-lib local and contemporary references (including the viaduct-replacement tunnel, “that fucking government shutdown,” and the Heart song “Barracuda”). This helps goose the centuries-old stock characters and plot machinery.

If you’re going to theater to forget you’re at theater, forget it. Katherine Akiko Day’s lovely crumbling marble proscenium and a stage curtain on the stage make that impossible. The point here is frank, savvy artifice, presented in a long barrage. Still, there are memorable pieces: Comic killjoy dad Pantalone (Allen Gilmore) jiggles to get out of a pretzel pose; the sky lights up with Chuan-Chi Chan’s fireflies and stars. If you love light and zany more than dense and intense, this mostly-peanuts nut mix may be for you. Margaret Friedman

PThe Taming

ArtsWest, 4711 California Ave. S.W., 
938-0339, artswest.org. $15–$34. 
7:30 p.m. Wed.–Sat., 3 p.m. Sun. Ends Oct. 19.

Riffing on Shakespeare, playwright Lauren Gunderson (Exit, Pursued by a Bear) has created a rare specimen: a political comedy that’s fair-handed and funny. In an era when single-perspective pummeling usually rules the ring, she actually gives a little advantage to the conservative side. (Goodness knows it needs the help, especially in liberal Seattle.) ArtsWest’s canny young cast pitches into the acid whimsy with gusto, directed by Tammis Doyle.

When Republican senate staffer Patricia (Dayo Anderson) wakes up in a hotel room with Bianca (Anna Townes), a liberal blogger “truesading” for the welfare of a shrew species endangered by the senator’s bill, we expect a familiar hostage plot. But it emerges that both players—costumed by Jocelyn Fowler in the red and blue of their respective teams—have been captured by Miss Georgia contestant Katherine (Justine Rose Stillwell), whose aspirations for the lofty platform go way beyond shaking her peaches. Indeed, she has forced the polarized reps to this bunker to help her redraft the U.S. Constitution. Predictably, both resist; but unpredictably, amid the clever sniping, they glimpse their own inanities and blind spots.

It’s an attitude so refreshingly bipartisan my brain needed to build some new receptors to process it. Two whole acts would be too long for the hotel room, but fortunately the three gals get catapulted back to 1787. Suddenly they find themselves wigged as James Madison (Anderson), George Washington (Stillwell), and ignoble slavery defender Charles Pinckney (Townes). Part of the play’s efficacy comes from this clever reversing of political poles, as the foes are forced to sniff the other side’s snuff. This diversion works without explanation.

Some other plot twists are more dubious, but so confident and entertaining is the writing that Gunderson gets away with them. They’re justifiable guerrilla infractions in the war against bull-headed despair, and since they result in a gridlock-busting vision many are hungry for—huzzah! Margaret Friedman

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